By Leah Greenblatt
Updated December 03, 2010 at 05:00 AM EST

You’ve already turned your leftover turkey bones into decorative wall art and decimated the Black Friday sales racks — what’s a post-Thanksgiving, pre-Christmas consumer to do? We invite you to sit back, pour yourself another cranberry-yam smoothie, and enjoy the most recent round of music videos.

Rihanna feat. Drake, ”What’s My Name?”
RiRi wanders the mean(ish) streets of Manhattan in fly-girl hot pants and maraschino cherry hair, and gets sexy over beverages — first spilled milk at the corner bodega, then glasses of pinot in an airy apartment — with her hip-hop paramour. A detour into a red-misted pagan drum circle makes less sense, but the video’s raw, street-styled charm covers its non-sequitur moments. B+

Bruno Mars, ”Grenade”
The figurative monkey on Mars’ back — obsessive, unrequited love — manifests as an upright piano that the tortured crooner drags across Los Angeles, undaunted by hills, rope burns, and gangbangers. A speeding train, however, proves (spoiler alert!) less surmountable. A-

Pink, ”Raise Your Glass”
No other major pop diva seems to enjoy surrendering her vanity to the pure fun of video-making quite like Pink does (or, really, at all). This heartfelt tribute to underdogs has her running a Sybil-like gauntlet of alter egos — Rosie the Riveter, ninja, sumo wrestler, prom wallflower — without ever losing her own ineffable spark. A

The Black Eyed Peas, ”The Time (Dirty Bit)”
In a clip that’s about as organic as their manic robo-inversion of the Dirty Dancing theme song, the Peas party and get pixelated. Not terrible, just tired — basically, it looks like a body-spray ad for people who play too much Tetris. C+

B.o.B, ”Don’t Let Me Fall”
Gravity has special, perpendicular plans for the pensive rapper, leaving him clinging to street corners and parking meters for traction (do you Purell, Bobby?) with nifty-enough Inception-on-a-$10-budget camera tricks. B

Arcade Fire, ”The Suburbs”
Director Spike Jonze’s portrait of aimless adolescence begins with idyllic scenes of teendom in cul-de-sac suburbia, then creeps into existential dread, interspersing eerie shots of balaclava’d SWAT teams and midnight home raids. The result is striking, but ultimately opaque — possibly because Jonze shot it as part of a larger short-film project. B

Jessie J, ”Do It Like a Dude”
She co-wrote Miley Cyrus’ ”Party in the U.S.A.,” but this NSFW gender manifesto is less Mouseketeer than Minaj (as in Nicki) meets Manson (as in Marilyn). Here the 22-year-old Londoner does it like a droog, snarling and flashing her Clockwork Orange eyes as the leotarded boss of her own fantastically grimy girls-only underworld. A-