Another late December, another List of Big Faves. The ten pop discs below represent 2003's pop-rock cream according to the admitted tilted tastes of this writer: just one more middle-aged white guy about twenty years behind on rhythm-&-blues and largely disinterested in what passes for weighty (lyrically or musically) rock these days. In brief, these are the new CDs I've played most over the year - and can see myself playing in the years ahead. So, hey ho, let's go:

• The Bangles, Doll Revolution (Koch): Forget Fleetwood Mac's middling reunion disc (Lindsey is the mad pop genius, but absent Christine is the soul of the band!) - this is the comeback that's been getting all the replay in our house. Rueful, pop-rock with hooks a-plenty and lyrics which speak of experience that few of us expected 'em to stick around long enough to share. A small gem.

• Dandy Warhols, Welcome to the Monkey House (Capitol): This 'un kicked in quickly for me - midway into the first chorus of "We Used to Be Friends." In a lotta ways it's the roving pop-rock album the revamped Blur wishes it'd made: catchy and dancefloor-friendly, simultaneously glam (love the Flo & Eddie voices in the back of "Rock Bottom") and post-new wavey. Plus: with "Scientist," Courtney Taylor-Taylor got one more song out of Bowie than Bowie got out of Bowie this year. . .

• Dressy Bessy (Kindercore): "Just Once More" is the kick-ass opener, but I suspect if Tammy Ealon and the boys'd decided to lead with something else ("Better Luck," say) than that would've been the kick-ass opener. Proof that pop-punk is not just for adenoidal losers and Avril wannabes.

• Fountains of Wayne, Welcome Interstate Managers (Virgin): I've raved about this Jersey pop classic too many times in the past year to have this 'un be a surprise to them-what-knows-me. Yeah, I know "Stacy's Mom" has been over-hyped by pop-nerds, but can you blame us? When not tracking the semi-thought processes of horny young teens, Adam Schlesinger & Chris Collinswood show witty and winning empathy for self-destructive desk jockeys and kids who wind up working for their jobs. You could almost call it a middle class answer to Bruce Springsteen - with glistening hooks and sighs in place of bellowing Steinbeckian romanticism - but the comparison wouldn't take ya far.
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