Malevolent megalomaniac or eerie artiste? Rob Zombie is a bit of both. With spooky metal music that's as colourful and kitschy as its comic art, the singer's solo debut bears more than a little resemblance to his band of many years, White Zombie. These 13 tracks (yeah, there just had to be 13!) continue to explore Zombie's fascination with psychotic noise, pummelling grooves, campy samples, and all things horrific. Instead of just playing dictator, however, this astrocreep allows space for cohorts such as guitarist Danny Lohner and drummers John Tempesta and Tommy Lee to shine darkly. He also shares artistic credit for the LP's elaborate 24-page booklet. Zombie's finely crafted disc is heavy-metal thunder that's turbocharged for the new millennium. -Janiss Garza.

Released in the summer of 1978 and cruelly denied the Number One spot by the decidedly non-New Wave Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, Black and White-The Stranglers' third studio album-found Guildford's gruesomely confrontational punks persisting brilliantly with their angrified and melodiously intoxicating melange of Hugh Cornwell's scrubby telecaster guitar, Dave Greenfield's burbling psychedelic keyboards and Jean-Jacques Burnel's brutally flatulent bass. That said, the album marked a noticeable departure from the antagonism and political incorrectness of No More Heroes. Deadpan pessimism featured prominently on Side 2 (the "black side" in old vinyl terms) courtesy of the apocalyptically grim "Enough Time" and the Cold War neurosis of "Curfew". Burnel spouted the memorable line "Bring me a piece of my Mummy, she was quite close to me" on "Threatened" and also paid tribute to controversial Japanese poet Yukio Mishima on the almost funky "Death And Night and Blood". Cornwell, in comparision, was relatively jovial, satirising the sterility of Scandinavian life on "Sweden" ("too much time to think too little to do") and penning a memorable joyriding ode in the spirit of "Fun Fun Fun" or Chris Spedding's "Motorbikin'", except this one was called "Tank". Black and White's less morbid moments included the elongated (and probably the best ever version) of Bacharach & David's "Walk On By" (imagine an instrumental, New Wave version of Deep Purple), the biblically-versed punk-reggae of "Nice 'n' Sleazy", the epic "Toiler On The Sea" and the ungainly mesh of punk noise (including Laura Logic's squawky toy sax) that was "Hey! Rise Of The Robots" ("They're gonna want a union soon, oil break that's dead on noon"). A brilliant record, true, but the best was yet to come. Kevin Maidment.

You're three tracks into The Cost before you find a song, "The Rise," that opens with anything but singer Glen Hansard's voice as the first thing you hear. The beauty is, you're waiting for the voice, with its hints of Cat Stevens's tonality and its utterly distinct Irish lift. It's Hansard that provides the Frames with such a rising vibe, the sense of a band always lifting off, pressed higher by Colm Mac An Iomaire's violin. Mac An Iomaire's strings slip and slide in the thickets of guitar, playing exceptional cat and mouse both when the guitars are clear and crisp and when they're crashing furiously. The Frames wouldn't claim to write epic tunes, but over and over the songs build toward ecstatic sonic events. Witness the hushed open to "People Get Ready" how it morphs into a violin and guitar-grit blast of wind-blown energy or the distortion-scoured hum behind Hansard's lone voice on "True" launching a languorous, piano-driven backdrop as the singer lets loose a first-class yowl-the stuff of anguished beauty. -Andrew Bartlett.

Glow is a triumphant sophomore effort from one of the rootsiest bands in the UK indie rock scene. The opening song-and first single-"Place Your Hands" became an anthem on every indie dancefloor, with the sublime guitar and boogie-woogie bass strutting through classic rhythm and blues. Seductive screaming is given free reign throughout, especially on the ironically dark "Come Back Brighter" where the band's clinical rock finds a stomping ground for frontman Gary Stringer to exploit and dominate with his immense voice. As with their first album, Replenish, there are plenty of chances to catch the band in a tender moment and "Consideration", with its gospel harmonies, explores new ground when the enchanting accompaniment grows into a majestic crescendo of togetherness. More sophisticated than their first album, Reef maintain their progressive and blues tinged rock influences but take it that little bit further, as their definitive sound bridges the distance between present day and vintage rock & roll. -David Trueman.

While most festive-themed rock offerings are as palatable as turkey leftovers or January credit card statements, Jethro Tull's The Christmas Album is 2003's folk-rock feast for the ears, a veritable hamper of delicacy bulging with dependable old faithfuls (newly rendered versions of JS Bach's "Bouree", "Weathercock", "Fires at Midnight" and "Ring Out Solstice Bells"), jazzed-up carol curiosities ("God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman" really goes with a swing à la Modern Jazz Quartet, "We Five Kings" comes over a little bit Dave Brubeck) and sundry confectionary extravagances, like Martin Barre's shivery instrumental " A Christmas Snowcape". While it's all reassuringly wrapped-up in the wintry Victorian romanticism of yore (the album cover, after all, is a charmingly subtle joke), The Christmas Album still questions-in curmudgeonly Ian Anderson fashion-what all this back-slapping bonhomie, alcoholic immoderation and High-street retail hysteria is all about. Thus, the frivolity of "Holly Herald" (two spritely carols rolled into one) is counterbalanced by a little Dickensian social conscience on "Jack Frost and the Hooded Crow", an imaginatively literate description of the despair of homelessness. Crisply produced in the manner of their vintage 1970s work and brimming with delightful instrumental wit and invention, The Christmas Album is a cracker you'll want to pull more than once. -Kevin Maidment.

Despite making it through a difficult four-year stretch in which the band temporarily broke up, singer Shirley Manson left her husband, and new technologies made the sleek electro-rock sound of its first three albums feel passé, Garbage resurfaces in rude health on Bleed Like Me. Manson is still kickboxing the air and stomping the glitter under her heels, as she channels Debbie Harry and Chrissie Hynde on edgy glam-rock anthems like "Run Baby Run" and "Metal Heart. " All the while three bookish producers in the background-including Butch Vig, who famously helmed Nirvana's Nevermind-turn up the sleazy machine-like rhythms. Foo Fighters front man Dave Grohl sits in on the drums for the menacing "Bad Boyfriend," but it's the confessional title track Bleed Like Me"-part "Walk on the Wild Side," part therapy session for former cutter Manson-that shatters Garbage's image as the ultimate non-stick studio band. "You should see my scars," goes the chorus. And, for once, Manson is actually willing to reveal them. -Aidin Vaziri.