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.

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

Kid A represents the first time in Radiohead's short history where their desire to do something different has outrun their ability to give their experiments a personal imprint. The problem with the album isn't that it's introspective, or obscure, or even that it's derivative (alternately conjuring Eno, Aphex Twin, Pink Floyd and so forth), but rather that the striking group personality so well defined on the last two collections has seemed to evaporate.

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.

Unfortunately, the obtrusive vocals mess up the vibe like an unwelcome party crasher. Underworld's experiments with electronica, vocals and rock are dismal failures.

From a pounding rendition of "Pistol Grip Pump" by West Coast hip-hoppers Volume 10, to a snarling, grunged-up assault on Bob Dylan's "Maggie's Farm", singer Zack de la Rocha and company deliver atomic thrills with revolutionary fervor. Still, anyone hungry for new insights into this uniquely righteous band, or looking for evidence of risk-taking, may feel shortchanged.

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

The problem is, as the album drags on, young Master Mathers wastes his considerable wit and opts to grouse in the guise of a rampaging reactionary. Song after song finds Eminem viciously baiting real and imagined enemies, as if that's all he knows how to do.

It sounds like she couldn't care less if anyone's listening.

Why is Quality Control -- an album no doubt many will love simply because of its hip- hop politics -- so damn bland? For all their good intentions, J5's results are so monochromatic, of such a singular focus on staying true to a specific kind of hip-hop blueprint, that even the inclusion of grinning left-field randomness... lacks the fun it means to inject.

On the plus side, the album sounds really nice.... The problem is, things get a little too lazy and hazy; Reveal's 12 tracks all move with almost the exact same dreamy, midtempo lope.

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.

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

This album shows a band eager to expand its creative range. One wonders, sadly, what might have come next.

There's the sense that, in trying to be a Tribe-meets-Portishead hybrid, the Manchester, England, production duo of Mark Rae and Steve Christian have missed the target, as if true brilliance lies just around the corners they didn't turn.

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

When System's at their best, the Los Angeles four-piece evokes most vividly punk politicos the Dead Kennedys.... Yet the band sputters out when the lyrics are awash in vagueness.

Overall, though, this is one of those odd little albums that the ever-prolific Young comes up with periodically -- dotted with a few flashes of inspiration, ultimately sunk by a lot of by-rote artistic adequacy.

Ultimately, the four-on-the-floor rhythm and riffing quickly become repetitive, blunting Get Ready's impact.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Much of the album has the odd, rehashed sound of a Blur record produced by the Automator, but the diverse guests keep at least every other song fresh and new.

But if it verges on generic pop-rock, Take Back... also has more hooks than a bait and tackle shop.

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.

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