Stereolab
Dots and Loops (Elektra)
Stereolab take their sonic cues from elevators, ice-skating rinks, and '50s film soundtracks, turning these ultrasquare sounds into some of the most innovative music around. On the eccentric British sextet's billionth album, the fluid harmonies and French-and-English lyrics of Laetitia Sadier and Mary Hansen glide over hip-swaying rhythms, layers of electronic effects, and the fab sounds of xylophone and maracas. All this potential kitsch morphs into a wonderfully hypnotizing spell, proving once again that Stereolab is one of the decade's most brilliant and underappreciated bands. As good as the Beatles.	Lorraine Ali
Photek
Modus Operandi (Astralwerks)
Drum 'n' bass albums rarely work. The music's percussive barrage grows tedious in sustained doses, and few artists have the conceptual ability to sustain a theme. But the first long-player from Photek (a.k.a. Rupert Parkes) is an exception. With "The Hidden Camera," Parkes supplies a creepy soundtrack for an England overrun by surveillance gadgets. On meditative cuts like "The 5th Column," Parkes reveals a Western interest in Asian culture that extends beyond Hong Kong action flicks and plastic Japanese kitsch. If you are one of those who think drum 'n' bass is the dance music equivalent of Dungeons and Dragons-a boys' club for dour obsessives-Modus Operandi probably won't alter your opinion of the genre. But it will certainly help you appreciate it even more.	Johnny Ray Huston
Tanya Donelly
Love Songs for Underdogs (Reprise)
In Throwing Muses, Tanya Donelly played Paul McCartney to Kristin Hersh's John Lennon. Strange, then, that on Donelly's twisting ride to solo artist (with successful pit stops in the Breeders and Belly), she should not only take with her the Muses' natural pop sensibilities, but also their penchant for musical adventurism. Donelly's solo debut frequently finds her evoking the gamine folk of an intelligent Jewel, only to turn around and terrorize like an angry Sinead O'Connor, and then go all Kate Bush-theatrical before you've had a chance to adjust. Half the album is extraordinary, but with a stronger sense of self, Donelly might have turned out a full-fledged classic.	Dudley Saunders
Boyz II Men
Evolution (Motown)
Boyz II Men sound one step closer to the old age home on Evolution. Revisiting the same toothless lyrics and tortoise tempos that sold so well on its last two studio albums, the Philadelphia foursome delivers another sedate parade of luxuriant harmonies, mellifluous hooks, and rubbery beats buffed to a colorless gleam. They're masterful vocal technicians, but they undercut their skills with the colossal safeness of everything they do. Songwriting and production assists from Sean "Puffy" Combs, Babyface, and Jimmy Jam Jam Jam and Terry Lewis add exactly what Boyz II Men don't need: more polish.	Dimitri Ehrlich
Helium
The Magic City (Matador)
Thanks to the twisted lyrical persona and innovative guitar spirals of leader Mary Timony, Helium have always been a step ahead of their indie rock peers. Nothing they've done before, however, suggested they had an album like this in them. On The Magic City, the band achieves new heights by trading its spartan power-trio sound for eerie Celtic folk, swirling postpunk synths, and sci-fi effects. It's a heady brew, resembling a rock 'n' roll Paul's Boutique in its kaleidoscopic majesty. As always, Timony's haunting vocals remain the key. On tracks like "Ocean of Wine," she evokes both danger and innocence in the most nutty way.	Matt Diehl
The Sundays
static and silence (Geffen)
True to its name, this British quartet has always been lovely, lazy, and just a tad dull. Now things have changed. On their third disc (after a five-year hiatus), the Sundays have learned how to rise and shine. They actually jam on the funk-inflected grooves of "Summertime" and "Another Flavor," emphasizing attitude over atmosphere, and they pile stately orchestral flourishes onto "Folk Song" and "Cry." No longer willing to play the delicate ingenue, frontwoman Harriet Wheeler has toughened into a steely cross between Mazzy Star's Hope Sandoval and the Cranberries' Dolores O'Riordan-only without the drowsy intonation or the latter's cranky disposition.	Jeremy Helligar
Steve Earle
El Corazon (E-Squared/Warner Bros.)
When an artist known for living on the edge backs away from the precipice, it is not always beneficial to his or her art. On El Corazon, Steve Earle proves that peaceful living-a much-needed change for him, given his well-publicized drug addiction and imprisonment-needn't translate into sonic blandness. Songs like "You Know the Rest" are as austerely powerful as anything Earle, one of his generation's most underrated lyricists, has ever written. Magnifying their intensity is a newly controlled delivery that shreds the heartstrings with every line.	David Sprague
Matraca Berg
Sunday Morning to Saturday Night (Rising Tide)
Matraca (the c is soft) Berg is that rare instance of an upper-echelon songwriter more befitting of a place in front of her songs than behind them. From unabated lust for a "bowlegged dream" on a Saturday night to the inevitable Sunday-morning-prayer-meeting miseries, Berg paints portraits of a community rife with unspoken hunger and ancient dreams, bespeaking a wisdom beyond her years. And her voice, backed by an entire troupe of Nashville yodelers, has a forgiving lilt that shifts into go-for-broke overdrive. She's mighty cute, and will break quite a few hearts before she ends her days.	Henry Cabot Beck