Despite such profuse activity, Holidayland contains a minimal selection of mostly pre-existing material. The first cut is a cover of the Sonic's "Santa Claus." The second is from TMBG's 1988 disc Lincoln. The third, "Feast of Lights," was done for another compilation disc. The fourth is from Flansburgh's side band Mono Puff. And the fifth and final cut, "O Tannenbaum," was recorded live at a high-school sound check in Hollywood.

While the first four songs offer the quirky, peppy poppiness that's a trademark of the band's sound, the final number is plodding and lethargic (as "O Tannenbaum" can be), sounding more like Lawrence Welk and crew on a bender than what you'd expect from TMBG. And there's the rub, from a prolific pair comes pap, or at least a miniscule package. What can a listener feel but cheated? Painful as it is to sound like Scrooge during the holidays, or at any time of the year, one feels compelled to say humbug, and mean it. And though the liner notes suggest you "enjoy this disc with your friends and family," with total disc playing time under 12 minutes, that's hard to do (it wouldn't even cover the typical family holiday argument).

For those looking for Christmas tunes, there are better discs to be had. A couple that come to mind are the Bummed Out Christmas compilation, or the pinnacle of holiday discs, Phil Spector's A Christmas Gift For You.

The band has been to Jamaica of late, and been influenced by dancehall music, a mixture of calypso, ska, reggae. And had they attacked the whole album with that stylistic bent, they might have fared better. But the styles range from reggae to new wave, hooks on the whole are hard to find, and the result is a disc that wavers with all the kinetic motion of a pinball en route to a high score.

Part of the unevenness may be due to the recording, which took part in London, Los Angeles, and Jamaica, among other places. Similarly, a variety of producers found work here, including Sly and Robbie, Dave Stewart, Ric Ocasek, and Prince. So you get a little of this, a bit of that. On the whole, a jumble of sounds and songs.

"Don't Let Me Down" is probably the best pop number of the bunch. Produced by Ocasek, it harkens back to the glory days of new wave. The tune sounds like a missing cut from a Missing Persons disc, with Stefani sounding like Dale Bozio minus a hiccup or two. "Running" is also quite good. Though lyrically simple, it's a ballad (so it'll never see airplay) with a backdrop that sounds like a toy piano, while Stefani's pleasing vocals build over time. "Platinum Blonde Life," another Ocasek-produced tune, again has that MP/new-wave feel to it, but the band sounds better here, more solid than the rest of the disc.

In the end, it seems like No Doubt are having an identity crisis. Instead of taking the usual route to the record store – that is, write the songs, get a producer, go to the studio, get it done – they've chosen a variety of studios and producers. The result is more of a kaleidoscope, or No Doubt as seen and heard through various eyes and ears. Undoubtedly, they had fun doing it; variety is, after all, the spice of life. But for the average listener, there could be a touch of indigestion involved.

And now Busta has signed with Clive Davis's J Records to deliver his latest product, Genesis. Oh sure, you'll hear myriad variations of "nigga" and "fuck" rattle out like there's no tomorrow. But there's something that grabs the ears, a stylistic thing perhaps, as Busta raps his way over 20 or so tunes. Maybe it's the diverse background music, which ranges from simple, droning synthesizers to hazy hip-hop grooves to '70s soul sounds.

And Busta invites his pals. "Pass the Courvoisier" features P. Diddy giving a humorous look at nightlife, while Mary J. Blige is on hand for "There's Only One," a funky, throbbing number. And despite other guest spots by Rah Digga, Jaheim, Kokane, Kelis, and Flipmode Squad, you never forget that Busta is in the driver's seat, and no one better grab the steering wheel.

There's not much substance lyrically, nothing deeply philosophical. Yet much to Busta's credit, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. As varied and off center as the disc may be, there's a pull that he exhibits, and I'm not sure where it comes from. Perhaps the mesh of music, the few scant notes here and there, the backing-vocal overlays, the clipping bass notes, all with Busta's brutish voice on top. He offers up the sounds of the street – gritty, profane, at times guttural, a grunt here and there that makes you wonder what was going through his mind at that particular point in time. By the time the second-to-last cut "Match the Name with the Voice" rolls around, you may be puzzled, but you know Busta is delivering the goods. And when he snores to open the final cut, "Bad Dreams," he seems comical, almost mocking, making you wonder what you just heard. And, of course, making you want to listen again.