On Idol, all this unformed youthfulness was endearing, but on this debut she just seems green, not quite ready for the big leagues she's been pushed into.

The material tends to work best when they sound relatively relaxed, as opposed to when it is obvious that they are trying very hard to honor the originals while being over-demonstrative with their obviously gifted voices.

The Boatlift [is] a fun floor-filler, but just not up to Pitbull's usual standards.

"Misstep" is certainly a word too harsh for The Big Doe Rehab, which is more "uneventful" than "wrong."

In stretches, it's perfectly entertaining, yet most of it goes in one ear and out the other, not leaving much in the memory.

Even considering the over-abundance of elaboration on all fronts, it's a credit to Lupe that he has made an album that cannot be processed after one or two listens, and if you have the time, its inscrutability turns into mere complexity.

Natasha Bedingfield is a genuine pop talent who often flashes hints of a greater than average ambition that could turn her into something more substantial than the likes of Rhianna, but the awkwardly assembled Pocketful of Sunshine feels inorganic in a way that Unwritten did not, less personal and more vetted by various A&R executives.

Liverpool 8 is a relaxed, amiable collection of friendly pop tunes: it's nothing too flashy and it has no one tune that calls attention to itself, but it's a well-constructed, casually charming pop record.

They have enough clatter and commotion to keep Mission Control moving at a brisk pace, but they could use some extra oomph.

The joy and silliness are enough to keep the record out of sleazy Har Mar Superstar territory, but it also means that there is a serious lack of substance on the record.

No matter what instrument he's playing or what he's singing about, his music still feels the same, which is enough to satisfy his fans but not to win him many new ones.

So while Free Somehow can't quite rival the energy of a Widespread show, it still offers something that those concerts cannot, making the album a worthwhile purchase for most dedicated fans.

Where the group used to sound like a bulldozer demolishing rubble, now they're more like a snow plow gently shoving away a winter wonderland. It's still good, but isn't stoner rock supposed to sound destructive?

Whatever the case may be, what's left is a record with some promise but too many flaws to be truly enjoyable.

Despite the missteps, well over half of Robotique Majestique is terrifically entertaining; it just seems like the hit-to-miss ratio could have been so much higher without much more effort.

At times, it's hard to hear much unique about them. Then again, the boldness of Red Yellow & Blue--both the colors and the album--can't be denied, and Born Ruffians' energy does spark something special occasionally.

Here was a chance to show that the music was worthy, too. With a singing style in the cockney accent of Lily Allen or Kate Nash, he differentiated himself from these singers by actually playing the guitar himself, with mixture of skiffle and ska

The huge guest list is also a plus since Ross would have a hard time carrying this album on his own, but when surrounded by talent he pushes a little harder and comes up with a handful of rhymes that aren't tired or clichéd.

Not enough to raise him above "the guy who remixed Elvis" and no great disappointment either.

Even though the formula is a winning one (and sounds pretty thrilling in small doses), by the end of the album you feel like you were listening to one really long song.

There are some solid album tracks that recall the more daring aspects of the debut, particularly the abstract, dark-hued cool of the opener, "Ghouls," and the catchy and energetic "Tonight." But the rest of Brain Thrust Mastery consists of pleasantly tuneful pop songs that barely register with the listener even after several repetitions.

Nothing here is as gripping or as perfect as "Rock Lobster," "Private Idaho," or "Love Shack," and the songs that are borderline filler get pushed into one big forgettable lump towards the end of the album.

Sixes & Sevens is a disjointed conglomeration of different ramblings that can't quite coalesce around any sort of idea.

This, though, is the kind of nice, safe album a listener wants to like badly, but whose flaws ultimately leave one fumbling for the skip button on repeat listens.

There are no surprises, but when you do something this well, there doesn't need to be.

Walk It Off is hardly a disaster, but it is a strange, lopsided album--despite its focus, it just doesn't play to Tapes 'n Tapes strengths as much as it should have.

Sings Live! is not a landmark album, nor even a superb "live" album, but the sound quality is decent enough (though the "acoustic guitar through the board" is a bit disappointing), and Meloy is a jovial host with his adoring fans, who ultimately this collection of songs was released for.

Like so much of "Emancipation" and E=MC2, which is a virtual replica of its predecessor in almost every way, 'Touch My Body' is all about sound, rhythm, and texture and not so much about song, something that helps sustain Mariah Carey's run at the top the charts, but something that also pushes melodic hooks, and in the process singing, into the background.