My World, My Way, despite its flaws, may be the New Orleans label's most heroic effort yet, as Silkk parlays a strong message -- about hardcore rap, and real life, and the relationship between the two.

None of these songs are as ear-catching as the first album's "Gotta Man." And to play up Swizz Beatz's contributions is to point out how frequently Eve gets lots in the beats when they're slamming, and how she never enhances them when they're not.

Tipsy's second album, Uh-Oh!, doesn't just rehash the mid-'90s martini-music comeback, it recasts it, ushering the exotica percussion, soaring strings, tinny organs and surf guitars of Combustible Edison and Esquivel into a brave new world of looped breakbeats and laptop trickery.

Looks and charm can only do so much, and without a distinctive sound or banging tracks, Tyrese tends to get lost in the shuffle...

In an age of "been there, done that" cynicism, Rancid come across like true believers...

Like a cross between Fatboy's cheekiness and the Chems' psychedelia, Super Sound is certainly slick, but it also confirms suspicions that big beat has hit a creative dead end.

A fresh, if unfocused, work saturated with zany personality.

There are more flashes of the old White Light/White Heat Reed than the old crank has provided even diehard loyalists in years.

Lions has got style to spare, but ends up light on meaty hooks.

On the surface, Callahan sounds like he's getting out more.

It opens with a nine-minute song. It's a concept album. Worse still, it's a science fiction concept album. With songs about robots. But here's the thing: Every time I listen to it, I don't hate it.... The combination of prog-rock ambition, scrappy sounds and the odd hip reference almost make it feel like Pink Floyd growing up and making a disc in the post-Beck era.

All told, eight producers (including Nicks) were involved in the production of Trouble in Shangri-La, and not everybody is up to the challenge.

Inevitably, all the shifts in tempo, mood and lyrical slant ultimately hurt Morning View more than they help.

Rather than an abdication, In the Mode is a defiant and defensive statement.... This bristling new approach pays off well for the most part. As on New Forms, some of the best moments come when the crew mixes some soul and R&B stylings into the proceedings... At times the determination to keep the beats pounding hard and heavy leads to a slightly generic feel, especially on the instrumental cuts.

Nonetheless, while more ambitious than almost all of today's metal-flaked rock competition, the 19-track Holy Wood is not without its problems. On numbers such as "President Dead" and "Cruci-Fiction in Space," the band seems to be just rehashing old terrain. And, while The Wall may be a worthy role model, Manson and company don't quite have Pink Floyd's lyrical or musical range, adding to the rote feeling that troubles some of this overlong (60+ minutes) disc.

Colvin has a small but honeyed voice, never too sad or too happy, and multi-instrumentalist [producer John] Leventhal has encased it in caressing arrangements, complete with the occasional string quartet. The ensuing pleasures are generally low-key, and while one can appreciate the attentive craftsmanship applied to each song, the cumulative mood is a little snoozy.

Mink Car is all over the map, an ideal piece of entertainment for listeners simultaneously blessed and cursed with high IQs and attention deficit disorder.

On their fourth album, Bedlam Ballroom, the Zippers have concocted another stew of lively dance music. Problem is, with so many people having jumped on the swing revival bandwagon, the group's new material sounds dated. And not in a good way, either -- it merely recalls a fad, rather than evoking the bevy of twentieth-century American music styles the Zippers have long been in love with.

Ron Sexsmith actually rocks, albeit only sort of and irregularly.

There's almost no drama to be found on Alone With Everybody... [t]he songs don't turn corners, and they fail to elicit any real emotional response.

The most memorable tracks on Pieces in a Modern Style feel like high-brow Puff Daddy songs...

Fans of new British bands like Gomez or Minibar should find plenty to like.

This collection is a sugar-high set, adrenalized even more than Blink's souped-up studio albums by the waves of Cheap Trick Live at Budokan-like female screams pouring from the audience. And the playing offers plenty of evidence to quiet anyone who thinks these guys are just three-chord wonders.... But young audiences love Blink shows in part for the wiseacre, self-deprecating quips, and this album is full 'em -- and not just between songs, as there are (count 'em) 29 extra tracks of banter lasting over 10 minutes at the album's end.

Call this music "experimental easy-listening" -- neither strident enough to warrant serious commercial attention, nor sufficiently free-form to attract all the independent obsessives.

Ivy specialize in nebulously oriented dream-pop: too ethereal for straight pop fans, too structured for the 4AD crowd. The result is rather like Swing Out Sister playing with all the rock and roll abandon of, say, the Sundays.

Green Day's melodies are as delicious as ever, and the band continues to integrate acoustic guitar into its sound without getting all granola on us. But as a songwriter, Armstrong's neither here nor there, unable to fully abandon his goofball roots but not stretching far enough to score the breakaway great album he's always seemed capable of writing.

Filled with the sort of aggressive, testosterone-fueled rage that has helped make DMX the Henry Rollins of hardcore hip-hop.

The album never truly develops, as the group prefers to rehash old stuff rather than break new ground.