Exactly one third of the Wild Wild West soundtrack is worth mention. Good songs that you may tape onto a mix and play in your car or headphones away from the rest. The other two thirds are meaningless filler, designed for monetary -- not artistic -- purposes that leave behind an after taste worse than curdled milk. Like you've been used for something ... tawdry.

First the good: You simply can't say enough good about Common, who takes a worn tale of another man's love in "8 Minutes to Sunrise" and twists it with his Chitown slang into a brilliant discussion of Western tinged regret and no clear resolutions. Then, Slick Rick drops a tiny gem from his vast treasure trove of musical genius on "I Sparkle," a dance floor ditty that shows off the skill, but not the complexity, of the artist. Of course the Dre/Eminem collaboration "Bad Guys Always Die" has shining moments of brilliance tied in with Dre's still floundering attempts to cement a post-gangsta sound. The BeastieBoy references join other Death Row allusions to put another brick in the road to Chronic 2000. Finally, newcomers Neutral offer a groove so hypnotic in "Chocolate Form" you may not get the meaning of the song until the fifth or sixth time listening to it, but you'll keep playing it for its wonderful use of sampling and vibrant sound.

Now the bad: Will Smith, once an actually good lyricist, wades deep in his own press releases. Had Kool Moe Dee and Dru Hill done "Wild Wild West" themselves, it may have become a solid song instead of a postscript to Big Willie Style with a cowboy hat slapped on top of the Fresh Prince of ID4/MIB/WWW/Bel Air, and so on. MC Lyte swings and bunts on "Keep It Movin," a track that outshines her fading lyrical glory. Salutorian at the Jodeci School of Verbal Pleading, Tra-Knox will be quickly forgotten, but it must have been his "Lucky Day" to get a song thus titled on a guaranteed platinum soundtrack. Enrique Iglesias sleepwalks through "Bailamos" (musta been Salma Hayek's condition to be in the flick), Blackstreet makes another empty Blackstreet soundtrack song, ditto some So So Def act, Faith sings another sad song (will someone date this woman and act right?), but seeing Guy back together raises an eyebrow, until you hear the stifling mediocrity of "The Best," which is less than they can (and hopefully will) do.

Finally a duo of bad ideas turned into records. Bel Air alumna Tatyana Ali continues her saccharine attempts at Mary J. Bligeism on "Getting Closer," turning a revered Nice & Smooth hip hop track into a Britney Spears minded mess that has Mariah Carey aspirations on a Samantha Fox talent account (with a fifth the cleavage to keep your occupied). Then, just when you thought you could quit retching into the toilet, Kel Spencer (the idiot kid fom Kenan & Kel and Good Burger) is suddenly "the voice of ghetto USA" and suddenly this hard core rapper, the second coming of Will Smith (saying he's tough but seen as non-threatening by the world at large, a perfect minstrel amusement). This is so funny it's hard to even contemplate it happened in real life, but the evidence is on the shelves at music stores everywhere. If you could take a pair of scissors and cut out slices to remove some of the wackness, these two would be the first to go, and be burned for good measure.

The verdict: dub the great songs and take this bad boy back quickly. Where? To the where-ever-you-got-it-house!