Unfortunately, their third album Fragments of Freedom scraps most of their signature sound for half-baked experiments in R&B, acid jazz, and hip-hop.

They seem like a garden-variety hard rock band, one that would have been generic and forgettable in 1974, and one that is generic and forgettable in 2004.

Largely absent of originality.

R.E.M. have never seemed as directionless.

For the most part My Ride's Here is a misfire from an artist capable of much better work.

Seems slickly over-produced and a little forced.

The first recording that the hardcore Stereolab fans need not own.... What was once endearing has mutated into the irritating, as the chanted vocals, simple organ runs and endless, pulsating rhythmic drones alienate listeners instead of mesmerizing them.

A poor release.

It's ironic that 30 years later, a record like this could make psychedelia seem as curmudgeonly as rock & roll seemed then.

The songs lack the energy, the feeling, and even the melody of Underworld's classic records.

Sure, they make all the right moves, hiring superstar producer Rodney Jerkins to helm most of the tracks and attempting to seem mature, but this all results in a record that is curiously self-conscious and flat. Neither the production, the songs, or the performances have much life to them, with the exception of the closer "Goodbye," which significantly was released as a Christmas single in 1999, long before the rest of the record was finished.

You can't tell if Wishville is the sound of a band losing steam or just being too self-conscious.

There may be some satirical, post-ironic thing going on here, but you'll be too bored to notice or care.

Messy, noisy, directionless, and painfully shy on both tunes and purpose... and winds up sounding a bit like a parody.

Jumping on the Radiohead bandwagon a couple years too late, For Stars' It Falls Apart cops so much of their sound and style it is almost ridiculous.

There are only two quality songs, a lot of redundant trash-talking, and an overall sense of ridiculousness that pervades.

If the band supported his sheets of noise, terrifying guitars, monstrous rhythms, or even a hook every now and then, Durst's narcissism may have been palatable, but the group pretty much churns out the same colorless heavy plod for each song.

Give or take a couple hot tracks, this release is not likely to play a significant role in his legacy.

Backed by stale songs, formulaic arrangements, and mediocre songwriting, Williams is forced to rely on his volcanic personality to bring this album across -- and despite a few strong performances, he sinks into lame self-parody time and time again.

Without strong rhythmic or melodic hooks, the album's slow grooves blend together and Jackson disappears into the productions.

Nickelback can now afford a little more time in the studio and a little more time to indulge themselves, and they turn out the same record, only slicker, which only highlights just how oppressively and needlessly sullen this group is.

They skated by the first time through, due to a couple of fluke catchy songs, but they have no hooks or full-fledged songs this time around, and suffer dramatically because of it.

Strictly for the devout fan base.

It's the sound of an artist who's given too much freedom too early and has no idea what to do with it.

Stealing of a Nation is a slick, calculated record that misses its target on all accounts.

It's clear that despite laudable ambitions, comeback albums should be focused and lean, not as flabby as this one.

Anyone with an Adult. or Add N to (X) album, or even Berlin's Pleasure Victim, know it's been done better.

Some of the smooth, spacey ballads that were characteristic of their 1993 self-titled release show up here, but more often than not LeBon is lost in a swamp of over-production.