The following have appeared in publications both online and off.

The Tyde: Twice Following 2001's "Once" comes "Twice," on which Darren Rademaker and his Beachwood Spark bro Brent rustle up another set of affectless and pretty SoCal songs suitable for any given jingle-jangle morning. Although Darren frequently warbles like Lloyd Cole nodding off, the band kicks up a spectacular dust storm, especially legendary drummer Ric Menck, who left the much-loved Velvet Crush for this gig. "A Loner" is all amiable strums and beatific melody, "Go Ask Your Dad" gallops like a long rider, "Crystal Canyons" revisits Highway 61 and if you aren't taken into custody by the dreamy "Best Intentions" then you can't get arrested. One might argue that we've heard all this West Coast-style stuff (perhaps too many times) before. But one shouldn't confuse originality with quality. "Thrice" is certain to be a charm.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Fever to Tell It's been since grunge that so many guitar bands have gotten record deals. Back then, for every group of consequence, like, say, Nirvana, there were others that were at best inconsequential, like, say, the Stone Temple Pilots (who else other than heroin addicts claim Scott Weiland as a major influence?). Of course, only hindsight has allowed us to sort the wheat from the chaff, and it'll be interesting to look back in 10 years and see which of the current crop is revered and which is reviled. Will the Libertines be held in high esteem while the Hives get slagged as shameless knock-offs? And what will we make of Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Lots of hype surrounded this New York garage-punk trio before the release of "Fever to Tell," their first album. So, did they crash and burn? Hardly. Like the White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs employ only guitar and drums, but the sound here is less spare, less bluesy, more glitzy. Drummer Brian Chase swings and slams. Guitarist Nick Zimmer shreds and rips. And singer Karen O is sexy, powerful and emotive. Not since the first Pretenders album when Chrissie Hynde burst out of the grooves with barely controlled passion has a vocalist come on with this much presence. The album starts with a series of rip-roaring rockers; "Rich," "Date With the Night," "Man" and "Tick" smack you upside the head and punch you in the guts as Zimmer smokes, Chase pounds and Ms. O pouts and shouts darkly amusing lyrics like "Boy you're just such a stupid bitch / and girl you're just a no good dick!" And then in the final stretch, the record makes a left turn, things slow down (without becoming any less intense) and a sensitive side emerges. "Maps," "Y Control," "Modern Romance" and especially the unnamed hidden track cut like a fresh blade slowly slicing into flesh. Screw the hype. "Fever to Tell" delivers. I'm betting a decade from now we'll be saying "yeah" to Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

King Crimson: The Power to Believe Still going strong after what has to be at least a hundred years, King Crimson continue to produce music that's nervy, loud and, more importantly, relevant in these brutal times we live in. On "The Power to Believe," guitarist Robert Fripp, the sole survivor of a band that's seen more personnel changes than the cast of, say, "Saturday Night Live," continues his single-bloody-minded dedication to make music that's difficult and yet somehow accessible. With singer and ax man Adrian Belew, bassist Trey Gunn and drummer Pat Mastelotto (listed on the sleeve as the "traps and buttons" operator), the group has made its most cohesive work in years, possibly ever. One of the main problems with the Crims has been their inconsistency; you got the impression that their records were conglomerations of whatever material just happened to be around at the time. Not so here. Motifs, both musically and lyrically, impart a sense that ideas - mostly having to do with the powers of belief - are at work. Yep, the riffs are angular and the time changes tricky (what would you expect?) but there's a soulfulness that's never really been present before. Inside these 21st century schizoid men beat heavy metal hearts.

Massive Attack: 100th Window This Bristol outfit's albums have blazed trails and spawned trip-hop imitators, a few of which, like Portishead, have made some of the most haunting music of the last 10 years. So, what to do next? The answer: peel away the patina of electronics and spread on organic-sounding instrumentation and a distinct Eastern influence, which MA have done on "100th Window," the band's fourth. Mostly the work of Robert "3D" Del Naja - Daddy G and Mushroom have vanished into the ether, although Neil Davidge remains as producer and co-writer - the new album is a distinctly warmer but no less eerily intense work than 1998's stark "Mezzanine." As in the past, name vocalists guest; Sinead O'Connor whispers "What Your Soul Sings" like a gentle breeze through a lace curtain while Horace Andy drawls out the slippery "Name Taken" Little Jimmy Scott style. Throughout, 3D sustains a harrowing tension - especially on "Antistar," which drifts around on a few spare notes for a 20-odd-minute eternity. Likely "100th Window" won't be as revered or as referenced as the classic "Blue Lines," but in it's own subtle way it's just as affecting, perhaps more so.

Daniel Johnston: Fear Yourself Outsider art is exemplified naivete and guilelessness, two terms that best describe the work of Daniel Johnston, whose fragile music goes hand in hand with his fragile state of mind. Johnston's idiosyncratic songs, which always seem to teeter precariously on the brink of collapse, express naked emotions because the veil between art and artist is in this case a pellucid one. On "Fear Yourself," Sparklehorse's Mark Linkous - one of Daniel's many champions, which include Beck, Bowie, Sonic Youth and the late Kurt Cobain - produces, and it's jarring to hear Johnston's normally homemade vignettes sporting fleshy arrangements. At times the album sounds like a more fractious Flaming Lips, and Johnston's wobbly voice often sits uncomfortably atop the sumptuous production. But nothing can smother the record's veracity. On "Syrup of Tears," when he repeats like a mantra "I love you more than myself ... and I wish to see you again" he raises the emotional temperature to a fever. Difficult and immediate, "Fear Yourself" is real alternative music.

Pernice Brothers: Yours, Mine and Ours Following the events of 9/11, Joe Pernice and what he refers to as his "usual group of suspects" retreated to a Vermont summerhouse to record songs that reflected his desire to rediscover the joy in things. The result is "Yours, Mine and Ours," and if joy is what he was seeking, then joy is what he has found - this is simply one of the most rapturous records in recent memory. With a voice tinged with the wispy grace of Colin Blunstone and melodies that sparkle like incandescent flares, Pernice crafts unashamedly pop songs that are sweet without being saccharine, emotional without being cloying, gorgeous without being overly ornate. While the entire world is going to hell in a handbasket, "Yours, Mine and Ours" offers hope by demonstrating the better angels of our nature.

Cat Power: You Are Free Joni Mitchell harrumphed recently that she was quitting the biz, citing it as a cesspool swimming with soulless divas. That's really an overgeneralization, because if you'd just look beyond the charts, Joni, you'd find worthy singer/songwriters such as Chan "Cat Power" Marshall, whose albums are every bit as potent as Ms. Mitchell's were in her prime. Marshall's latest is her first collection of original material since 1998's "Moon Pix" (her last album, in 2000, was a covers record called, appropriately, "The Covers Record"), and for "Free" she spices up the arrangements a bit without losing her patented spooky intimacy. Still based around her simple but elegant piano and guitar as well as her PJ Harvey-on-'ludes voice, Marshall's songs explore the brokenhearted ("Good Woman"), the dislocated ("Fool") and the desperate ("Babydoll") with an eye for details and an ear for language. She may be more oblique and ironic than the '60s sisterhood from which she is indebted to, but then that's the 21st century for you. So, it's goodbye Joni, hello Cat.

George Harrison: Brainwashed For the last decade or so of his life, the Quite One was even quieter, turning his back on music to spend most of his time performing his most cherished pursuit, gardening. He was only roused to record again when he felt he had something to say, and for his final testament, George Harrison imparts to us some poignant sentiments about the perils of living life in the material world. That these heartfelt observations are couched in some of his keenest melodies is all the more heartrending for us. Maintaining his return to songwriting form that began with 1987's "Cloud Nine" and the sharp contributions he made to the pair of Traveling Wilburys records, "Brainwashed" is about as moving a farewell as one could hope for. "Gimme plenty of that guitar," Harrison intones at the top, and that's just what we get - layer upon layer of his gently weeping slide work (which, fortunately, co-producers Jeff Lynne and son Dhani don't muck about with). Aspersions have been cast at George's simple and direct technique, as if because he doesn't play wild and wicked runs he's no virtuoso. But Harrison never wastes a note; his style is to supply a tune with precisely what's needed, no more, no less - just wrap your ears around the delicate coloring on the instrumental "Marwa Blues." The same can be said of his vocals, which are as close as a human voice can get to a plaintive cry. From "Stuck Inside a Cloud" to "Run So Far" to "Pisces Fish," in which he wryly reflects, "I'm a living proof of all life's contradictions," the tracks herein reflect George's peculiar dualities: a Buddhist with a cynical bent, a liver of life in the slow lane with a penchant for fast cars, a misanthrope with a fierce wit. "Any Road" puts it succinctly: "But oooeee it's all a game / Sometimes you're cool, sometimes you're lame / Ah yeah it's somewhere / And if you don't know where you're going / Any road will take you there." It's all about acceptance, then. Along with a dash of dignity and humor. "Brainwashed" is one to cherish forever.

The Velvet Crush: Soft Sounds Doing a 180 from their usual lo-fi, high-rev shtick, this album is exactly what it says on the lid. Originally begun as a solo project for multi-instrumentalist Paul Chastain and nearly ditched because it was considered too downbeat and personal, "Soft Sounds" became a Velvet Crush album when the other member of the duo, drummer Ric Menck, persuaded Chastain to forge ahead with a work that would showcase his gentler side. What they wound up with is an album of such unabashed lushness that it sounds as if it were recorded in heaven itself. A cover of the Box Tops' "Rollin' in My Sleep" could be the soundtrack for an I-never-want-to-wake-up-from-it dream while "Some Kind of Light" is a ringer for late-period Big Star. In addition to the band's own odes and ballads ("In Your Time" and "Staying Found" are especially beauteous), are covers of Lindsey Buckingham's yearning "Save Me a Place" and Scott Walker's "Duchess," which is performed "Nashville Skyline" style. An album of both ineffable sadness and sweetness, "Soft Sounds" is power pop's first - and likely best - chilldown album.

Interpol: Turn on the Bright Lights Interpol, the worldwide law-enforcement association, exists, apparently, to help create a safer world. Interpol, the New York post-punk quartet, exist, apparently, to filch influences from '80s glum rock. Whereas we may be in need of the former organization, do we really need yet one more Psychedelic Furs soundalike? When the music is this gleefully depressing, I say, sure chief, why not? With its booming bass runs, thundering drums and atmospheric guitars, "Turn on the Bright Lights" successfully cultivates its own peculiar strain of anxiety. Paul Banks' monotone voice is buried at just the right level in the mix to invest it with a tinge of the ominous, and he's well versed at spinning tales of urban dread as well as the black and blue sides of love. Songs like the haunting "NYC," the moody "PDA" and the curiously christened "Stella Was a Driver and She Was Always Down" are loaded with unsettling aromas, guaranteed to make smoggy even the clearest of days. Overall, this is not happy stuff - but these are not happy times.

Ron Sexsmith: Cobblestone Runway Ron Sexsmith's style is very much in the tradition of old-school crooners, his voice a velvet fog. "Cobblestone Runway," the Toronto-based musician's sixth full-length, continues loping along the path tread by his previous efforts, delivering reliable doses of affecting ballads and swinging mid-tempo numbers while tossing in new funky ingredients to spice things up a bit. But beneath the smooth (not slick) veneer are songs informed with hard-callus experience. Written during a time of emotional tumult, "Cobblestone Runway" is imbued with a melancholy that's tempered somewhat by the upbeat arrangements and soulful accompaniment. "Former Glory" finds a limber little groove that perfectly counters its yearning tone, the somber "These Days" is plucked up by a girlie chorus that would make Lou Reed go wild and "God Loves Everyone's" gentle strings temper what has to be the saddest song of the new millennium. Working with London-based Swedish producer Martin Terefe has opened up Sexsmith's overall sound. The result, as Sexsmith himself says, is "a record that seems to have that mysterious combination of elements, all falling right into place." Couldn't have said it better myself.

Coldplay: A Rush of Blood to the Head Let's say this isn't Coldplay's second album. Let's say we've never heard of the band before. Let's say this so we can filter out the backlash that assaults any group that's had an initial blush of unexpected success. Let's consider "A Rush of Blood to the Head" as an album that stands on its own merits. Because this is an album that stands on it own merits, not the least of which is Chris Martin's voice, a soulful instrument that has no trouble negotiating between otherworldly and remarkably fierce in one fell whoop. Let's not forget the ensemble playing, which has a uniqueness and blend that transcends easy categorization. The guitar abrasions, the floating piano, the steady backbeat all work in service of songs whose hooks are measured out in coffee spoons. "Politik" begins "Blood" with a rush, beseeching you to "open up your eyes." You should be paying attention. What's next is "In My Place," which, if I had no prior knowledge of these four lads from England, I would have to say is a signature song, with a chorus that can rescue you from the seventh circle of hell and lift you up to seventh heaven. "God Put a Smile Upon Your Face"? Well, if He doesn't, this song, despite its downbeat sentiments, will. Let's say that each track herein is every bit as memorable and wondrous as each track herein - no small accomplishment. Let's say "A Rush of Blood to the Head," by dint of notable skill and passion, is a phenomenal album. There. We said it.

Shimmer Kids UnderPop Association: The Natural Riot Parasol is one of the finest distributors of modern power pop music, and it's always a good bet that whatever's released under its aegis will be pretty darn great. "The Natural Riot" does not disappoint - it's one more fun and fanciful album loaded with enough hooks to fill a coat factory. The album beams in like the Electric Prunes by way of Olivia Tremor Control, with feedbacking guitars, blaring trumpets and simmering organs lysergically enhancing tales of "soft police, interplanetary paranoia, getaway cars and cathode ray romances." There are glue-sniffing rockers ("Model Kits"), sweet and dangerous ballads ("Like Candy, Like Poison") and tunes ablaze with T Rextacy ("Burning Bridges"). But beneath this Bay Area sextet's obsession with all things cyber beats a heart filled with compassion and wit. Clever, yes, but not so overly arch as to obstruct the beauty of songs like the late-period Beach Boys-ish "Another Planet" or drunken samba of "Se Acabo, La Fiesta." On "The Natural Riot" Shimmer Kids shine.

Aluminum Group: Happyness This Chicago-based outfit continues to be every bit as stylish as the Eames furniture after which it was named. On this, their follow-up to the brushed-chrome electronica of 2000's "Pelo," siblings John and Frank Navin return to the more naturalistic beauty of their earlier efforts, where the listening may be easy on the surface but is actually quite difficult beneath. Like on the loungey "I Blow You Kisses," where brother John coos "If you were sinking in a lake, / and I threw you a lifeline, / would you let it float away?" over a gently bobbing tune. Or like on "Pop," which aurally is the very essence of its title but lyrically is about a person who's just too out of it to maintain a single friendship. Or like on "We're Both Hiding," which sets the painful tale of disconsolate lovers to a sweetly Bacharachian melody. Or like on the percolating "Oxygen," a strangely refreshing-sounding number sung by a narrator whose brain is clearly hallucinating from a lack of air. And so it goes, with bleak themes of suffering and disconnected individuals struggling with their lives being played against sunshiny tunes and witty and abstract turns of phrase such as "Wake up, / because it's springtime in Jellystone Park" (from "Kid") and "I've seen more drugs and alcohol than a chemistry set" (from the aforementioned "Oxygen"). The purposely misspelled album title says it all - this is happiness with a peculiar twist.

Yo La Tengo: The Sounds of the Sounds of Science Yo La Tengo are the quintessential indie band, their albums Rubik's Cubes of possibilities. Whether it be pop, techno or feedback-fueled bedlam, one never knows quite what to expect, and yet somehow the music created by Hoboken's finest - singer/guitarist Ira Kaplan and his wife, drummer/vocalist Georgia Hubley as well as bassist James McNew - always retains the group's unmistakable stamp of adventure. "The Sounds of the Sounds of Science," released exclusively through the band's Web site, is yet one more slice of Yo La Tengo's brand of eclecticism - an instrumental soundtrack to accompany the undersea documentaries of French avant-garde filmmaker Jean Painleve. Like the ocean itself, the music on "Science" can be placid (the opener "Sea Urchins"), murky ("Hyas and Stenorhynchus"), haunting ("How Some Jellyfish Are Born") or forbidding ("Liquid Crystals" and "The Love Life of the Octopus"). One might be tempted to call "Science" a side project, but then one could make that claim about the entire Yo La Tengo canon. This is, however, no band of dilettantes.

Laura Nyro: Eli and the Thirteenth Confession, New York Tendaberry, Gonna Take a Miracle, The Loom's Desire There is something indescribably distinctive and discrete about the music of the late Laura Nyro. Filled with its own special vocabulary, it evokes a yearning and sadness that advances well beyond catharsis. Her best work - and a lot of it is on these Columbia reissues - delves into the intricate wickerwork of the whole of existence with insight and clemency. "Eli and the Thirteenth Confession," from 1968, remains fresh sounding, its butter bright songs such as "Eli's Coming" and "Stoned Soul Picnic" covered by the candy-floss likes of Three Dog Night and the 5th Dimension respectively. But it was the more soulful and enigmatic tracks such as "December's Boudoir" and "The Confession" that opened the door for her next effort, 1969's exquisite "New York Tendaberry." An album of foreboding blue colors - the rainy rooftop photo on the back of the record's booklet says it all - it's still a difficult, but vital, listen, its sentiments and beauty overwhelming. At its core is a tough but tender portrait of the big city as seen through the curious yet vulnerable eyes of a still-young girl from the Bronx. It is that same Bronx girl who brings her girl-group influences to the fore on 1971's "Gonna Take a Miracle," an album of well-chosen, stripped-down covers featuring the group Labelle on background vocals. Laura might not have had the pipes of, say, Aretha, but Nyro's earnestness shines on the breathy "The Bells" and the rollicking "Jimmy Mack." As it turned out, Nyro's voice indeed became more soulful with age, as is evident on Rounder's "The Loom's Desire," a dual-disc set taken from two Christmas Eve concerts in 1993 and '94 (shortly after the latter show she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, which eventually took her life). If you are unfamiliar with Laura Nyro, there are several best-ofs available, but the passionate live performances on "Desire" make it a great place to start. Then go back to "The First Songs" and work your way through her entire catalog.

Beth Orton: Daybreaker Eschewing much of the folk-hop and melancholy of her first two releases, Orton, on "Daybreaker," stirs up something organic - possibly due in no small part to hanging out with the likes of Ryan Adams and Emmylou Harris. To be sure, the production this time around goes au natural, the atmosphere suffused with brushed drums, chiming acoustic guitars and swirling orchestration, as on the luminescent opening cut "Paris Train" or on the moody "God Song." Most of the album has a kaleidoscopic quality to it, as if its rhythms and melodies are endeavoring to lift off the earthly plain - and take you away with them. "Mount Washington" sashays while "Anywhere," with its exotic horns and lilting percussion, does a Sade-esque samba. Even a song you might expect to be rooted in techno beats - the Chemical Brothers-produced title track - has an unaffected swing to it. Above it all hovers Orton's husky voice, which smears at the edges, seducing you into the musical architecture like a mysterious figure that beckons behind an open window. Let "Daybreaker" hold you in its sway.

Doves: The Last Broadcast Often lumped in with the sensitive likes of Travis, Coldplay and Starsailor, Doves, on their second album, are finding their own unique place in the musical cosmos. Hypnotic and at times theatrical "The Last Broadcast" bursts with musical and lyrical invention. Whereas the band's debut "Lost Souls" was often brooding and hazy, "Broadcast" is painted in sunshiny colors. Following the abstract overture of "Intro," the song "Words" explodes and shimmers, like a first-class fireworks display. On "There Goes the Fear," vocalist Jimi Goodwin - backed by multi-instrumentalist brothers Andy and Jez Williams - bids adieu to melancholy. "M62 Song" nicks a plaintive melody and lyric from an early King Crimson track, the High Llamas' Sean O'Hagan raises his orchestral baton over the majestic "Friday's Dust" and the careering "Caught by the River" closes the album in a suitably sweeping fashion. Throughout, drums hit a tight groove, bells chime, guitars jangle, harmonies hover. The "Last Broadcast" is the sound of found souls.

Total Lee: The Songs of Lee Hazlewood As this brilliant tribute makes evident, Lee Hazlewood is so much more than "These Boots Are Made for Walking," the kicky '60s hit he penned for Nancy Sinatra. A few years ago he garnered hip cachet when several of his albums were issued on Sonic Youth's Smells Like label, and now Hazlewood's cool quotient takes yet another uptick with "Total Lee." The in-crowd covering Hazlewood's quirky catalog inhabits these brooding tunes, which often explore the darker cavities of human behavior. Lambchop, sounding both creepy and sad, takes a bite out of the brief "I'm Glad I Never," setting a tone of unrelenting gloom. Madrugada's "Come On Home to Me" marches menacingly like a Nick Cave fever dream, while the Webb Brothers capture the eerie cinematic sweep of "Some Velvet Morning." Calexico's trumpets add the just right dash of Mexican spice to the doleful "Sundown, Sundown," which is followed by Johnny Dowd's Beach-Boys-on-a-bender "Sleep in the Grass," the perfect soundtrack to wash up on the shore by. The Amazing Pilots wring every last ounce of blood out of "Soul Island" and one could argue that the Lord created Tindersticks' Stuart Staples just so he could sing the melancholic "My Autumn's Done Come." Overall, this is one of those rare tributes that reveal the essence of an artist - the lugubrious delivery, the mordant humor, the lambent atmosphere. A true maverick and an even truer eccentric, Hazlewood is worth investigating, and "Total Lee," with illuminating liner notes penned by the man himself, is a good place to start.