It's one of R&B's great mysteries: How does a thin, pinched meow of a voice like Macy Gray's manage to sound gutsier and more convincing than an entire roomful of her more vocally gifted neosoul sisters? The answer is in one of the few tricks Gray shares with Thom Yorke: It's not necessarily the words that hook 'em; it's often what you don't say and how you don't say it. So, bending and stretching her phrases to the edge of their breaking point, sending words off her tongue in odd and scarcely recognizable shapes, sliding ahead of and behind the beat and disdaining meter wherever possible, Gray turns her music-school nightmare of a voice into an irresistibly catchy instrument.

On two albums, 1999's breakthrough On How Life Is, and 2001's The Id, Gray has divided audiences with her off-kilter singing but has left few in doubt about her power to get a message across. Set down in a hotbed of loose vintage-organ-spiced, funkified R&B -- the kind that harkens back to the days before big-foot producers began squeezing the breath out of every note -- Gray's voice found its perfect context. Even her songs about pumping hot lead into a wayward lover acquired a buoyant, semiserious flavor.

So it's a good thing that The Trouble With Being Myself doesn't screw around with the formula. Serious Gray fans may wonder what alternative rocker Beck is doing in the credits (it's a tribute to Gray's eclecticism: He co-wrote the song "It Ain't the Money"), but, as ever, Gray sounds like the musical offspring of Al Green and Sly Stone. The spectacular multiplatinum success of her debut album and the merely good sales of The Id might have hinted that perhaps some tinkering was called for, but Gray and her producer, the canny and commercial-minded Dallas Austin, resisted; Myself could almost be side three of The Id. Part biography, part self-analysis, part feminine primal scream, Myself is a tour through familiar Gray territory, spiked with humor and her take-no-bullshit attitude. Fans will instantly recognize the opener, "When I See You," as the sort of straightforward anthem in the mold of "I Try," her biggest hit. But more interesting things await. Dipping into fairy tale on "My Fondest Childhood Memories," Gray conjures a tale of wonderfully skewed heroism: She offs the plumber when she catches him servicing her mom and gives the nanny the same treatment after catching her with her dad. "Grown up now, as you can see," she sings, "my parents are still happily married thanks to me." But mostly, Gray fills the record with her favorite themes: love that's bad for your health, love you know you shouldn't give in to, love that feels good but you know is going to wind up in a ditch. When she sings "She Ain't Right for You" and "She Don't Write Songs About You," both tunes about an intense love about to curdle from its own heat, it's Macy working in her sweet spot, and that's right where she should be. (DAVID THIGPEN)

Jessy Moss Street Knuckles (Dreamworks)

On her blues and hip-hop sprinkled debut, Street Knuckles, Aussie babe Jessy Moss sings and raps about her hard-knock life. The problem is that the twenty-four-year-old, who boasts Nina Simone and Wu-Tang as influences, does neither genre convincingly. Although Butch Vig (Garbage) and Carmara Kambon (Eminem) provide compelling, scratch-infused sonics, Moss fails to capitalize on their beat science with her thin, amateurish vocals and derivative rap style (think a serious Princess Superstar). On the mostly guts and little glory disc, Moss waxes autobiographical about karmic retribution (the Tricky-reminiscent "Build You Up"), being robbed at gunpoint (the disturbing "Confessions"), infidelity (the Dido-esque "Thanks for the Pictures"), and her dad (the Eminem rip-off "Chapters"). Although she hits her stride singing over "Alarm"'s ska beat and her rhymes sound strongest on the off-kilter "Landbitch," about a sleazy landlord, overall Moss's street knuckles aren't tough enough to duke it out in America's hip-hop arena. (TRACY E. HOPKINS)

Pete Droge Skywatching (Puzzle Tree/United Musicians)

"If you don't love me, I'll kill myself," threatened Pete Droge on his catchy 1994 hit single of the same name. The public called his bluff, but Droge apparently settled on being liked, because nine years, four albums (five, counting his recent teaming with Matthew Sweet and Shawn Mullins in the Thorns) and no more hits to speak of later, he's still around, consistently turning out charming and finely crafted singer-songwriter indie-pop that deserves a bigger audience. Skywatching, like 1998's equally excellent Spacey & Shakin before it, will surely make you feel bad for not being over the moon for him. But unless you make a concerted effort to listen to at least a couple of tracks -- try the bittersweet "Train Love to Stay," for starters -- at least once a day for the rest of the summer, sadly, inevitably, you'll forget about him all over again, until next time. (RICHARD SKANSE)

Klute Lie Cheat and Steal/You Should Be Ashamed (Hospital Records/Breakbeat Science)

A reliable supplier of tuneful drum-n-bass, Klute hits and misses with this double album of original material. Lie Cheat and Steal is a melodically spacious take on the genre that avoids boring atmospherics. His inclusion of vivid and novel sound sources into the roomy structures makes "Ether" stand out, while cleverly placed vocals, such as on the Grace Jones-esque "Candy Ass" and the playful "Part of Me," stop them from falling into the pit of overwrought diva-ness. Klute's inventive approach adds a new dimension to these dance floor- and listener-friendly numbers. On the other hand, You Should Be Ashamed goes in the techno direction. There are moments of serious funkiness on the minimalist, yet filled-out, "Machines Do the Work"; "Artificial Sense" is a nice ride with a deeply hollow bassline, and "Wishing 4 Better" bumps with old school sounds of early Nineties rave vibes. But the rest brings no new slant to the tried and retried sounds of bare-bones techno. (LILY MOAYERI)

Cibelle Cibelle (Six Degrees)

Brazil's electronica-jazz fusion has already created crossover sensation Bebel Gilberto. Enter 2003's starlet Cibelle, who's debut bounces from trad bossa nova to electronic lounge to space jazz. Latin guitars make friends with synthesizers and programmed percussion courtesy of collaborator Apollo 9. Producers Chris Harrison and Pete Norris (Morcheeba) bring a vast palette of sound and style together smoothly -- Cibelle builds off the past rather than just trendy beats. "Hate" recalls the psych-pop of Brazil's answer to the Beatles, Os Mutantes, albeit with digitized congas. "Waiting" is trip-hop served Sao Paulo style, more Spirtitualized than "Girl from Ipanema." "Ill Be" falters, sounding like a knock-off Sade, typical downtempo diva fluff. But there's also subtle experimentalism as on the finale "Pequenos Olhos," which finds the chanteuse cooing against melancholy electric piano riffs in front of a backdrop of city car-horn noise. Cibelle makes the case that sun-kissed sounds can be cerebral too. (JOHN DUGAN)

Medicine The Mechanical Forces of Love (Astralwerks)

As far as extreme makeovers go, few bands can measure up to Medicine. Since putting out its last record in 1995, the Los Angeles group has cast off all its original members except one, chucked its menacing electro-goth sound and come back with a voluptuous new vocalist Shannon Lee, daughter of martial arts legend Bruce. It's like the rock world's equivalent to a nose job, breast implants, a brow lift, tummy tuck, Lasik surgery and botox. And the results are just as eye-popping. Trading in sheets of distortion for actual pop melodies and playful electronic rhythms, Medicine founder Brad Laner has renovated the band for the new millennium. He tempers his experimental side with Lee's ethereal voice, and makes the heavy circuitry sound human with lovely, soulful melodies, particularly on "Best Future" and "Wet on Wet." Axl Rose must be sooooo jealous. (AIDIN VAZIRI)

Godhead Evolver (Reality Entertainment)

Marilyn Manson proteges Godhead stand out from the metal crowd with their visceral goth- and industrial-flavored fare and seppuku-gloom lyrics. The follow-up to their promising 2000 Years of Human Error, Evolver has what it takes to snag a broader audience. Though industrial trappings turn up on most tracks, singer Jason C. Miller has a remarkably smooth voice, and melody is a core element of this album. "The Hate in Me," lights the fuse with a Manson-esque opening before folding into a chorus that could belong to Collective Soul. "The Giveaway" roars along on assault-weapon guitars while Method's programming does its best to suture the wounds. The funereal "Rotten" goes from dirge to purge with rolling thunder axes anchoring the shift. With some acoustic touches and lighter sonic moments, Evolve never gets stuck in one groove. Hybrid, nihilistic and tortured, it'll suck at your soul and get better with every listen. (ADRIAN ZUPP)

The Love Scene Blood is the New Black (Fenway)

New Jersey alt-countriers the Love Scene sound like Rhett Miller singing Ryan Adams' rockers, which means they sound like early Wilco -- and the list goes on. Though Blood is the New Black may not actually demonstrate anything new, it does reveal a simple and charming new pop-twang band. Somewhere between a gin n' tonic and a whiskey, the Love Scene deliver head-bopping sing-alongs about girls, travel and, well, life. At once driving and gentle, they're instantly endearing. The standout "Misinformation on the 101" boasts cranked-up guitars and a hooky melody with an "ooh ooh" chorus -- a package that is simply splendid. If the Love Scene progress like their influences did, this foursome will definitely be worth remembering. (BENJAMIN FRIEDLAND)

Colin Linden Big Mouth (Accord Music)

"Canada: Discover our True Nature," urges the Canadian Tourist Board's Web site. If Colin Linden's latest release, Big Mouth, is any indication, that country's true nature lies in part in the uncanny ability of its musicians to make Yankee audiences believe we're hearing something issued from our own soil. With Big Mouth, Linden gives us an album that sounds for all the world like it sprang from the Mississippi Delta by way of Nashville. It helps that Linden -- a longtime Howlin' Wolf acolyte -- is in good company. Featuring tracks with Lucinda Williams, Bruce Cockburn, and Keb' Mo', Big Mouth is a testament to Linden's talent for collaboration; in particular, "Don't Tell Me," his duet with Williams, has her sounding happier than she has in a long time. The album is also a strong testament to Linden's abilities as a solo performer; whether picking raw, red clay blues or crooning a ballad like the poignant "Without the One You Love," he displays the sort of easygoing confidence that any musician, north or south of the border, would be lucky to call their own. (REBECCA MARX)

Various Artists Bad Boys II (Bad Boy)

This is how to do a hip-hop soundtrack. P. Diddy's album to accompany the Martin Lawrence-Will Smith sequel features new Neptunes-produced cuts with Jay-Z, Diddy, Lenny Kravitz, Pharrell and Loon working hard for the money, as well as exclusive, hit-worthy tracks by Nelly, Beyonce, Snoop Dogg, 50 Cent and more. Standout: Justin Timberlake's almost unrecognizably funky "I Love You." (BARRY WALTERS)

(July 14, 2003)