Absent the meandering grooves that were usually his trademark, it sounds like the Kanye West discography thrown into a blender—hundreds of chewy and gooey morsels of soul vocals, to be gobbled in rapid succession.

British rock may be stuck in the past, but it can still sound great, provided the singer isn’t a complete coke fiend.

Kanye West called out George Bush, Mariah and Madonna came back from the dead, and every sixties band put out an album. But the micro-trends made music interesting this year: The Internet finally broke bands, Houston emerged as rap’s hottest city, folk flew its freak flag, and Britain gave us grime and cyber-girl pop.

Madonna and Kate Bush return to action with decidedly different notions of growing old gracefully.

Fiona Apple can’t seem to do anything without causing a fuss. But the songs are worth it.

Shopping temples, Ducasse’s take on Japanese food, and a luxury-hotel boom.

I need to take care of some home repairs, but I don’t know a good handyman, and the Yellow Pages are too random. Is there a better way to find a contractor?