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

Bunkka proves he can't write songs to save his slipmats. [#8, p.120]

The first few songs on their fourth might fool you into thinking they have a future.... But it's downhill after the highpoint: 'Sirens in the Deep Sea.'

Even the presence of A-list guests can't redeem such jaded, formulaic songs. [#4, p.118]

Would have benefited from more stringent editing... [Jun/Jul 2001, p.108]

There's clearly imagination here, with strange little sonic tweaks and tics at every turn, but only once does it gel into something satisfying. [Dec 2003, p.141]

Their third albums smells less of revivalist chic than tribute-band nostalgia. New wave knockoffs have rarely sounded so old.

Touching Down needs vocals, stylistic variation or any kind of respite from the relentless percussive onslaught. [#13, p.98]

It's music that's all cleverness and fury from a distance, but when studied up close, it turns out to be pretty hollow. [Apr 2004, p.126]

Here, [Saliva] temper their mid-tempo crunch with '80s-metal guitar heroics and Southern-rock fundamentalism. [Sep 2004, p.141]

Despite scattered flashes of uncharacteristic lightness, she rarely tempers the fury that drove the originals with the more accepting perspective that's guided her subsequent efforts. [Jul 2005, p.119]

The record feels uneven, as the oscillation between frivolous and serious makes both less convincing. [Nov 2003, p.108]

He devotes himself largely to unremarkable romance chronicles and blandly competent hooks. [Oct 2007, p.107]

The bulk of One Monkey finds the boys trying too hard to distance themselves from their former weirdness. [Aug 2004, p.132]

Like [David Gray and Damien Rice], Powter writes faceless tunes landmined with unsubtle hooks that can devour your brain in less time than it takes for an expert barista to whip up a cappuccino. [Jun 2006, p.143]

Their youthful gusto is admirable. The results, alas, are not. [#14, p.141]

Almost a total wreck -- even decent melodies are hard to come by. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.130]

Monotonous in its R&B pleasantry. [Mar 2005, p.137]

There aren't many things worse than a pretentious hippie. [Apr 2006, p.112]

Prince made sexual audacity a trademark ages ago, but Legend is just too cautious to put it over--he sounds like a CPA on his first trip to the Hustler Club.

Their sense of perfection is also their downfall. [#11, p.124]

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

There is little... to compare with either the work of his Genesis heyday or his still heartbreaking 1981 solo debut. [#12, p.139]

Album four is especially monochrome gut-check metal, so flourishes of mellow pianos or cargo-shorts funk are as welcome as a bag of Skittles in a pack of combat rations.

The MC turns largely to the Neptunes for music, and their lithe, bombastic space-porno sonatas provide a vitality and playfulness he’s still capable of matching. But a string of increasingly awkward and thoroughly ludicrous sex jams finds him slapping asses, and may leave his devotees smacking their foreheads.

In attempting to be energetic, the band merely sounds busy. [Jun/Jul 2001, p.105]

Like [J.J.] Cale, Knopfler prefers murmuring to emoting while threading fancy little guitar figures through songs that can't decide whether to shuffle into the haze or nod off. [Nov 2004, p.136]

Even Booth's uncanny vocal resemblance to Bono isn't enough to keep this overlong set interesting. [#10, p.118]