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A quarter-century-plus after their stint in the great lost British glam-metal quintet Girl, Simon Laffy and Phil Collen reunite, hook up with Sex Pistols drummer Paul Cook, and go places that Collen's more famous employer Def Leppard only hinted at. The shimmering studio-as-stadium whooshes and souped-up shouted choruses are very Hysteria.

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In the spirit of music milestones such as Dylan going electric and Kiss removing their makeup, Sigur Rós have written their first song in English. They save the big reveal for the end, but the rest of their fifth album proves to be almost as noteworthy, swapping ethereal splendor for tighter songcraft.

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Driven by compact compositions and sprightly tempos, the ninth proper album in this otherworldly English act's sprawling catalog is their most blatantly bouncy.

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Rap-rock never got much respect, and for good reason: Most fusionists exploited the most obvious clichés of both worlds. This multiracial trio's debut full-length starts out with exactly the right mix on "45" -- hook-heavy, Pharcyde-inspired lyrics mesh with snaky live guitars, turntable scratches, and booming drums.

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Fifteen years ago, the prospect of California's Offspring infiltrating the mainstream with their playful, turbo-charged punk anthems was relatively exhilarating. Today, sounding little different, they won't inspire, upset, or amuse anyone.

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"Spaz" isn't just the name of a N.E.R.D. single -- it's what Pharrell, Chad Hugo, and Shae do all over the group's third album. Without warning, hard techno explodes into jazzy bridges; stiff quarter-note rhythms dissolve into Edge-y riffage; and a lyrical motley crew of Peeping Toms, playas, and suspiciously peppy club girls pop up to say their piece.