As a rapper, Wyclef Jean specializes in affability. There's nothing notably liquid or percussive in his confident groove, nothing notably smooth or abrasive in his conversational timbre. Though he was the organizing intelligence behind the Fugees, Lauryn Hill outstrips him in charisma and vocal talent as clearly as he outstrips Pras. Nor is his cachet improved by the failure of the Fugees' pop outreach and gender politics to impress hip-hop hards. Hence his critical support has always come from outsiders. As one such, it is my duty to report that Wyclef's third solo album, while entertaining enough, is short on the sane, humane pleasures so plentiful on the first two. Even those who believe there's nothing wrong with star-time cameos, high-profile samples and world-music beats won't spin this disc a year from now and delight in one minor stroke after another.

The cameos are way down, actually -- last time Kenny Rogers and Whitney Houston, this time M.O.P., whose bark and bite on the standout title track have the unintended side effect of illustrating Wyclef's limitations as an MC. The Brownsville beat-down specialists also underline a thug theme that has never been more prominent. Although, as always, Wyclef warns against the life of crime, he's too concerned with proving he has a right to sermonize, most successfully in the where-I'm-from credo "PJ's" -- which is more impressive as autobiography than "What a Night," where he comes to "rule the industry" while helpmates paraphrase the old Four Seasons song. In the past, Wyclef adeptly balanced pop and exotica; here, the Chinese scales and Israeli violin are arresting, the Four Seasons and Tom Jones annoying. And because Wyclef is a bit soft even if hards say so, his attempts to address big issues flop -- on a "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" rewrite about the hood and the World Trade Center, an anti-war song that asks, "When will the violence cease?" and, saddest of all, a threnody for his dead dad. Hate to say it, dog, but Mia X did it better. (ROBERT CHRISTGAU)

Anastacia Freak of Nature (Epic)

Anastacia's story is almost too weird to be true. The frizzy-haired former wedding singer was discovered on an episode of MTV's short-lived talent contest The Cut, which she sadly did not win. With Michael Jackson's unsolicited support and a thorough a J.Lo-style makeover in 1999 she released a debut album, Not That Kind, that promptly flopped in America, but caught on across Europe. Now she has been shipped back as a fully developed, platinum-certified pop star with 5 million sales worldwide and counting. It's fitting that her homecoming took place at VH1's recent Divas Las Vegas show, alongside the likes of Celine Dion, Cher and Mary J. Blige. The music on Anastacia's second album, Freak of Nature, is pure polish. With producer Rick Wake (Jennifer Lopez, Mariah Carey) overseeing a majority of the cuts, the songs are tempered with as much plucky R&B passion as they are cold hard dollar signs. Anastacia eases off the pummeling power ballads that made up most of her debut, but there are still moments of sheer overkill -- the dated synthesizer funk of "One Day in Your Life" and the grating "Paid My Dues" are obvious offenders. But the sublime acoustic-soul of "Overdue Goodbye" offers valuable respite, while a pairing with Faith Evans -- one of the judges on that fated episode of The Cut -- on "I Thought I Told You That" is tantalizingly triumphant. (AIDIN VAZIRI)

No Use for a Name Hard Rock Bottom (Fat Wreck Chords)

With Hard Rock Bottom, longstanding California punks No Use for a Name broaden their musical scope to embrace strings ("Pre-Medicated Murder") and a Sinead O'Connor cover ("This Is a Rebel Song"). And since the group had gotten rather formulaic by '99s More Betterness!, the newfound diversity is refreshing. From its melodically somber opener ("Feels Like Home") to its last crushing thud ("Nailed Shut"), the outfit's ninth album finds No Use reaching the recorded apex of their fifteen-year history. Although vocalist Tony Sly fuels tracks like "Angela" and "International You Day" with tuneful allure, Dave Nassie's blistering guitar work ultimately stands out among these thirteen filler-free songs. And judging by the radio-ripe first single, "Dumb Reminders" -- brought forth with infectious hooks akin to the Foo Fighters (a group that counts former NUFAN guitarist Chris Shifflet as a member) -- the band just may come close to it's ambition of slaying the "mall metal" outfits like Creed it so despises. (JOHN D. LUERSSEN)

Guided by Voices Universal Truths and Cycles (Matador)

Just like the 1960's British Invasion that unleashed records at a breakneck speed until Americans were drowning in vinyl, Guided by Voices leader Robert Pollard is determined to over-saturate the market all by himself. In the last twelve years the band has released thirteen albums (three live). After their last two albums of new material were commanded by outside producers -- Do the Collapse (1999) by Ric Ocasek, Isolation Drills (2001) by Rob Schnapf -- GBV are self-produced once again and simultaneously looser and sharper as a result. Pollard thrives on shifting in and out of focus at will. His melodies and harmonies recall mid-Sixties pop, his rhythms and attack rip straight from late-Seventies New Wave punk. Yet, while the tone is familiar, the songs warp together as a dadaist manifesto. "Christian Animation Torch Carriers" and "Father Sgt. Christmas Card" might not be concepts to take literally, but they hum together naturally. (ROB O'CONNOR)

Julia Fordham Concrete Love (Vanguard)

"I'm like a butterfly pushing against the wind," sings Fordham on her Vanguard debut. Fordham is, in fact, more like a butterfly emerging from her cocoon as Concrete Love marks a significant change in direction for the English singer. Her past six efforts, from her eponymous debut through East West, hinted at a CD collection filled with Joni Mitchell and others of her ilk. This time around, though, Fordham explores her sexy and soulful side, revealing unexpected influences, including a cover of R&B singer Minnie Ripperton's "Loving You." Lust oozes from Fordham on the jaunty "Wake Up With You (The I Wanna Song)," and sensuality suffuses "Italy," "Love," and most of the other songs. Joe Henry's coarse vocals light up "Alleluia," while the title track, a paen to love without histrionics, features a smoky duet with India.Arie, whose soft, silky voice weaves in and out of harmonies with Fordham. Billy Preston helps pump up the funk on Hammond B3 organ and a variety of keyboards throughout the album, and Sir Harry Bowens and Sweet Pea Atkinson add heartfelt supporting vocals. With bass-heavy production from Larry Klein, Concrete Love breaks new ground for Fordham, pushing her from demure singer-songwriter to blue-eyed diva. (CHRISTOPHER RUBIN)

Pere Ubu St. Arkansas (Spinart)

Having flown on wings of whimsy fairly often in recent times, Pere Ubu guiding light David Thomas pauses here to take another look into the heart of darkness. St. Arkansas isn't devoid of hope; Ubu has never been a nihilistic beast. But at its core, there's a restless urgency, a pacing wariness that resonates in the cagey movements of "Slow Walking Daddy" (a foggy soundscape that could pass for a Dub Housing outtake) as well as in the gnashing wail of "The Fevered Dream of Hernando DeSoto" (a typically fretful parable from Thomas' seemingly bottomless well). More than most of the recent releases to bear the band's name, St. Arkansas leans heavily, proudly, on guitars wiry glissandos from the axe of Tom Herman and lava-like ooze from the amp of Jim Jones, all the better to drive the jagged edges of "Dark" and "Phone Home Jonah" through layer after layer of gray matter, before lodging them deep in your heart. (DAVID SPRAGUE)

Chuck Prophet No Other Love (New West)

Pulling from the funk zone ("Summertime Thing"), sophisticated soul music ("No Other Love") and the kind of fat, greasy blues you can make a meal on ("What Can You Tell Me") singer-songwriter Chuck Prophet nails together a sonic hybrid of urban and rural America on his self-produced sixth album. Since his days with psychedelic brown dirt cowboys Green on Red through his Nineties work fronting his band, Prophet's made sideways soulful and bluesy rock and roll his business. More than country-fried licks slapped on top of slam-dunk rock, Prophet's American sights and sounds are fed through a compassionate lens. Straight-up melodies are filled-in and skewed by surprises like farfisa, sitar and strings, as Prophet turns the dusties and undesirables into shiny jewels. Stories of little criminals unknown legends and waste-cases (and sometimes all three, as in "I Bow Down and Pray to Every Woman I See") are firefly-electric in their naturalness. Combine that with a dirty rock & roll vocal and that whalloping guitar, and you've got an undeniably American mix of stuff that's easily digested but still dangerous. Like donuts -- the subject of the album's opening salvo -- what's not to like? (DENISE SULLIVAN)

Jerry Cantrell Degradation Trip (Roadrunner) Alice in Chains have finally given up the ghost with the death of frontman Layne Staley, but the band's spirit is alive and well in the solo work of guitarist (and primary AIC songwriter) Jerry Cantrell. His second outing is less adventurous than 1998's (sadly overlooked) Boggy Depot, with no brassy outbursts by errant Fishbone members or moody piano excursions. It's a gritty, cryptic, sprawling affair that takes its bittersweet time telling tales inspired by the hellhound that's been on Cantrell's trail for the past few years. Some tracks sound like wayward AIC numbers ("Psychotic Break"), while others reveal quirky streaks ("Mother's Spinning in her Grave (Glass Dick Jones)" and a not-quite-pop penchant ("She Was My Girl"). There's no happy ending when all is said and done, but it's a more poetic trip than most angst merchants offer these days, and for that reason alone it's a journey worth taking. (SANDY MASUO)

Hank Cochran Livin' for a Song (Gifted Few Records)

There may be no better writer working in Nashville today than Hank Cochran. Only his friend, Harlan Howard, managed to match Cochran's bridging six decades of popular song in Music City, as Cochran has penned songs covered by Lefty Frizzell, Ray Price, Willie Nelson, Emmylou Harris, Leann Rimes and scores of others from the late Fifties to the present. With the Dean's passing earlier this year, Cochran's role as living treasure increased tenfold, but with Livin' for a Song, Cochran rails against being a passive treasure relegated to a museum. A rollicking cover of "Honky Tonk Angels" fires up this new collection of fourteen tracks, and hints that Cochran has more than enough gas to burn through another decade. His rocks suitably offed, Cochran settles into his bread and butter, the ballad, with a trio of classic weepers: The Price-ish, fiddle-driven "Something Unseen," the pedal steel-propelled "I Feel Apart" and "He Little Thinged Her." It's the first of this lovely trinity that best captures Cochran's singular gift. "Before I go there's something I must know/Just what's inside of you, you can't control/That pulls you like a puppet on a string/Away from me to something unseen." Perhaps a tribute to Howard, it's a lovely rumination on death, delivered with a shuffle that still makes you want to dance. (ANDREW DANSBY)

(June 17, 2002)