Who is John Mayer

Continuum is about as apt a title as it gets for John Mayer's third studio disc. Every element, from the peerless guitar playing to the plainspoken poetry of the lyrics to the breathy-sincere singing, makes a return from previous efforts. But to weakly pronounce this another worthwhile effort from an artist the world has come to expect a whole lot from and then call it a day would be no minor misdeed, because it's also the best, boldest disc he's ever made.

Taking maturity as a theme throughout, Mayer tackles a batch of adulthood's bogeymen: indifference on the uptempo chart-climber "Waiting for the World to Change," aging on the melancholy-sweet "Stop This Train," and emotional trainwreckage on the big-rocking "In Repair." That's not to suggest he's turned overly introspective--check the Jimi Hendrix cover "Bold As Love," where he hits one home for guitarists who've been living in the shadow of legend everywhere, and the hard-charging "Belief," which benefits from a mesmerizing, liquid groove. Continuum may be the third in a series, but a creative cop-out this is not; Mayer is his generation's musical superman--powerful, unassailable, and magnetic. Hand that man a cape. -- Tammy La Gorce

John Mayer's third studio album follows the multi-platinum "Room for Squares" (2001) and "Heavier Things" (2003), and marks his first turn as producer. It is his most soulful, cohesive collection yet and he says it's no accident that this project is where all of his efforts, his potential, and his disparate influences fully come together.

Singer-songwriter John Mayer fills his debut, Room for Squares, with pep talks to and advertisements for himself. Even when questioning his young life, Mayer's doubts come off glib; not one second of "Why Georgia" convinces that "the stirring in my soul" keeps the artiste awake at night. Between his Dave Matthews-wannabe vocals and the accomplished but bland lite rock of his band, he could be just as easily offering tunes for hire to a coming-of-age network series as making a stand for himself and his worldview. The premise of "City Love"--that Mayer couldn't find his way around Manhattan until finding a girlfriend to root him to the place--is nice but not edifying. "My Stupid Mouth" is similarly fuzzy; letting us in on just what he said to alienate a dinner partner would've gone a long way toward fleshing out the song's pat self-deprecation. Ultimately, Mayer comes off less like a commiserating friend than a blabbermouth who's forever forgetting there's someone else in the room. And instead of whining about a discarded lunch box ("83"), dude, learn to brown-bag it the way the rest of us did. --Rickey Wright