It was hard not to be intrigued when “Fell in Love With a Girl” hit the airwaves in 2002. Who were the mysterious rockers behind this frenetic paced song? Were the White Stripes going to save humanity from a music world overrun with bubble gum rock and self-deprecating front men who couldn’t decide if they were rappers or just bad singers?

Buy the CD, wait for second song (“Hotel Yorba”) and any illusions about the White Stripes rescuing the universe should be quelled. Did you just purchase a rock and roll CD or a $16 ticket to a hoedown? Don’t be too hard on yourself, we all did it.

If you make it to song 10, “Offend in Every Way,” and God help you if you do, you’ll be pretty certain that somehow, through inexplicable laws of electricity and magnetism, you’ve been sucked through your speakers into a 2-star western movie.

Astoundingly, this must be exactly what most of the critics had been looking for, prior to the White Stripes’ breakout album. Rolling Stone has even compared the White Stripes to Led Zeppelin. It’s painful to mention the two groups in the same sentence. After all, the mysticism surrounding Zeppelin had nothing to do with the guitarist trying to convince people that his lead singer and ex-wife was really his sister.

Nevertheless, praise and adoration continues to come from all corners of the globe for this quirky duo. Meanwhile, lovers of rock are left to wonder if they’ve entered the twilight zone.

There’s some credit due here, as the White Stripes have put together a good (not great) record. If you can get over the sound, you’ll find that “White Blood Cells” is lyrically strong. There are some decent riffs and Meg White does an admirable job on drums.

Unfortunately, though, most of the rough guitar riffs and heavy drum beats sound too contrived and deliberate to be held in high esteem. It’s as if more energy is being put into attempting uniqueness than into the music itself.

Find a way to listen to this entire album before you buy it. If you don’t listen first, consider yourself warned that “White Blood Cells” will end up on the bottom of your CD pile before long.

It starts with a drum roll as if to warn the listener of the spontaneous rollercoaster of hellfire to follow. Then it grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go until 45 minutes and 16 seconds later when the music fades with a sound similar to a dying vacuum with a strand of Berber carpet inhibiting the beater brush. This is “The Battle of Los Angeles,” brought to you by Rage Against the Machine. Wrath is back with a vengeance.

When Rage first came on to the music scene in the early 90s their blend of hip-hop and heavy metal was in its infancy. The Beastie Boys, founding fathers of rapcore, had experienced great success in 1986 with “Licensed to Ill” and other bands like 311 were experimenting with rap inspired beats and hard guitars. None of them, however, brought the same kind of political tenacity as Rage Against the Machine. What’s more, none of them had a guitarist like Rage’s Tom Morello, who can reduce a house of brick and mortar to its foundation with his punishing riffs.

And boy does Morello shake us with The Battle of Los Angeles. This album reminds us why mixing metal with hip-hop is commonplace today – something Rage is partially responsible for. Combine an angry screamer like Rage’s front man, Zack de la Rocha, an inspired drummer in Brad Wilk, an artful bassist in Tim Commerford and Morello, and you have a perfect recipe for success in the ever sought after, angst filled 18 to 35 year-old male market.

What separates Rage from the rest of the of the “nu metal” bandwagon, though, is that this band’s lyrical themes remind us that society isn’t equally amiable to everyone. From the story of an abused Mexican migrant worker in “Maria” to the tainted trial of Mumia Abu Jamal in “Guerilla Radio,” Rage presents numerous motives for activism. These topics are a great fit for the type of music that makes people want to break things and Rage has no problem delivering both.

If “The Battle of Los Angeles” had been released in 1992 when this genre of music was still a novelty, the album would have received even more praise than it has. This might be the best work that Rage Against the Machine has ever done. It’s more polished than Rage’s self-titled debut and there’s no dead weight. (Who can forget the egregiously boring “Settle For Nothing”, song 3, on an otherwise spectacular first album?) They even threw in the diverse, funkadelic groove “Mic Check” to keep listeners guessing. This album is a must-have for those who love to rock their socks off. American Idol fans need not buy.

Who can make a grown man turn off his stereo, blush and sheepishly shrink into the driver’s seat at any stoplight? Alicia Keys, that’s who, and people of all races and creeds will be bobbing their heads to her “Diary” wherever speakers are available for years to come (although some men may never admit it).

The album starts in typical Keys fashion with a classical piano solo and blossoms into a deeply personal, genre-transcending work covering every aspect of love with smooth, jazzy melodies and pop beats. She relates everything from the first awkward moments of infatuation with “You Don’t Know My Name,” to the fading expectations of a withering devotion in “So Simple” and leaves no relationship experience unturned in between.

Keys’ deep, sensuous voice gives her lyrics credibility to the extent that some listeners will find great difficulty in keeping their clothes on while hearing her music. That’s what this genre is for though – those romantic evenings alone with a lover, scented candles and silk bed sheets.

But Keys exceeds the expectations, deftly combining her instrumental and vocal training with a God-given gift for making even the most innocent words sound sexy. Musically, “The Diary” is refreshingly seamless.

Keys’ musical prowess and proficient songwriting are far superior to that of any of her peers, but the sage we were introduced to after the release of Songs in A Minor has taken a respite from imparting wisdom as she did in her earlier songs like, “Troubles” and “Why do I Feel So Sad.” This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The idea of seeking life’s lessons from a 24 year-old woman is frightening regardless of how precocious she is. A successful woman of her stature earns the right to a moderate dose of self-promotion and Ms. Keys has accomplished just that with an album bearing her name and claiming to be comprised of her private writings.

“The Diary of Alicia Keys” is a remarkably well-crafted musical journey that capitalizes on Keys’ extraordinary musical gifts. Although its hits may not be as timeless as those of her first album, she has clearly avoided the sophomore jinx with this piece of work and she appears poised to grow into the diva many expect her to become.