Kelly sounds exhilaratingly unhinged by passion. It drives him into territory no one else is able--or willing--to navigate. [Aug 2005]

A poorly-recorded collection of lazily-written songs recorded by an artist whose muse deserted him long ago. [Oct 2004, p.131]

On album two, his focus switches from coke to cash as he booms about his fleet of Maybachs (on the soaring T-Pain synthfest 'The Boss') and prepaying his baby daughter’s college tuition.

It doesn't help that Live operate at two speeds: overamped anthems and over-the-top ballads, which render [Kowalczyk's] doubtless heartfelt homilies rather empty. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.125]

Mostly, Ten is The LL Cool J Show -- a reliable sitcom, now in its tenth season, detailing the bachelorhood of a brawny loverman. [#12, p.146]

This album sends her style to rehab, cleaning up messy edges and emotional extremes. [May 2005, p.124]

Despite their surface similarities, Knapp's wide-eyed songs lack the unnerving distinction and eccentricity that are [Conor] Oberst's stock-in-trade. [Nov 2004, p.142]

Beneath the heavy petting, he displays a pleasant touch for soft '70s soul.

In place of the band's distinctive head-banging limberness, there's a strange hybrid: a new sort of hard-rock soul, slightly lumbering in spite of its virtuosity. [Sep 2006, p.136]

Meanders aimlessly, stumbling into bits of tune but never taking them anywhere. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.123]

That's both the best and the worst thing about this album: The music is much more eloquent than the lyrics. [May 2003, p.112]

Negativland's chugging cacophony seems a fitting and grisly tribute to human road kill. [#11, p.138]

The group's lite grooves, awful raps and wide-screen choruses are beginning to sound desperate. [#17, p.144]

This is very much another case of: nice lyrics, but a shame about the tunes. [#4, p.118]

The lack of pretense on his second album makes him an approachable Everypimp, and he gets nothing but love from [his] guests. [Dec 2004, p.138]

This is the hip-hop equivalent of an all-stops pulled, Oscar-ready performance: mushily sentimental, self-righteously indignant and constantly in your face. [Nov 2004, p.138]

After years of trading her signature flourishes for a radio-ready purr, she's left with almost no presence at all. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.118]

Much of the material features clamorous, heavy-handed production, and though Xzibit's subject matter ranges from orgies to the benevolence of his mama, his dexterous rhyming style is a little too undifferentiated. [#10, p.132]

The production sparkles.... But the songs are dull. [#14, p.131]

The musical treatment is Depeche Mode-lite, setting generally passionate songs in an antiseptic electronic context, and Gore's over-earnest voice lacks the presence to reinvigorate them. [May 2003, p.120]

While Love's voice is as scratchy and corrosive as ever, unfaraid to veer off-pitch for a good sneer, the album is big-time Hollywood rock. [Mar 2004, p.112]

A band that traffics in momentum can't afford to take their foot off the gas as often as Yellowcard does. [Mar 2006, p.112]

Too often... their ideas are dead ends. [Aug 2004, p.140]

[The songs'] unrelenting wallop, growling guitars and mock-operatic choruses tend to blur together even as they're kicking your ass. [Oct 2005, p.137]

Mood enhancers like 'Blind Confusion' and 'Blister on My Soul' set tart melodies to a guitar punch that compensates for a shortage of coherent content. But from there, things slow down and bloat up.

Successful imitation requires a kind of talent, too. [#9, p.156]

On Cry, Hill ripens, showing a boldness few artists ever manage. [#12, p.145]

No distinct personality emerges. [Oct 2006, p.132]