Blame Tricky and Portishead. They started this whole Bristol sound thing, with sleepy techno beats overshadowed by the chirrupy vocals of some slumberland chanteuse. And, just when you think the approach has lost all its steam, all its relevance, along comes a new outfit to make the music a few degrees sleepier and the singing a tad more dreamy. And singers don't come any dreamier than Skye Edwards, whose lissom trill infuses every track on this sophomore outing with a tranquil ennui. You don't jump around to Morcheeba numbers like "The Sea". You sit back and let them creep up on you, as steady as the tides. -Tom Lanham.

Long before Michael Jackson and Prince became superstars by fusing rhythmic soul with rock's sense of scale and ambition, a former northern California deejay and producer named Sylvester Stewart took the vaunted musical utopianism of the 60s and forged it into the cross-cultural, ass-shaking, genre-bending groove monster that was Sly and the Family Stone. James Brown may have invented funk, but S&TFS masterfully tooled and supercharged it into mass-acceptance. No mere greatest hits collection (though they're all here in digitally remastered glory), this 35-track, double-disc anthology delves deeper into the handful of seminal albums the band produced before its leaders' long, troubling slide into drug abuse and oblivion. Given the chronological development, there's a sense here that Stewart/Stone's problems paralleled the increasingly militant and hard-edged stance the band took on albums like the uncompromising classic There's a Riot Going On. Propelled by Larry Graham's locomotive bass lines and accented by rousing horns, Sly and company swooped from the heights of 1969's hit-laden "Stand" towards a darker and more unsettling decade ahead. Few bands have soared higher-or fallen as far. -Jerry McCulley.

With the release of Maladroit, just over 12 months after The Green Album, Weezer appear to be in the midst of a particularly fertile creative period. After taking five leisurely years to follow up on 1996's Pinkerton, the Los Angeles power-pop band is apparently on a roll. "Dope Nose", which is easily stronger than anything on the last album, flexes a sinister shout-along chorus and vintage Van Halen riffs, while the potent garage-punk blast of "Fall Together" wipes out any lingering discomfort over the thoroughly Sugar Ray-sounding "Island in the Sun" (which, incidentally, is included again on this album). In a sense The Green Album was just a taster for this, the blissfully thunderous main dish. Sure, there are some deadpan emo moments ("Death and Destruction") littering the course, but mostly Maladroit is Weezer doing what they do best-inverting and embracing dumb rock stereotypes and somehow making them sound smart. -Aidin Vaziri.

When you first heard that Billy Bragg and Wilco were teaming up to set some Woody Guthrie lyrics to music, you knew it'd be an interesting project. But did anyone realistically think Mermaid Avenue would also wind up being one of 1998's finest albums? That's exactly what it is, a distinction it pulls off by simultaneously honouring Guthrie and blasting away any folksy expectations we might have of his music. Walking Guthrie's World War II-era lyrics into the 20th century's second, rock & roll half, Bragg and Wilco's Jeff Tweedy take turns on lead vocals, and the entire group collaborates on a sound that draws on folk- and country-rock, from Bob Dylan and the Band to Gram Parsons and Uncle Tupelo. The results are nearly flawless, ranging from yearning laments and playful children's rockers to horny ballads and brave protest songs that are not merely political but also profoundly moral. Like all of Guthrie's work, Mermaid Avenue is music to live better by. -David Cantwell.

Upon the release of Gish-the group's debut-in the summer of 1991, more than one rock aficionado hailed the Smashing Pumpkins as the best band to come out of Chicago since Ministry. A bold statement, yes, but one backed up by Billy Corgan's Hendrix-like riffs and searing signature guitar tone. Intriguing songwriting is evidenced from the start as well, with the driving, amped-up rock of "I Am One", "Siva", and "Tristessa" contrasted with the soothingly eerie psychedelic flavour of "Rhinoceros" and "Window Paine". Gish predates the band's movement towards the loop-based electronic sounds heard in their late-1990s works, yet the seeds for this transition are definitely apparent. Electro guru Tricky even sampled the backbeat from "Suffer" in the tributary "Pumpkin" on his sex-soaked Maxinquaye. Butch Vig (Garbage) shows off his chops as producer and cultivates signature dramatic moods on Gish, which helped put the Smashing Pumpkins on the map as one of the most important alt-rock bands of the '90s-much to the delight of the decade's disenfranchised youth. -Brad Zinser.

As much as Jon Bon Jovi would like to consider himself the next Springsteen, he isn't, and the thought of a Bon Jovi record in any way being influenced by the attacks of September 11 is too horrific a prospect to contemplate. Luckily, on Bounce, the references are kept in the background and the album is neither overtly melancholy nor directly poignant. It follows 2000's disappointing Crush-an album that, with just one single, managed to keep their flame alive in the context of modern rock music by revisiting a style that they'd been trying to get away from since "Livin' on a Prayer". Here, they try to move on from this again, but unlike 1991's Keep the Faith, they can't quite pull it off. The album has, however, a distinct and deliberately contemporary feel-power chords instead of endless Sambora guitar noodling. The opener, "Undivided", hammers this point home, and "The Distance" and first single "Everyday" tell you that Bon Jovi can compete with the upstarts. The polar opposites of these are old-style tracks-the Jovi/Sambora cowboy partnership of "Right Side of Wrong" and, yes, the token ballads-none of which compare to "Bed of Roses" or "Always". If the band could produce an album as contemporary, slick and just plain good as Jon Bon Jovi's second solo offering, Destination Anywhere, then their future would be assured. More mature, sophisticated and modern than Crush, it will galvanise their slowly declining position for a while longer. It's a disappointment, of course, but a pleasantly surprising one. [+]

Despite three wildly-varying, and rarely-satisfying previous albums, it seemed to most onlookers that Pulp emerged, butterfly-like, as a fully formed entity with 1994's His 'n' Hers, the first proper indication of Pulp's modus operandi. While there'd been hints at the retro-futurist sheen of Candida Doyle's prominent keyboards, and Jarvis Cocker's eye for grimy suburban storytelling on earlier tracks like "Sheffield: Sex City", the apex of Cocker's lyrical preoccupations and wordplay appears on His 'n' Hers. And they're not just clever; they're also perfect pop songs. "Babies" and "Lipgloss" are all still guaranteed classics at any indie disco, but the rest of the album is lyrically arresting, filled with council-estate chic and dislikeable anti-heroes, a whole decade before Pete Doherty or The Arctic Monkeys made it cool again - just listen to "Joyriders" or "Acrylic Afternoons" to see how it should be done. All of this is offset with the charming summation of late-adolescent summer, essayed in the wondrous, beautiful closer "David's Last Summer". A perfect ten so far, but the bonus disc of high-quality B-sides ("Street Lites" and the title track being particularly excellent) and unheard demos means that this release is an absolutely essential purchase, even if you already own it. -Thom Allott.

Days of Speed, recorded live and acoustic at various shows during his 2001 global tour, will do little to further Paul Weller's standing among critics, who have a blind spot when it comes to Paul Weller. How is it, they want to know, that the man responsible for one of the most inspirational commercial punk-era bands (The Jam) and the cosmopolitan verve of the early 1980s nouveau jazz/pop Style Council is so seemingly content spending his twilight years turning himself into a third-rate Eric Clapton? Clearly, he's not lacking in talent (or fervent support, as the applause on this album proves). Yet he insists on singing in a wooden fashion-you could kindly compare him to Steve Winwood, if Weller wasn't so clearly his own man-and writing songs that continue to ignore the outside world. Contrast the older songs here-a lacklustre "That's Entertainment", a desultory "Headstart for Happiness" from the Council's excellent 1984 album Café Bleu, "Town Called Malice" divorced of its driving Motown beat (surely its main part)-with the newer version of Weller, a "mature" Weller, a Weller that clearly thinks the concerns of the world are no longer his. "You Do Something to Me" (from 1995's successful Stanley Road) still shimmers above the hedgerow, "Amongst Butterflies" (from 1992's Paul Weller) possess a certain naïve charm, but on the whole this is heavy going indeed. One indistinguishable love song follows another. The fall and fall of Weller certainly adds fuel to the fire of those who believe rock & roll to be a youth music, but really it comes down to one simple test for old Jam fans: which song did you prefer, "Going Underground" or "That's Entertainment"? -Everett True.