Sure, it'd be easy to say this sounds like every other Cranberries disc, going back to their '92 release, Everybody Else Is Doing It, Why Can't We, which saw the top 10 hit "Linger" pound its way into the heads of teens and adults alike. And, yep, they followed that in '94 with No Need to Argue, where "Zombie" knocked some more musical heads. And so on, until now, with their fifth disc, they're set to seep into you once again, with that same blend of Irish angst and fury, sonic beauty, and lyrical sensibility.

"Analyse," has that trademark Cranberries sound, with Dolores O'Riordan's plaintive and winsome voice sounding at times needy and pleading, at other times omniscient and stern. It's a complex set of pipes she has, and quite a joy to hear her put them to use. And the band? Well, guitarist Noel Hogan whammies his way around, bending chords, attacking chords, or letting notes fall, and the drum and bass combo of Fergal Lawler and Mike Hogan (yeah, Noel's brother) pound the beats as well as keep a solid groove.

So if they sound like previous efforts, why pick up the disc? Well, perhaps "similar" is a better word choice than "same". If you heard a track, you'd know it was the Cranberries. But as the band members have matured (they've been together 10 years and sold 33 million albums along the way), they've learned to simplify, weeding out unnecessary bits, and playing just what's needed for a full aural and emotional impact. Part of this may be due to producer Stephen Street (The Smiths, Morrisey, Blur), who produced their first two releases. And part may be due to O'Riordan and Noel Hogan having kids (though not with each other), as that in itself is enough to realign one's priorities.

Best to think of the disc as the result of the band's product aging like a fine wine. Sure, they were wilder and fizzier when they were younger, but they've traded a screw cap for a cork, and you too can sample the result of a decade's worth of musical fermentation. Drink up I say, and be merry.

But the simplicity of the music serves as a subtle background for Cohen's musings, which is the real strength of the disc. On "That Don't Make It Junk," a lovesick ballad told from the perspective of a drunk, Cohen bemoans, "I know that I'm forgiven, but I don't know how I know, I don't trust my inner feeling – inner feelings come and go." It's the sense of confusion, of gain and loss, that Cohen deftly slices with his pen and leaves open for the listener to take in. Cast against the simplified lounge-like music only makes the words bolder, causing them to jump out at the listener. It's less music and more performance art, or a poetry reading set to music, though neither explanation does the disc justice.

If there is a fault to be found, it's the similarity in songs. By the fourth or fifth track, you might begin questioning the working order of your CD player, thinking perhaps it's stuck on repeat. And that's a major drawback, certainly for those with short attention spans or ADD. On the other hand, the near monotony of the music possesses a meditative hold, should you allow it to get to you. In this case, the calming tranquility is akin to sitting on your knees in a Zen temple, which is something Cohen, ordained as a Zen monk in '99, knows a little about. And using a Zen analogy, where you can never step into the same river twice, Cohen's songs have that same appeal. Familiar, alike, but not the same. It's that kind of reflective mood that results from listening to Ten New Songs.

As for the music, on first listen, it sounds like it could be filler on "Dawson's Creek" or a background track to a Chevy truck commercial (especially given the title). It's gassed-up ballad stuff that sounds like it was pulled out of the heartland. Ondrasik's voice sounds like a cross between a redneck Bono (were he raised in the Midwest) and Dave Matthews, with that affected nasal twang when the songs start to get rowdy. The title cut, in fact, is a big sprawling number that just keeps building and going out of control, guitar solos wail, drums fire off, the whole nine yards.

And if Ondrasik sought to create that generic, American rock album that is slightly more than superficial, he's hit the nail on the head. Frankly, I don't want to sound like I'm knocking him too hard, I'm just not a big fan of this type of music. I'm sure, say, fans of Dave Matthews will ingest this disc like kids wolfing down Halloween candy, and were he to play Farm Aid, there'd be hankies dabbing teary eyes left and right.

The disc itself is polished, production is good, though in some spots with strings, the music gets almost too big sounding, a la Elton John. Yet should you like your rock jangly, earthy, and, well, like a Chevy truck commercial, Ondrasik, er, Five For Fighting – might just make your day.