The Offspring: Splinter (December 15)

With their original fans having grown up and today's teens harder to win over when you're pushing 40, the Offspring are hoping Splinter will seem subversive enough to get some attention. But an exploding statue on the CD cover and a lead track called Neocon can't make us forget that since they hit it big with 1994's Smash, the Orange County natives have been about as threatening as a stroll through Disneyland. It's not just that their poppier material (Come Out and Play, Pretty Fly for a White Guy) has always made for better radio play than their attempts to prove their punk mettle; they're better songs, too. It's more of the same on Splinter, with a few catchy tunes (Hit That, Spare Me the Details and the gleefully sophomoric The Worst Hangover Ever) holding our interest, while the harder stuff is instantly forgettable. But partly because of Dexter Holland's limited vocal range, and because there are only so many gimmick songs any veteran band can get away with, even their better stuff is increasingly difficult to get excited about.

Kid Rock: Kid Rock (December 1)

One day, music critics and historians will gather to debate Kid Rock's brilliant, genre-busting sixth album. Was it rock? Rap? Country? Country-rock? Rap-country? Whatever, they will say, Kid's eponymous effort was not just the epic release of 2003, but the final step in his elevation to rock's most larger-than-life star. And then, of course, the conversation will come to an abrupt end as the self-proclaimed "American Badass" is rousted from his wistful slumber, and realizes that the only thing separating him from Fred Durst is that he gets to wake up next to Pamela Anderson. Actually, that's not quite fair: Unlike Limp Bizkit, Kid has at least branched out from the metal-rap that he made his name on in the late '90s. But he's not willing to go far enough to pick a new approach and stick with it, probably because he's afraid of alienating a single record buyer, so instead we get an incongruous mishmash that won't please anyone. There's probably a good flat-out country album in Kid Rock somewhere, as evidenced by Run off to L.A. (another improbably enjoyable collaboration with Sheryl Crow) and Cold and Empty, but we won't see it until he stops cranking out half-assed redneck rap (Son of Detroit) and weak impersonations of Ted Nugent and Bob Seger (including a cover of Seger's Hard Night for Sarah). And we won't even get into a pointless take on Feel Like Makin' Love that inexplicably serves as the album's lead single.

Ryan Adams: Rock 'n' Roll (November 17)

Ryan Adams has brought much of the inevitable backlash on himself, even if being labelled "an American Robbie Williams" by a British newspaper did seem unduly cruel. But the dispassionate Ryan agnostic, willing to look past his embarrassing pretenses and excesses, will find his transition from mopey alt-country to reasonably straightforward rock (Rock N Roll ... get it?) eminently listenable. Disbelievers will point to his uneven lyrics, blatant Oasis cribbing on Shallow, and an ill-advised stab at angst rock circa 1994 on Note to Self: Don't Die (co-written with current flame Parker Posey, of all people). But Adams has leaned on such a diverse range of influences - from U2 and the Smiths to Evan Dando and the aforementioned Gallaghers - that Rock N Roll rarely gets stale over its 14 tracks. What stands out is a matter of taste, given the varying sounds, but it's hard to imagine soaring efforts like So Alive and Burning Photographs falling flat with much of anyone. Cranked out in a few days after his record label rejected his initial offering (instead turned into two EPs released this month and next) Rock N Roll brings brings a ragged, edgy quality to Adams' talents that would win him legions of new fans - that is, if they weren't already too busy hating him.

Jet: Get Born (November 3)

To call this Aussie quartet unoriginal would be an understatement. More like downright derivative, actually. Get Born comes off like a tribute album to every classic rock band that's ever existed, with a heavy Stones and AC/DC leaning (I swear I even heard a hint of Guns 'N Roses in a couple of the ballads, and Roll Over DJ has something that sounds very much like it was borrowed from BTO). But you know what? It works. Yes, the lyrics are dopey, you can literally count how many chords are ripped off in each track, and Jet sounds more like a really good bar band than the second coming of rock 'n' roll. But from the gleeful "Yeah!" that kicks off Last Chance, there's hardly a false step taken. The album is a little top-heavy - the best flat-out rockers are among the first five tracks, and the whole exercise gets a little tired by the end. But if highlights like Are You Gonna Be My Girl and Get What You Need don't have you nodding your head in approval, you're probably not much of a rock fan to begin with.

The Thrills: So Much for the City (November 3)

This shouldn't work. Five Irish lads head for sunny San Diego, returning with an album that pays tribute to the Byrds, Beach Boys and everything else they associate with the California of yesteryear. Worse, they load every track with references to west coast hot spots as though petrified we won't believe they came by their tans honestly. But they've produced some delightful ear candy. So Much for the City is light as air, a perfect soundtrack for lazy Sundays and leisurely road trips. Occasionally, as on the dreary Deckchairs and Cigarettes and Hollywood Kids, the Thrills are a bit too mellow for their own good (Neil Young songs, or imitations thereof, are only passable when actually sung by Young). But they more than make up for it with the soaring One Horse Town, one of the best pop songs you'll hear anywhere this year, along with standouts Santa Cruz and the harmonica-driven 'Til the Tide Creeps In. And it's rerfreshing to see California, rather than New York, the object of retro affection.

Meat Loaf: Couldn't Have Said It Better (October 20)

Pity poor Meat Loaf - one of the few nostalgia acts driven by his own nostalgia, not that of his fans. It's been a decade since Bat Out of Hell II, the follow-up to his epic 1978 debut, and Jim Steinman - the man behind both Bats - has joined most of the record-buying public in jumping ship. But Loaf (nee Marvin Aday) has somehow dug up a songwriting team of Steinman clones, which means more choral arrangements, more interplay with female backup singers, more goofy double-entendre song titles - and, of course, more of the man himself belting out over-the-top power ballads. This would work with a healthy dose of self-parody, but Loaf seems to take himself more seriously these days - which becomes problematic, for instance, when he tries his hand at gospel (Testify). There are laughs to be found elsewhere, including the arrival of someone named Giselda Vatcky midway through Tear Me Down to deliver a monologue linking the story of "little Marvin Aday" to the Alamo, but it's doubtful whether little Marvin himself is in on the joke. The unfortunate part is that Loaf still has talent - both in that booming voice, and as a surprisingly decent screen actor. Somewhere, there's a schlocky Broadway musical with his name on it.

Spirtualized: Amazing Grace (September 29)

Two years ago, Jason Pierce went for broke. Dating back to his Spaceman 3 days, the Spiritualized mastermind always aimed high - but never quite so high as when he enlisted more than 100 musicians, including a gospel choir and an orchestra, to produce Let It Come Down. It could have been an overreaching flop, but it emerged as a soaring reflection on heartbreak, spirituality and life after rehab. But short of exiting stage left, how does one avoid a brutal anti-climax? Probably not by rushing out a confused stab at the sort of garage rock you made your name on more than a decade earlier - but that didn't stop Pierce, which is how we wound up with the confused mishmash of Amazing Grace. It's not that there's nothing to recommend: Hold On, Lord Let It Rain on Me and Lay It Down Slow are all perfectly lovely. But those tracks are basically stripped-down versions of the soulful stuff we got on Let It Come Down; it's where Pierce tries to do something different, and comes off sounding like a very average imitation of his younger contemporaries, that he gets into trouble.

Robert Rudolph and the Family Band: Live at the Wetlands (August 18)

All right, so you really have no idea who Robert Randolph is. You've never heard of the Wetlands, the now defunct New York club where this was one of the final shows. And you don't see why you should much care about a live release recorded two years ago but only now attracting attention here. But if you happen to be one of those blues fans bemoaning the lack of anything new worth listening to, you don't have much choice but to give this a try. Randolph, who started off playing his pedal steel guitar in church basements, has the rare ability to turn a 13-minute jam into an electrifying experience - in no small part because of a terrific backing band that features one cousin on drums, and another on bass and vocals. Turn up Live at the Wetlands loud enough, and Randolph's relentless commitment to audience participation ("Clap your hands! Stomp your feet!") takes you to that smoky blues club you thought no longer existed. While comparisons to the likes of Bo Diddley and Jimi Hendrix are a stretch for a 24-year-old still looking to translate his live skills to the studio, Randolph's fusion of classic blues sounds with R&B, gospel and rock makes an old genre seem as exciting as it has in ages.

54-40: Goodbye Flatland (July 21)

After 23 years on the Canadian music scene, these Vancouverites still have a tendency to to fly a bit under the radar. Not that we haven't all heard their radio-friendly tunes a million times, but I've yet to find anyone who'd describe 54-40 as their favourite band or even among their top five. That said, there's something reassuring about a collective that can go more than two decades without dramatically changing its sound, and still sound reasonably up-to-date. Goodbye Flatland finds Neil Osborne and company in their finest form since 1998's Since When, if not before. Going back to their rock basics after mellowing in their approach to middle age, they charge out of the gate with five solid tracks punctuated by Animal in Pain, the album's terrifically ragged first single, and the more polished Hope the Hell I Haven't Died. Unfortunately, they cede much of their momentum with the uninspired Who Is Sylvia and two forgettable ballads that follow. But they end nearly as strong as they began, with the anthemic Seventeen On and the retro-ish Wish I Knew. "I have been afraid that I might settle for what it is I have become," Osborne tells us in Ride. No need to fret just yet.

Pernice Brothers: Yours, Mine and Ours (July 14)

Ditching the ever-present string accompaniments that dominated their first two studio albums, the Pernice Brothers have opted for a scaled-down, guitar-driven sound on Yours, Mine and Ours. Joe Pernice, the band's creative mastermind, also seems to have lightened up a bit, his lyrics no longer quite so morose as on past efforts (although save for the odd hint of optimism, they'd still be properly described as sombre). On the album's first track, The Weakest Shade of Blue, it's hard to quarrel with the new approach - with Pernice's catchy country-rock melodies taking centre stage, it's an almost perfectly constructed pop song. The same could be said for several other entries here, in particular the jaded and emotive Number Two, and there isn't a single track that wouldn't stand on its own as an entirely pleasant listening experience. But as a whole, this is a tough album to get excited about - mostly because even with repeat listenings, one song seems to blend into another. From a songwriter who has recently achieved the unusual feat of being compared to both Brian Wilson and Morrissey, we might expect something a little more grabbing than unobjectionable easy listening.

The Stereophonics: You Gotta Go There to Come Back (July 7)

Given the normally high standards of British rock fans, their enduring affinity for the Stereophonics is quite inexplicable. Though their early work, especially 1997's Word Gets Around, had a certain lad rock appeal, the Welshmen have been getting lazier with each release - especially 2001's J.E.E.P., a dreary attempt to coast by on singer/songwriter Kelly Jones' throaty vocals. You Gotta Go There to Come Back is, thankfully, a whole lot less complacent. But despite the array of horns, orchestral arrangements and backup girls, Jones can't overcome the incongruity between his vocal and songwriting talents. Born to sing rock anthems, he has no idea how to write them; his real skill is in writing sentimental ballads, but his voice lacks the warmth to make good use of them. The result is a collection of lovely ballads sung only adequately (Climbing the Wall, Nothing Precious and Since I Told You It's Over) and sub-par rock songs sung well (Help Me, Madame Helga and the truly awful High as the Ceiling). Still better than J.E.E.P., but hardly a clear answer as to why the Brits like these guys so much.

Starlight Mints: Built on Squares (June 16)

The Starlight Mints have been touring with the Flaming Lips of late, leading to the inevitable comparisons between the two eccentric Oklahoman entities. But while the Mints share the Lips' experimental spirit and quirky lyricism, they eschew full-blown psychedelia for a tighter, more accessible pop sound. Leaning on influences past and present, their eclectic second album is most reminiscent of the Talking Heads - but that doesn't mean they don't throw us for a loop by splicing in Beatlesesque horns (especially on the standout Brass Digger) and unabashedly lifting from the Kinks' All Day and All of the Night (on Jack in the Squares), all the while adopting a kitchen-sink approach to accompaniment. Built on Squares is being heralded as a pop masterpiece in some circles, which might be a bit of an overstatement - with the exception of the more traditionally guitar-driven San Diego, none of the tracks quite gets into your head the way the genre's classics should. But as a musical experience less confusing than the Flaming Lips, but more challenging than 99% of mainstream pop, Built on Squares does quite nicely.

The Eels: Shootenanny! (June 9)

A case could be made that Eels' mastermind Mark Everett, better known as E, is modern music's most compelling eccentric. For years, he's turned personal tragedy (virtually his entire family has died off one-by-one) into offbeat, occasionally upbeat tunes. He sometimes tours in character, rarely speaking to his audience; his last studio release, Souljacker, was a concept album about a serial killer who believed he could put himself inside his victims; and on his current tour, his opening act is a character he's created named "MC Honky." All this might get tiresome if the music didn't hold up, but Everett excels in what can only be described as alterna-pop - catchy tunes with cleverly subversive lyrics, driven by his soulfully raspy vocals. On Shootenanny!, Everett seems to have the most fun delivering withering social commentary in a lullaby falsetto (Fashion Awards), but it's when he peels back the ironic detachment in favour of raw emotion on tracks like Agony and Numbered Days that he really sets himself apart. After the weirdness of Souljacker, it's a mellower, more self- assured Mr. E who emerges this time out.

Brendan Benson: Lapolco (June 2)

Like many in the current wave of pop-rock singer-songwriters, Detroit's Brendan Benson has amassed a considerable cult following south of the border (including fellow Detroiter Jack White). But since few Canadians have ever heard of him, 2002's Lapalco is only now hitting our shelves - which is a shame, because Benson's second album (label disputes led to a six-year wait after his 1996 debut) reflects the sort of versatile talent that most of his counterparts only dream of. Self-deprecating without being mopey, and light-hearted without falling into Ben Folds-style self-parody, Benson knows how to write a chorus that's pleasing to the ear without being insulting to the mind, despite pointedly simple lyrics. From the infectious opening chords of Tiny Spark, right through Jet Lag (a Lennon imitation that actually works), this only gets better on repeat listens. And Metarte, which begins with a sweet duet with guest vocalist Emma J and builds from there, is so good that you'll welcome a near-identical version appearing as a hidden track at album's end.

Live: Birds of Pray (May 26)

Almost anything on Birds of Pray, Live's sixth studio album, could fit seamlessly onto Throwing Copper, the Pennsylvanians' 1994 breakthrough. Whether or not that's a good thing is a matter of opinion. Fans will be pleased to find that, unlike other '90s acts (Pearl Jam, to name but one), Live hasn't lost whatever worked for it in the first place. The rest of us will note that, with a very noticeable lack of progression over the past decade, the band might well have become the first full-fledged '90s nostalgia act. That said, vocalist and songwriter Ed Kowalczyk hasn't grown complacent, exactly. Evidently a true believer in the spiritual powers of his brand of power pop, he manages to sound reasonably convincing belting out anthems to his daughter and the sanctity of his dreams. If you find this sort of stuff ingratiating, What Are We Fighting For?, the anti-war track that ends off Birds of Pray, will be one of 2003's standouts. If you're just as likely to be nauseated, lyrics about "salutations to the maker of my finest hour" will have had you tuning out long before.

The Thorns: The Thorns (May 26)

The Thorns are being billed as a "supergroup," a label that seems a bit suspect for any band that includes one-hit wonder Shawn Mullins. Still, there's no shortage of folk-rock credentials between Matthew Sweet, Pete Droge, and, yes, even Mullins - which raises the question of whether they couldn't have come up with something a little more exciting. Not that this self-titled debut isn't perfectly pleasant mood music, especially on the tracks where Sweet - by far the most accomplished of the three - takes full charge. But given these gentlemen's songwriting talents, what they've come up with is surprisingly derivative. One minute they sound like Crosby Stills and Nash, the next it's the Eagles. But rarely do they sound particularly fresh. If only the Thorns spent more time sounding like Thorns, the one song on which they properly rock out, the results would be more memorable.

The New Pornographers: Electric Version (May 12)

The timing of Electric Version couldn't be much better. With temperatures finally rising, these B.C.-based critics' darlings - how can you not love a Canadian indie "supergroup" - have given us the most quintessential summer album this side of the Beach Boys. Nothing stands out quite like the title track from their debut album, Mass Romantic, or that disc's Letter from an Occupant (both fronted, not coincidentally, by U.S. country maverick Neko Case). But whereas Mass Romantic sagged on some of the tracks fronted by lead vocalist Carl Newman and Dan Bejar, Electric Version's quality is consistent regardless of whose voice we're hearing - though it bears notice that Case does feature prominently in The Laws Have Changed, probably the catchiest thing here. If the New Pornographers are to be faulted, it's for a certain sameness, with each wildly upbeat, harmony-heavy track blending into the next. But what sets them apart from their Can-rock brethren is their unabashed willingness to let it all hang out, eschewing moroseness for a big, full sound that's usually missing from even the best indie outfits. That, and the number of times it will be played - and replayed - at summer parties across our land.

Evan Dando: Baby I'm Bored (April 28)

This is the debut solo album from Dando, a living '90s casualty not heard from since the Lemonheads' Car Button Cloth. It's a clean and sober version of the singer-songwriter who's emerged, and it's reassuring to see that his husky vocal chords survived various excesses intact. Thankfully, they are put to better use with this pleasantly melancholy, retrospective set of tunes than they were through much of Dando's lost decade, when his wild-child antics exceeded his creative output. But there's a certain laziness about this disc, especially when it peters out with the underwhelming In the Grass All Wine Colored. After a seven-year hiatus, and with several songwriting collaborators in his corner, someone with Dando's talent should have been capable of more than just the fleeting moments of country-rock perfection that emerge on Rancho Santa Fe, The Same Thing and Why Do You Do This to Yourself. Baby I'm Bored reminds us what we once saw in Dando, but it doesn't quite make up for all the good faith he squandered the first time around.

The D4: 6Twenty (April 14)

Three cheers for aiming low. New Zealand's The D4 aren't trying to reinvent the wheel with their throwback brand of punkish garage rock, but they've managed to produce a debut album devoid of any clunkers, and featuring some real gems. Party, the third track, is a mission statement, but the fun starts right from the opening chords of RnR MF, punctuated by pounding drums and some decisive grunting by vocalist Jimmy (no surnames offered). Mostly content to pay homage to their punk influences (early AC/DC, Ramones), they give an indication of what they're capable of with the standout Exit to the City. It's not too often we're invited to a rock 'n' roll party this good.

I Mother Earth: The Quicksilver Meat Dream (April 7)

It's usually a bad sign when a Canrock outfit as mediocre as I Mother Earth decides to get ambitious - especially when that ambition takes the form of a "heavier" album featuring song titles that sound like outtakes from the Smashing Pumpkins, circa Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. Give credit to IME, now on its fourth album and second since Brian Byrne took over from Edwin as lead vocalist, for trying to be more than just the poor man's Our Lady Peace (a dubious calling to be sure). But unfortunately, most of this sounds like some ungodly mix of Tool and Collective Soul - and if that sounds like a good thing, trust me, it's not. In fairness to Byrne, whose vocal range seems to have surpassed his predecessor's, he does his best with the material he's handed. But even tracks that begin with some promise, like God Rocket and Like the Sun, tend to wind up in the same boring, overproduced place. The fact IME takes itself so seriously as to divide a song called Meat Dreams into four different sub-songs, though, does offer some much-needed humour.

Placebo: Sleeping with Ghosts (March 31)

Say what you will about this glam/goth trio, but Placebo is anything but predictable. Their fourth album begins with Bulletproof Cupid, an instrumental rock-out, and English Summer Rain, which sounds like something the Pet Shop Boys might produce if they were still cranking out dance-friendly tunes in 2003. Then things get weird. This Picture, which could almost pass for radio-friendly, sees androgynous frontman Brian Molko flashing sado-masochistic images of cigarette burns and open sores, but when the guitars start crashing in Plasticine, he's busy offering cheesy self-help advice ("Don't go and sell your soul for self-esteem/Don't be plasticine"). Along the way, he gets political in the title track, reflective in Protect Me from What I Want, seductive in I'll Be Yours, and downright creepy in The Bitter End. Molko's haunting whine risks grating by album's end, but the versatility of Placebo's musicianship makes up for it. This is rich, layered stuff that has to be heard several times to be appreciated, but it's worth the effort.

The Stone Roses: The Very Best of the Stone Roses (March 24)

Few bands have gotten as much mileage out of a single album as these guys. Emerging in the late '80s as the latest saviours of British rock, the Stone Roses released a wildly acclaimed self-titled debut in 1989, disappeared for four years to fight legal battles and snort drugs, returned with a disappointing follow-up, Second Coming, and then promptly imploded. But if you missed them the first time around, or need a reminder of what all the hype was about (the Mancunian quartet has maintained near-mythical status in the U.K.), you could do worse than this. The highlights from their debut are all here, and the weaker tracks have been replaced with Second Coming standouts and a few singles, including the very early - and pleasantly frothy - Sally Cinnamon. Loyal fans won't find much new here, though, aside from slightly improved sound quality, more artwork from guitarist John Squire, and a version of Elephant Stone far superior to the one most are familiar with.