Black Eyed Peas
Elephunk
AM Records

If the genre of modern hip-hop had to be labeled with an Î80s metal band name, it would be Guns ÎN' Roses: There are the gangsters and then there is everyone else. Black Eyed Peas, like Jurassic 5, is hip-hop that is just there to expand the genre. It is not in-depth conscious rap like Talib Kweli or Mos Def, it's just there for a good time.

This is hard to swallow for many people raised with the age of gangster rap because N.W.A., Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg all seemed to set a standard back in the early Î90s. Now, anyone can be a hip-hop artist like fellow summer BEP tour-mate (cough) Justin Timberlake.

So the Black Eyed Peas are back with their third album and a new female singing member, Fergie. She kind of sounds like Nelly Furtado without "that certain something." Which isn't to say that she is bad, but she's no Lauren Hill. And BEP is no Fugees.

The tracks on this album bounce and jump like a finely polished piece of urban bubblegum. Elephunk is hip-hop that your little sister and mom could groove to on the way to a soccer game. They're kind of like the Bill Cosby of hip-hop: accessible to all with a PG rating.

They have a few duets here. "Anxiety" is a paranoid 12-step program with nu-metal wanksters Papa Roach. The best track by far is the first single that is all over the radio right now, "Where Is The Love," with Timberlake. It's a shame such an epic and soulful tune can end a CD that it should have begun. Like it has been said so many times, "If only this song could sound like the whole album."

Rating: If you want something fun to bang on your way to the club, Elephunk will get you up, but it won't help you much when you're down.

Marilyn Manson
The Golden Age of Grotesque
Interscope

Looking at the back page of the linear notes of Golden Age and seeing the rest of Marilyn Manson's band, one wonders what kind of self-image these people have. They're probably in their early-mid 30s, yet still all look like super-eccentric high school gothic-kids. They'll never be remembered like Manson. Thirty years down the road they'll show their grandkids the pictures and say, "Yep, that's me, with the white face and blond Mohawk." The kids will then say, "Grandpa looks like my China dolly."

Manson, however, will have the dubious honor of being the person who thinks he held the threads of societal degeneration in the Î90s and sewed it on all the heads of mainstream Christian society ÷ which he did not. Adolescents have looked for the person most unlike their parents to idolize ÷ just to piss off their mom and dad. It's called rebellion. Manson was just standing in the media's best lighting for photo ops at the time.

It's pretty safe to say that his one-trick offensive pony has run its course. Right now, there is some sicker bastard out there working hard to become the next anti-Christ superstar. Manson can now step back and assume his "been there, done that" role. If he only knew when enough was enough.

It's hard to listen to new Manson tunes without being aware of his over-bloated public persona. He's worked so hard to cement his image that his music seems to sit in the backseat now. These new songs are industrial verse-chorus-verse-Manson-by-numbers.

Part of the shock and awe of early Manson work was the feeling that he was pushing limits, knocking down walls and exploring. When you've done all of these things to full potential, retirement might be the remedy.

Not that this is not a mediocre Manson album, it just feels like there isn't enough creative progress to be awarded: Too little, too late.

Rating: Even longtime Manson fans must feel like they are watching the same movie over and over. Time to find another anti-Christ rock superstar.

Boyd Tinsley
True Reflections
RCA

Dave Matthews Band violinist Boyd Tinsley has released his first solo debut. It could be called "Crash" or "Busted Stuff," but for different reasons.

For instance, most musicians who are phenomenal with an instrument and only lend backing vocals in their main band usually might want to consider releasing a solo album of instrumentals with their weapon of choice.

If you've got a rampant fan base like Dave Matthews Band, and the fans like what you do with your instrument, wouldn't that just make a little too much sense to give them what they want?

Of course it would! No, you can't release an album of sweet solos and beautiful string slinging! Why would you want to do that when you can sing? In fact, he only plays violin on four songs of the eleven tracks. He strictly croons on the rest.

And boy, does Tinsley sing. There are times on this album when you hear a voice and hope it might be a guest vocal by Matthews, then are severely let down when you realize it is just Tinsley again. (Matthews does, however do some slight backups on the title track.)

Most of the lyrics sound like they were produced in a cheap DMB sweatshop, written by young Singapore children. Tinsley's voice sometimes resembles Matthews, Jimi Hendrix and cheap derivatives of both.

It's a shame because this man is an amazing violinist. There are three songs that are really decently written, "Cause It's Time," "True Reflections" and "Cinnamon Girl." (The latter is a Neil Young cover.) Most of the other songs sound awkward and cumbersome.

This is not "One Sweet World." This is one painful listening party.

Rating: Strictly reserved for the kind of DMB fan that would buy bottled sweat off the drummer's brow.