One spin of FutureSex/LoveSounds and it's hard to believe that Justin Timberlake was ever a boy-band barnstormer-no modern-day male artist beats him when it comes to single-minded self assurance or suavity. "SexyBack," the inescapable summer sizzler of a first single off this short and thrillingly unwholesome disc, makes that clear on its own: If there was ever any question about whether sexy was in need of reviving-a doubtful proposition at best, given the sheer volume of JT's gyrating counterparts-he lays it to rest instantly over a small but insistent Timbaland-concocted beat. On that track, Timberlake's appeal is his sweet but newly thuggish-sounding voice-here's a good kid gone bad, and he's determined to convince us of it not only by tossing a few well-timed mother****ers our way but also with such lyrics as "I'll let you whip me if I misbehave. " The rest of FutureSex will feel familiar to anyone who picked up 2002's brilliantly funk-flecked Justified: "Love Stoned/I Think She Knows Me," shifts from Michael Jackson-esque paranoid trilling to pulsating guitar rock; "Chop Me Up," a collaboration with Three 6 Mafia and Timbaland, gives up the grit rap-style but still manages to recall both Prince and Stevie Wonder; "My Love," with T. I. , mines classic Timberlake territory with meltaway lyrics like "I can see us holding hands walking on the beach/Our clothes in the sand"; and the straight-up but groovy lament "Losing My Way" asks, searchingly, what may be the silliest question a squeal-inducing pop star has ever posed: "Can anybody out there feel me?" Rest assured, JT: we feel every past-, present-, and future-sexy verse. -Tammy La Gorce.

Michael Jackson's Thriller is the bestselling album of all time, with 45 million worldwide sales powered by eight Grammy Awards. The 1982 album was also a success from which the pop superstar never really recovered-subsequent albums seemed to have no other goal than to beat the records set by Thriller. The highly- polished sound of Quincy Jones's production sounds almost organic compared to Jackson's more recent work, and in the same regard, Thriller was significantly slicker than its predecessor, Off the Wall. Both albums established a Jackson style that aimed for the dance floor with songs built on a state-of-the-art bed of percussion and keyboards. Elements of milestone Thriller tracks like "Billie Jean" (arguably Jackson's best-ever performance) and "Beat It" (with its hard- rock solo by guitarist Eddie Van Halen) influenced not just Jackson's records, but those of the entire dance-pop world. On the song "Thriller", Jackson indulged his taste for the juvenile and invited Vincent Price to rap in a really scary voice. With Thriller the album, Jackson created a different kind of monster-a hit album of such magnitude that it would have an irrevocable impact not just on the singer's art, but on his altogether kooky life. -John Milward.

History may prove Beyoncé's B'Day to be a rare double-whammy of an achievement. Not only is it destined to hold up as one of the thumpingest, most polished-sounding discs of 2006, it's also bound to loose a new phrase into the popular lexicon: a "freekum dress" (n. ), as described on a same-named track halfway through this excellent CD, is a "right-fittin'" garment owned by every woman; "when they act wrong, that's when you put it on. " Linguistic hijinks aside, here is Beyoncé as the public rarely sees her: fully liberated and artistically fearless. "Ring the Alarm," a big-banging, fire-alarm-clanging wake-up call to a cheating man, finds her seething; "Kitty Kat," a feline-like size-up of a stale relationship helped along by the still innovative Neptunes, shows her spurned; the womanly, fire-in-the-belly come-on "Suga Mama" gets her way, way worked up; and the crackling, vocally volcanic "Resentment" steeps her in Aretha-caliber soul. For all the disc's solo trailblazing, though, where it really soars is on one of two duets with Jay-Z: While "Up Grade U" chugs along entertainingly enough about the good life ("I'm talkin' spa bags and fly pads and rooms at the Bloomberg"), opener "Deja Vu" blasts out a bomp-bomp beat nobody with a head to nod could resist. Cake, candles, and Cristal or no, B'Days rarely get this good. -Tammy La Gorce.

While it's true that the self-titled debut from Kasabian doesn't sound particularly original, that's hardly the point. They can be forgiven because they do it so well. Their influences are obvious throughout Kasabian: "Processed Beats" is the Stone Roses song that never was, while "Reason is Treason" could have driven straight off of Primal Scream's Vanishing Point. Self-professed fans of the afore-mentioned bands, as well as DJ Shadow and Neu!, Kasabian are clearly not afraid of a little electronic knob-twiddling. The result is an album that harkens back to the baggy days of the late 1980s and early 90s, seamlessly switching between bass-heavy anthems ("Club Foot") and blissed-out tracks ("I. D. "). And if they occasionally sound a bit like EMF, well, that's no bad thing-it's just proof that they know a thing or two about writing a catchy tune. Kasabian are by no means the first band to merge indie rock with dance floor beats, but they are easily one of the best. -Robert Burrow.

The joke of Licensed to Ill's cover-that the Beasties could crash their jet into the side of a mountain and keep on tickin'-serves as a good metaphor for a career that even some of their 1986 admirers thought might be over after the one-time-only shock of this full-length debut. That thousands of funk-junkie wannabes have since failed at re-creating its groove, breaking-the-law vibe, and ear-splitting mix of rock and rap is an even better joke. And funniest of all is the record itself, which packs aural puns and lots and lots of yelling into an album that can still be listened to with as much pleasure as it gave in 1986. -Rickey Wright.

A product of post-Acid-House Manchester, Mr Scruff is a complete one-off; a cheeky innovator. His debut album is a bold statement, distinctive and confident. Keep It Unreal oscillates wildly between opposing styles-one moment Scruff's in deep, down-tempo dinner jazz territory, the next he's in Coldcut mode, chopping out superb big beat breaks with naughty hooklines to get you pogoing. At one extreme is the wacko humour of Spandex Man, bolshi Fatboy Slim breakbeat and a silly 1920s swing loop that'll make you grin. And then there's the even more ridiculous "Shanty Town", with samples of a Jacknory story about a whale. At the other end of the scale, is Scruff's accomplished acid jazz-like the serene, trip-hoppy "Midnight Feast" or the smoothie cocktail number "Honeydew", with it's loungey female vocals. This man is out there, the Salvador Dali of beats and breaks. -Sarah Champion.

Trent Reznor has always been a one-trick-pony, but it's a damn good trick: sunny melodies filtered through ferocious electronics. Unfortunately, the trick's impact was often watered down by a tendency toward petulance and self-absorption. Still, almost six years after NIN's last release, The Fragile, the trick itself has lost none of its Teen-Beat-from-hell appeal. With Teeth blisters from the start with "All the Love in the World," and tracks like "The Collector" take full advantage of Dave Grohl's sledgehammer drumming. Reznor stretches occasionally, trying out different tactics, from crunchy, overtly commercial rave-ups ("The Hand That Feeds") to borderline New Wave ("Only"). But Teeth isn't about stretching. It's about doing the same trick, only better, with less clutter and more bite. By neatly distilling the sparseness of Pretty Hate Machine with Downward Spiral-style density, it ends up being the most focused record in the NIN catalogue. -Matthew Cooke.

Goldfrapp's Black Cherry inhabits a dark alley, bristling with urban menace and throbbing with a deep electronic pulse-a far cry from their breezy debut, which gently led the listener to a fairytale aural utopia occupied by Parisian pop, whistling divas and baroque masters. Having given up the countryside for a neon-lit studio, Alison Goldfrapp and Will Gregory have infused Black Cherry with an intensity and brooding claustrophobia that's both exuberant and sensual. Simultaneously mellifluous and mechanical, tracks such as "Train" with its fiery industrial rhythm steer Goldfrapp dangerously close to the ailing electro-clash scene, before veering back to more familiar territory with the likes of the sultry, downbeat "Black Cherry" and languid dreamy ambience of "Forever". Elsewhere our Hampshire-bred heroine gets deep down and dirty on "Twist", an ode to oral that finds Goldfrapp waxing lyrical to a fierce driving Kraftewerk-esq synth: "Before you go and leave this town/I want to see you one more time/ put your dirty angel face/ between my legs and make it last. No Felt Mountain to get lost in, but at least there's "Hairy Trees" to make up for it. -Christopher Barrett.