A tense, polished, cold affair that never truly explodes into something larger.

Unfortunately, the biggest misses are at the heart of the album, as the over-long and manic “Pink Lunettes” is crazed from a bad drug trip or just 18 months cooped up, pin-balling around searching for meaning with grating lyrics. ... The finale recalls the opener with a swirling mix of electro, longing, and strings, pedal-affected guitars and keyboards, doing an admirable job recalling the best of Pink Floyd but skewed through a modern filter, bookending the shaky 9 on an exhilarating note.

The easy rhymes so obvious in “Smile” end the album as it began, on a relatively placid note that unfortunately doesn’t change much over the course of the eleven cuts. As a result, this album title may refer to the disparity between potential and achievement on the part of Lukas Nelson & Promise of the Real.

As a bleak artistic shift from his folksier Americana, the album is a complete product, just not a very engaging one. Todd Snider seems to be in transition with this record.

As a whole Screen Time is a curious listen/mood piece, the outings are all semi-interesting but (like the album as a whole) remain one note in tone, leaving a minimal visceral imprint. Screen Time’s sketches and atonal guitar jazz wanderings have moments, just not enough, however, with Moore, all guitar phases and releases are worth checking in on.

There’s attitude aplenty from the very outset. In fact, its first track, “Shockwave,” contains the clarion call of electric guitars combined with bluesy harp, at least partially giving the lie to chest-thumping lyrics Liam delivers with an almost audible sneer. The repetition of the refrain might be better served with an extra dollop or two of spontaneity, and while this somewhat stilted production might well be expected from Kurstin and Wyatt–who’ve worked with the likes of Adele and Lady Gaga–it doesn’t lessen the dampening effect on this performance and that of “Now That’ I’ve Found You.”

Clearly, the group put time and effort into production (the dance/electro “Flutter Freer” and vibrating “Andy Helping Andy” both sound alive) but made an artistic choice to neuter their more rock efforts. Had the instrumentals been more invigorating this may have been an interesting choice, but as People Helping People wraps, the feeling of No Age just going through the disenchanted motions sets in.

End of the Day is a bit of an enigma. Fans of Anonymous Club may enjoy the atmospheric score and recall some of their favorite accompanying scenes from the documentary. For everyone else, there’s not much to get out of it.

More than anything, the album is simply boring. None of Morello’s solos feel particularly inspired. None of his grooves get enough room to breathe. None of his jams particularly rock.