Despite using occasional strings, steel drums euphonium, woodwinds, and even a mellotron, this is not a slick affair.

Super Collider is so mired in midtempo drudgery and familiar hard rock (not thrash) tropes that it never really connects.

The Del-Lords once embodied the spirit of the ragged, rootsy, New York rock & roll scene at the end of a magical era; but that culture has long since vanished into history, making most of these songs, no matter how well constructed or intentioned, feel like exercises in nostalgia rather than anything vital.

Try as she may to distract with her strut and style as Skylar Grey, what resonates is the same kind of melodic turn of phrase that was apparent back when she was calling herself Holly Brook.

No matter how carefully constructed this whole enterprise is, See You There doesn't carry the same weight as Ghost on the Canvas.

The album just offers up a heaping pile of midtempo heaviness that harkens back to Metallica's middle years.

Everything here, from the sound to the songs, is about improving the brand of "Luke Bryan: Party Bro" and if he never seems to inhabit that role, he's nevertheless able to sell it.

By the album's second half, Avenged Sevenfold can't help but let loose their guitar shredding theatrics a bit, and their personality starts to shine through as the tempo quickens and tracks take flight to unabashed height

The slightly wider vocal range and additional expressiveness don't hurt his cause. For those who aren't as easily drawn into Tesfaye's world, this will seem roughly as insufferable and as bleakly aimless as the earlier material.

Fanatics only; everyone else can grab the singles.

Appropriately titled, the album exudes warmth but occasionally sounds so relaxed that it seems to lack inspiration--more suited for a department store soundtrack than vacation listening.

There aren't enough songs like "Recollection" and the very poppy "Room 14 (I'm Fine)" to counteract the moments of heaviness, though, and the album ends up being capsized by the sheer heaviness of the majority of the songs.

Unfortunately, the bar set by these songs was an awfully high one, so although the creation of Circles… was no doubt a cathartic experience, the songs here aren't likely to become the first choice for any old-school Soul Coughing lovers.

All this record does is break the heart of anyone who fell in love with Yuck because of that album, and that's a real shame.

Musically, Adult Film is a smorgasbord of pop ephemera, with melodies crashing about like boozy butterflies, occasionally landing on an idea and then leaping back into the blue in search of less restrictive stimuli.

In some instances, it helps to not be much of a Donna Summer fan. Afrojack transforms "I Feel Love" into a graceless barrage of battering noise and reduces Summer's vocal to pulp, while Greene's "On the Radio" has Summer so heavily echoed and distant that it could be titled "On the Radio (At the Bottom of a Deep Well)."

Its flame flickers at best, and the feeling of deja vu that pervades the album means that Los Campesinos! need to change something before they hit the studio again, or the next record will be an even more faded copy of their glorious early days.

The problem is, shooting for the stars is really where the Airborne Toxic Event are at their best, so while songs like "Timeless" and "The Fifth Day" might feel like the band treading on old ground, it's when they have the time and space to really stretch out that they're able to get up to full speed.

As the album opener, [Alien is] hard to ignore but it inadvertently sets the tone for the rest of Britney Jean: she's not one of us and doesn't feel comfortable where she's at, and that uneasiness underpins the rest of this vaguely dispiriting album.

This music seems clumsy and half-hearted, and Ginn's interplay with new drummer Gregory Amoore feels sluggish and leaden at every turn.

Occasional resemblances to Drake and the-Dream are as blatant as the Isley Brothers and Michael Jackson exercises of Write Me Back. The similarities are so obvious that it's tough to discern if Kelly is acknowledging his younger followers, aiming to beat them at their game, or both.

Life Love & Hope doesn't, and hearing it might lead a devoted Boston follower to believe that, despite the few moments when things come together nicely, maybe Scholz has finally lost his touch. Check back in another decade for further developments.

For all their technical skill, there's something terribly generic about this band, who don't seem to have a fresh or distinctive move in their entire repertoire as they bounce through their cookie-cutter tunes.

The whole affair is ultimately an exercise in late-'90s indie rock ephemera, and like countless other acts before them, Drowners seem poised to fade away before they burn out.

It's unsurprising that this album is filled to the brim of arena-sized singalong choruses--which will undoubtedly be sung to the rafters by delirious teenage fans--but unfortunately, they sound all too familiar.

The album consists entirely of songs begging for a singer that could give them their own personality, to which Michele and company respond by making every song louder than the last.

Twin Forks seems like a worthy vehicle for Carrabba's songs, but too much of this album panders to worn-out themes and clichés.

The songs are too weak, the sound is too good (aka lifeless), and the album feels like a career move instead of anything real or fun.