The Goo Goo Dolls really cracked though with 1998's release of Dizzy Up the Girl (spawning the smash hits "Iris" and "Slide"), but if you saw VH1's "Behind the Music" segment on the band, or if you live in upstate New York, you know they've been at the business of making music for many moons.

History aside, things get going with the opener, "Big Machine," which features Rzeznik slashing between major and minor chords, before coming in with the vocals. And his voice carries enough emotion for the style of music they play; there's always a slight desperation, an angst in his tone, a pleading in the love songs. When he sings, "Swallow all your bitter pills, that's what makes you beautiful, you're all or not, I don't need what you ain't got," you feel for him as he pines away.

"Think About Me" follows, with the trademark acoustic guitar strumming away, and electrics riffing similar to a Paul Westerberg number. Yet it's the third track, "Here Is Gone," that has been chosen for the single, and it will probably pepper the airwaves for a while. When the music swells prior to the chorus, you might think Robbie Robertson or the Bo Deans, as an almost southwestern flair and openness emanates from the speakers. And when Rzeznik sings, "I want to get free, talk to me, I can feel you falling, and I wanted to be all you need, somehow here is gone," again, I feel a sense of commiseration with the guy.

A nice change of pace occurs when bassist Takac takes over the singing chores, as on "You Never Know" and "Smash." With an edgier tone, that is perhaps not as polished or romantic as Rzeznik, he nevertheless provides another voice and viewpoint for the anguished tales of love. On "Smash," with a chord progression and guitar work that harkens back to the new-wave pop of the mid-eighties, Takac's sneering vocals provide a bit of roughness on an otherwise smooth number.

The chemistry between Rzeznik and Takac has produced some great pop songs with a rock edge in the past. And on this disc, the Goo Goo Dolls seem to have hit the pop gold mine, as no song on the album feels like filler. If there is a complaint to be tossed their way, it'd be about their website, which is a nasty mess of coding if I ever saw one. But hey, they can write songs and play them, and I guess that's more important than knowing how to hire a good web programmer. — B.R.

To the uninitiated, there is first his voice to contend with, which is smooth in the same way that Charles Bukowski's face was meant for modeling. Which is to say, it's a harsh instrument, hoarse and raw in spots, booming with maniacal glee, sounding at times bourbon soaked, raging at will, or crying in a beer like a drunk. And lest anyone think that it's a gimmick, and not pure emotion at work as he sings, then try this; try singing along with the songs in the same gruff banter as Waits, and not sound comical but meaningful. Then you'll appreciate the depth of his craft, and how far he's gone to create such a beast.

On the track "Kommienezuspadt" from Alice, over machine sounds in the background, Waits sounds like a manic German as the music turns into an almost Bugs Bunny comic tune. His repetition of the title is so whacked you'll think of a carnival populated with John Wayne Gacy clowns. It's that bizarre.

Yet Waits can also evoke a tenderness that will bring you to tears. As he sings in "Flower's Grave," "If we are to die tonight, is there moonlight up ahead?" And on top of that, remarking, "But tell me, who will put flowers, on a flower's grave?" With piano, a pump organ, strings and a clarinet providing the backdrop, it is indeed a harrowing tune. Thus, the songs veer back and forth between the strange and the sad, and by the end of the disc, there's a sense of sitting through a major piece of work.

Waits wrote the songs with his wife, playwright Kathleen Brennan, and the poetic imagery, both lyrically and musically, is so rich that it's hard not to undergo some emotional change while listening. As the last cut, "Fawn" plays, with a haunting violin sounding almost like a Theremin, you realize what an important piece of work this is.

And then follow that with sister release Blood Money, where on the opening cut, "Misery Is the River of the World," Waits sings in a weird cadence, his thick and gruff accent sounding otherworldly, as a marimba provides circus-like tones behind him. With less strings on this disc and more horns, there's a Lounge Lizards feel to it, a jazzy infusion. But Waits's trademark weirdness (for lack of a better word) still inundates the music.

"Coney Island Baby" evokes a turn-of-the-century feel (uh, that would be two centuries ago I guess), as the minimalist instrumentation conjures up images of streetcars and horses, of the boardwalk and ladies with parasols, of days long gone, as Waits sings of his love. "Lullaby" is not the kind of song you'd want to sing your kid to sleep with, despite its musical beauty. The opening lines, "Sun is red, moon is cracked, daddy's never coming back," are a bit too tragic for the wee ones, though us older kids can enjoy it. Overall, the songs impart a desolate cabaret feel, far from the celluloid offering with Joel and Liza, more dark and foreboding than one would venture to without adequate liquor flowing in their veins.

The combination of discs should find their way to anyone who really appreciates music. As difficult as they may be to listen to in spots, collectively the 28 numbers stand as a major accomplishment in the music world. There is no one else quite like Waits out there, and certainly none that can match his intensity. Waits so inhales and exhales the songs he plays, that the numbers are inseparable from him. I'd also venture an opinion that there has been no musician quite like him since Miles Davis, another fiery individual. Suffice it to say that if you want to feel emotions delivered via music, then Waits is your man. — B.R.

To combat the sorrow and save Maladroit from the "weenie" label, the band channels hair-metal in an attempt to sound more manly. (Ha!) Surf-rock riffs are replaced with heavier, crunchier-sounding guitars, and the drumming is more adventurous than on previous albums. But Weezer's trademark harmonious choruses are still very much in check and will quickly endear Maladroit to fans.

There's still weezy-sounding tracks that you can play air guitar to. If the Beach Boys were fed Poison and Motley Crue, they might have come up with rousing rock ditties like "Dope Nose" and "Keep Fishin'." Ultimately though, the cheery songs are more like half-hearted smiles than laughter.

"I'm barely alive," sings Rivers Cuomo on "Slave." And my first thought was, Are we back to the Pinkerton album? The short answer is "yes and no." You'll see signs of Pinkerton in the painful, somewhat bitter tracks, but "Death and Destruction" is musically more mellow that the title suggests. Nonetheless, poor Cuomo sings, "I cry and I'm hurting" when his girl says she doesn't love him. And "Slob" has him dragging his vocals through the valleys of Cobain-ia, and the mucky strain in his throat conjures visions of Cuomo doubled over in angry misery. "I don't like how you're living your life, get yourself a wife, get yourself a job," he wallows. "Take Control" is like "Crab Part 2" but this time it's Cuomo who "won't be coming back round here no more." Poor fella. — J.F.