The inevitable has caught up with O'Brien, who finds himself struggling to stay afloat on The Art of Pretending to Swim. The self-produced record dives into murky waters in an ambitious attempt to incorporate an electronic flair to an already complete set of folk tunes.

Sadly, despite flashes of brilliance, fourth record Radlands more often finds Mystery Jets operating on autopilot.

Despite many of the songs not building on the promise of the opening track, there is a sense of playfulness to the proceedings. You can practically hear Grohl grinning throughout as he indulges in some thrash metal cosplay. Unfortunately, it sounds like Dream Widow was more fun to record than it is to listen to.

Firepower is exactly what you would expect of Priest almost 50 years into their career. It's well-produced, expertly executed and understandably quotidian.

If more attention was paid to crafting better songs, rather than just sounds, Howl would have been much more fulfilling.

While the sound splashed across Wrecked is quite gripping (exceptionally gritty electronic that heavily works the industrial angle), the lack of distinction within, and contrast between, tracks makes it tough to get behind.

The lower your expectations, the better it will seem.

Legend is content to adopt a croonerific sound that doesn't challenge existing soul genre parameters in the least. That's fine, in theory, but rather yawn-worthy in execution.

The album is ridiculously fun and surprising, in that it sounds like much older UK electronic rooted in the present. What's quite out of place though are the distinctly lagging tracks that dawdle across the album.

A pleasant enough album, but when it comes down to it, Toy are much more appealing when they soar rather than tread water.

Despite poor production choices and lazy song structures, Pop Smoke's energy and solo spurts of brilliance won't allow for this stale posthumous release to tarnish his legacy.

This compilation feels totally unnecessary and impersonal, neither satisfying for old fans nor will it convince new ones of the band's greater legacy. They deserve better.

Comedown Machine is a more even effort [than Angles], but it lacks any show-stopping moments, allowing the forgettable songs to blend together.

Ununiform is an uneven album at best, showing that Tricky isn't bereft of ideas but was lacking the fire to properly flesh them out.

He's unable to find his footing, whether as a blues, soul or country singer, and the end results are a bland pastiche of all three.

Despite her great pipes however, the band's arrangements make much of Born of the Sun feel like amateur hour at Medieval Times. A talented producer would be able to focus on McCarthy's strong voice and balance some of the band's more freewheeling tendencies.

At over an hour in length, Teenage Emotions is more quantity than quality.

It's too long, sprawling and musically unappetizing for many to be willing to sit and digest as a whole. Rather than being a record that you listen to countless times, it's more like an autobiographical book that you read once out of curiosity and shelve simply for the sake of collection.

Although its brighter moments ("Adam and Eve," "Cops Shot the Kid") save it from being a complete fall from grace, overall Nasir is disappointingly heedless. Hopefully his next effort is more honest.

The production is clean and the tunes, as mentioned, sweet, but this is a sugary confection that's bound to get lost in the candy store.

Where Wake in Fright felt lean and energetic, The Long Walk is bloated and tired, not so much a fulfilling, purposeful exercise as a slow crawl to nowhere in particular.

The fact that each member of the band produced their own tracks comes off like a harbinger to why Endless Dream simply doesn't work, ostensibly ending Peter Bjorn and John's secret winning streak.

Pangaea Ultima is a cleaner, sprawling affair, but one lacking the ingenuity of some of Moore's more esoteric works.

Experience neither recaptures past glories nor forges a new way forward, and while it's better than its predecessor, it nevertheless captures the sound of a legacy rock band stuck in neutral.

The problem isn't just that the result feels more like a collection of demos than a complete record; it's that the songs themselves are generally uninspired, and often feel unfinished despite being co-written, almost all of them, with top-notch songwriters.

At their best, the Men imbued borrowed styles with urgency and fervor. Drift attempts to conjure the same spirit, but it's too divided and derivative to be vital.

The surreal strings on "We Work Nights," the doubled percussion on "An English House" and the sultry, repetitive warble on closer "Reprise" give the release a much needed kick, but Half of Where You Live still lacks the strength it needs.

MOPN would have landed much better if it abandoned the balancing act between the past and the present in exchange for wholehearted embrace of Lopatin's current realities. Lopatin has proven to us that he can deliver hits; it's time that he believes it himself.