The 12 tracks on One Nil proffer a more organic, rougher-hewn take on Neil Finn's solid classicism. While Crowded House's populist folk-pop tugged as many purse-strings as it did hearts, Finn's solo career has been characterised by nothing more strident than the soft shuffle of gentle understatement-as if the Antipodean troubadour feared his former muse would be insulted by any attempts to out-pop the relentlessly tuneful House. Not that this follow-up to 1998's patchy solo debut Try Whistling This is in any way under-whelming. The swirling effects and treated guitars of "Rest of the Day" hint more at latter-day Split Enz and even, occasionally, Oasis than Crowded House. Unfortunately, there is also a sense that the addition of such sonic accoutrements may be little more than a ham-fisted attempt to add techno-savvy flesh to basic, traditional bones-with "Hole in the Ice" and "Secret God" imbued with dubious guitar solos and irritatingly superfluous backing vocals (courtesy, bizarrely enough, of former Prince demoiselles Wendy Melvoin and Lisa Coleman) that merely serve to detract from the music's warm-hearted core. Nevertheless, Finn's long-runnning lyrical concerns-love, loyalty and, predominantly, self-doubt-have never been expressed more adroitly. "Into the Sunset", for example, is a sweet love letter to his wife, while "Last to Know" manages to deliver a jaunty treatise on mortality ("I'll end up under a bus/With my fingers crossed"). Although Finn still appears reluctant to rock out with strong tunes, One Nil is neverthless bursting with charm and gentle melody, suggesting the "real" Neil Finn is finally finding his feet. -Sarah Dempster.

Bat Out of Hell is probably remembered most for its rock operetta of every teenage boy's plight, "Paradise by the Dashboard Light". Certainly the most dramatic piece on the album, it engaged Meat Loaf's testosterone-crazed tenor in an incremental game of sexual bargaining with the resistant but willing, Ellen Foley. By employing exaggerated power chords, screaming vocals, over-the-top arrangements and a sense of rock and roll as Broadway theatre, Bat made Meat Loaf a star. Jim Steinman's contribution to the record is invaluable. His classically tinged piano gave a certain lush quality to his collaborations with Meat Loaf, making songs like the hit "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" all the more emotional. Larger than life in every sense of the word, Bat Out of Hell sometimes sounds a bit dated but has retained most of its appeal. -Steve Gdula Bat Out of Hell is probably remembered most for its rock operetta of every teenage boy's plight, "Paradise by the Dashboard Light. " Certainly the most dramatic piece on the album, it engaged Meat Loaf's testosterone-crazed tenor in an incremental game of sexual bargaining with the resistant, but willing, Ellen Foley. By employing exaggerated power chords, screaming vocals, over-the-top arrangements, and a sense of rock and roll as Broadway theater, Bat made Meat Loaf a star. Jim Steinman's contribution to the record is invaluable. [+]

With his singular retro-rock vision, Chris Isaak had already graduated from cult figure to music-video heartthrob when he delivered this 1995 album. But if all the surface elements are intact, he has assimilated his chief vocal influences, Orbison and Elvis, even further, and Isaak's songs dig even deeper into his favourite subject, heartbreak, to shorten the distance between writer and singer. "Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing", the set's opener, employs the same growling rock-speak as George Thorogood's notorious "Bad to the Bone", but without a trace of irony-Isaak lashes the listener with the torment of a betrayed lover, telegraphing fear, desire, and anguish as he wheels from rumbling accusations to keening falsetto cries. Elsewhere, he withdraws to the more lyrical croon of his previous work, his band wreathed with the throbbing tremolo and ghostly reverb that are their natural elements. There's a folk-rock jangle to the lovely, forlorn "Somebody's Crying", a disarming directness to the simple but aching title song, and another burst of fevered agony, "Go Walking Down There", which gallops over a perfect mid-'60s guitar arrangement. For all its letter-perfect allusiveness, though, Forever Blue feels authentically heartbroken, not just cleverly crafted. -Sam Sutherland.

Tom Waits wasn't always the intense, even bizarre pop expressionist he'd become by the 1980s. Before the brilliant dementia of his later work, Waits was just another soft-spoken troubadour with a wicked sense of humour and a special fondness for jazz, blues, and the Beat generation. The roots of his music are revealed within the 13 tracks of The Early Years, a collection of previously unreleased 1971 demo tapes. Waits never intended these recordings for public consumption. But the wise guy pathos of "I'm Your Late Night Evening Prostitute" and the intentionally bad puns of "Had Me a Girl" hold up well as intelligent, charming, early snapshots of an important artist. -Steve Appleford.