Their collaboration suggests a nice philosophical dissonance, but only in theory. In practice, Scream is nearly awful.

The momentum collapses with ballads that would suit not only his band but even the Backstreet Boys. [May 2005, 124]

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]

[Deadsy's] interchangeable keyboard noodling and flat, faintly robotic vocals will excite only those desperate for labelmates Orgy to hurry up and knock out another album. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.104]

His choked yelp and hootenanny backing suggest fun should be had. It isn't. [#10, p.116]

If shards of symbolist vision and baroque virtuosity remain, they're smoothed out on the beekeeping tip, avoiding any sharp stings, leaving barely a spoonful of honey. [Apr 2005, p.112]

The joke isn't well-conceived or funny enough to sustain over an hour. [#16, p.123]

Though Loeb can weave a pleasant, elaborate melody, her originality wavers. [Apr/May 2002, p.115]

Problem is, that kind of constant high gets as dull as life on Prozac. [Aug 2003, p.120]

Sturdy (and bland) anthems built on overused U2 chords and several barnstorming R&B vamps notable for thowback horn riffs and Aretha Franklin-style backing vocals. [Sep 2004, p.138]

They still spit nervous energy, but Shelly's melodies have suffered, and his pubescent whines have unfortunately matured into apologies for bad behavior. [#15, p.121]

At his best, Berman used to refract sage-with-guitar tropes into dryly perverse insights; but this time he's just smothering them in weird phrases. [July 2008, p.76]

They come off more than ever like a caricature. [Aug 2004, p.130]

The novelty of the all-star show has worn off, especially as the caliber of the all-stars has declined dramatically. [Nov 2005, p.140]

Many beats... sound cheap, and many rhymes... trade drama for tough-guy same-old. [Oct 2004, p.128]

Instead of sunshine-pop sugar, there's the cloying tang of saccharine. [Jun 2005, p.109]

Distraught longtime fans can take comfort in the gothic ire of the Banner-fronted, Hurricane Katrina–lamenting “Seein’ Thangs” and the ambling blues-hop storytelling of Phonte Coleman on “Backstage Girl,” but little else can be salvaged from the wreckage of Shadow’s abruptly imploding talent.

At home, it's hard to see the point of these whiny raps, tongue-in-cheek R&B jams and lo-fi funk grooves. [#13, p.93]

A strangely dispassionate exercise in record-collection rock. [#17, p.133]

This rote Los Angeles studio rock is dominated by the radio-friendliest songwriters money can buy. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.112]

Being shallow and immature is both his strength and his weakness. [Apr 2003, p.131]

An energetic, derivative genre exercise. [Oct 2003, p.118]

It's ultimately unconvincing. [Jun 2005, p.115]

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

Our suggestion for a more honest band name: Used Cars. [Jul 2006, p.100]

Unfortunately, it translates into kohl-eyed pantomime, rather than cathartic music, with lyrics so hopelessly trite they sound like a feel-good tract for preschoolers.

He's labored, bombastic and pitch-challenged.... The lyrics are embarrassing. [Aug 2004, p.143]

Honors shifts in style over substance. [#11, p.124]