Their sixth album is shambling and empty, spiked infrequently with a good bassline or an almost-good chorus, and even the jokes founder on the band’s contempt.

His second proper album tempers the jollity with some beef, or at least a couple of traditional rock-guitar solos, and the result is an uncharacteristic stiffness. [#11, p.125]

The songs get lost in waves of wah-wah long before a long, slow fade into random-noise oblivion. [Dec 2005, p.149]

Longwave sound more British than Strokes-ish, with a mild talent for writing melodies that demand your attention. [Apr 2003, p.125]

This wouldn't be a Squarepusher record if it didn't flip the bird to listeners at some point. [#10, p.126]

You've heard it all before--at least twice. [#10, p.128]

Like Morcheeba at their worst. [#10, p.124]

Problem is, 23-year-old frontman James Walsh remains the same sap. [Jan 2004, p.109]

He's done it before, and better. [Oct 2006, p.135]

The wan, wimpy Weird Revolution relies on tired drum loops and flat rap vocals. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.121]

Alien Ant Farm's songs may be catchy, but their wishy-washy personality makes it hard to care. [Sep 2003, p.118]

X is hindered by a glut of ballads and plodders. [#9, p.144]

Nowadays, his voice has mellowed into a fearless croon that seems to suggest a down-home Boy George. [Jun/Jul 2001, p.108]

The ponderous lyrics sound cribbed straight from A Mighty Wind, and LeMaster's nasal whine is hard to take. [Apr 2004, p.134]

It trades the epic scope of their more established countrymen for a stab at pop accessibility. [Nov 2003, p.116]

Unrushed, spacious, and duller than a four-hour hayride. [Mar 2004, p.130]

Though there’s slick, occasionally dynamite production from the likes of the Runners and Scott Storch, the lyrics rarely rise above defensive boasting (“One Hit Wonder”), frigid sex raps (“What It Is [Strike a Pose]”) and rote autobiography (“College”).

Their nostalgia is occasionally endearing but usually curdles into crotchetiness. [Aug 2006, p.110]

The search for the perfect stand-alone song leaves a ragbag of unrelated ideas. [May 2008, p.77]

Good living has tilted his writing from surefooted and universal to numbing and platitudinous, while his stormy passions are becalmed by an overwhelming production job. [#14, p.130]

A 38-minute meditation on how not to build on a hook. [Jun/Jul 2001, p.114]

Bare might impress someone who thinks there should be more Cutting Crew records. Others should beware. [#17, p.136]

Album three aims for maturity, but the results are stunted.

Often translates into little more than spliced Dubya soundbites and “spooky” found sounds (helicopter blades, police sirens) played over dour, noncommittal loops.

Congrats, boys, you’ve made Warped’s one millionth girls-suck album.

This is all folded into a weirdly ambitious disco-rock record (Madonna collaborator Stuart Price produced) that occasionally takes on fun topics like desert-motel nooky, but more often gets bogged down in ruminations on Why We’re Here, not to mention What It All Means.

Kracker's Southernisms feel a little rote and undigested. [Aug 2004, p.142]

This time around, both Air's jokes and their grooves have lost their grace... [Jun/Jul 2001, p.104]