Reminiscences permeate the dozen diverse tracks that populate Everclear's fourth outing. The trio, spearheaded by writer/guitarist/producer Art Alexakis, looks back in myriad ways on Songs from an American Movie. Alexakis skillfully and sweetly addresses his recent divorce ("The Honeymoon Song,""Now That's It's Over"), musical heroes ("Otis Redding"), and childhood ("AM Radio"), frequently matching his words with suitably retro music. Although the only cover is a new-wave take on Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl," familiar musical references abound. On "AM Radio," a brief sample of "Mr. Big Shot" sets the tone for funky flashback fun, while "The Honeymoon Song" is full of Brian Wilson inflections. Alexakis references his own "Everything to Everyone" in the title track, while "Otis Redding,""Unemployed Boyfriend," and "Wonderful" are more commercial alt-rock Everclear than homage Everclear. Alexakis set out to make a pop album, and while millennial teenagers have their own definition of "pop," for '70s-kid Alexakis, Songs from an American Movieserves as a summertime soundtrack to his thirtysomething life. —Katherine Turman

With the market for modern angst having been sold short by headline writers and color-coded terror-alert designers, what's a '90s-grunge-rooted rock band to do? In the case of Art Alexakis and Everclear, you bare your soul with a smile. On the evidence here, the melodic '70s pop affectations of his divorce-chronicling Songs from an American Movie, Vol. 1seem to have permanently seeped into Everclear's sound. But they're considerably beefier than the album's straightforward production, wrapping dry observations about American life in bouncy, driving slices of pop-punk that are as infectious as they are wryly disconcerting. Tracks like the album's first single, "Volvo Driving Soccer Mom," and the spirited "How to Win Friends and Influence People" suggest that pervasive rumors of irony's demise have been overstated—or simply ignored—by a gleeful Alexakis and company. If it's an album that also argues that the band is working from formula, it's one they'd be wise to patent. Enhanced CD features include Web keys to performance footage, home movies, and B-side downloads. —Jerry McCulley

Guilty pleasure alert No. 2013: Filter absolutely, positively would not exist without the dirty, gritty musical formulas laid before him by Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor. The on-the-edge screams, the heavy industrial rhythms, the full-frontal guitar sounds—it's all been done before. And if that weren't enough, vocalist-guitarist-rhythmatist Richard Patrick lived a pre-Filter life as a touring band member in an early version of the aforementioned Nails. Indeed, Short Buscouldn't get more plagiaristically preposterous, and yet—oh, the guilt—this is the perfect disc to primally purge by. From the disc's crunchy opener hit "Hey Man Nice Shot" through to the oh-so-Trent-y "Under" and the slow, stalking beats of the hilariously tagged "Gerbil," this disc is 46 minutes of fiery fun; you could spend time being pissed off at its lack of originality or you could just enjoy it for what it is—sheer walls of white noise. —Denise Sheppard

"Hey Man, Nice Shot" may have been a fluke hit, but Filter's Richard Patrick has spent four years working on the follow-up album, mastering enough sonic variety to ensure that Filter stick around the moshpit. Programmer Brian Liesegang is gone, but Patrick continues on, picking up the slack and yielding nothing. Crowd reaction is impossible to anticipate, but at 70 minutes, Title of Recordis an exhaustive collection of hyperkinetic guitars, subliminal melodies and thunderous dynamics—which is to say, it sports plenty of hard rock aggression, but is firmly rooted in the pop experience that keeps the songs in your head. "It's Gonna Kill Me" has a stalker's vibe in its techno-metal roots, while "Take a Picture" and "Captain Bligh" are radio-friendly unit shifters that suggest that underneath the technology rests a beating, and often bruised, human heart. —Rob O'Connor

Filter's third album was inspired by a cross-country trip that imbued lead singer Rich Patrick with patriotism and appreciation for both the diversity and sense of freedom he found out on the road. While the recording is purported to be a celebration of that diversity, most of the record hasn't strayed much from the alt-metal template that Filter cut their teeth on back with their 1995 debut. Here are the same teeth-gnashing rants, scatter-gun drumming, and claustrophobic soundscapes that inhabited their first two albums. Patrick, however, has eschewed much of his trademark bloodcurdling screaming in favor of a lush vocal style that would suit an '80s New Romantic frontman. Though it's oddly an industrial band, Filter's best songs almost qualify as power ballads. The gorgeous melodies and moody lyrics of "The Missing" (written on September 11) and the psychedelic pop of "The Only Way Is the Wrong Way" owe more to Smashing Pumpkins than Nine Inch Nails. But even the jarring "American Cliché" and the ragged, downcast "Where Do We Go from Here" veer closer to pop than anything that appeared on the first two albums. The Amalgamutultimately is a sophisticated and intelligent pop-metal hybrid. —Jaan Uhelszki

When the Pawn Hitsfulfills the promise of Fiona Apple's debut, Tidal, a strong statement given that her first outing was one of 1996's most exciting collections. Dark and emotionally dense, Apple's sophomore effort is awash in alluring and witty undercurrents that belie its creator's youth. —Steven Stolder

Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots, The Flaming Lips' long awaited follow-up to 1999's The Soft Bulletin. Guest artist Yoshimi P-we plays with psyche-noise-experimental group the Boredoms and leads her own band OOIOO. The Yoshimi in the songs, however, is a fictional character. 11 tracks. 2002.

A major criticism of the Foo Fighters' self-titled debut was its supposed lack of, you know, passion among the well-crafted songs and well-crafted rock. This time out, if it's wreckage you want, it's wreckage you get. The Colour & the Shapegrows deeper the more it's played, with the band's ripping power more than matched by Dave Grohl's fascinating examinations of pain and divorce. There's even a convincing long slow ballad, "November Stars," whose intensity should win over doubters. If that doesn't work, then the screaming "My Hero" will. —Rickey Wright

Riding the momentum of the hit single "Learn to Fly," which hit No. 1 on the modern-rock charts long before this album's release, the Foo Fighters' third record is unarguably its most refined and poppy. The ominous riff that the opens "Stacked Actors" (which sounds like something Kurt Cobain could have hacked out on Nirvana's gnarly In Utero) is pretty much a red herring. The 10 tunes that follow are a succession of hook-laden pop songs tarted up with guitarist-vocalist (and former Nirvana drummer) Dave Grohl's thick guitars and increasingly sugar-sweet vocals. Nearly every cut on There Is Nothing Left to Losehas the potential of following "Learn to Fly" up the charts. The production is big and friendly and songs like "Generator,""Aurora," and "Headwires" just melt in your mouth. And even though the Foo Fighters' latest is seductively sweet in sound, there are just enough rough edges and lyrical angst to keep things interesting. —Adem Tepedelen

There's a certain sameness to the spiky, percussive bursts of punk-pop tabled by the Foo Fighters. Yet it's pretty hard to fault players as palpably enthusiastic as Dave Grohl and his gang. Every Foos record, up to and including their fourth studio disc, One by One, fluently merges rock menace with unabashedly cheery melody and thoughtful if cryptic lyrics. (And those videos!) So while insistent, guiterrorized tracks like "All My Life" and "Times Like These (One-Way Motorway)" don't expand the Foos' oeuvre, they're catchy as hell and well worth the price of admission. Those searching for veiled Nirvana/Courtney references will no doubt unearth them (or unearth what seem like veiled references), while longtime fans can relax in the knowledge that a seasoned pro like Grohl knows better than to muck with a winning formula. —Kim Hughes

Garbage's third album is an almost total departure for modern rock's renowned poster children. Shirley Manson, Butch Vig, Duke Erickson, and Steve Marker robustly straddled the line between alternative rock and techno in their two efforts, whipping up two finely crafted CDs that captured the cultural mood of the late '90s. After six years in the saddle, they've shaken off the charge that they're a producer's creation and have emerged as a full-blown band. The band has also given up all pretext at being au courant and topical, instead combining '80s kitsch with '70s pop, with a stop along the way to worship at the altars of Phil Spector and Chrissie Hynde and even at times arriving at their own version of nu soul. "Shut Your Mouth" is raw and menacing and does as much for female empowerment as a Missy Elliott hit. "Can't Cry These Tears Anymore" is a modern take on Leslie Gore's "It's My Party (And I'll Cry If I Want To), but with all the strangeness of Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. If there is a single theme to Beautiful Garbage(named after a line in a Courtney Love song), it's that smart girls don't put all their faith in love. The heroine in most of these 13 songs would rather kick a faithless lover in the, er, shins with her stilettos than pine by the phone. The "Stupid Girl" of the band's debut is now just a stupid memory. —Jaan Uhelszki