It's an LP full of computerized, Auto-Tuned dance-pop anthems, perfect to drive the kids at junior prom into a frenzy. [No.90 p.59]

As meticulously milquetoast as the entirety of this is, there are deadly sharp adult contemporary hooks on "Over & Over" and "The Pin," though the pervasive electronic beats, the obnoxious layer of acoustic strumming and raise-your-beer-and-hum choruses are symbols of a band lock-stepping in with whatever goes over best with casual listeners. [No. 132, p.55]

Seems shambled and unfinished. [No. 85, p.58]

The message may project the present-day feeling of hopelessness and conspiracy, but as the medium is soulless, effortless and tinkers along with less musical substance than when a bunch of 13-year-olds get together to form their first garage band, it's the listener who'll feel mocked, cheated and wanting to escape. [No. 149, p.55]

A poor pastiche of Aphex Twin, Spandau Ballet and Gary Numan. [No. 96, p.60]

My Bloody Underground is yet another experience of the stripe only Newcombe can sculpt. [Summer 2008, p.99]

The vocals are on point in Ashcroft's non-plussed yet quintessentially pop-edged delivery, but these arrangements lean more toward boredom and self-servitude. [No. 133, p.53]

The odd, sublime nod to the blues is a pleasant shock in what registers as a 45-track hour-long lark--the latest in a long, winding series of digressions from the auteur's core competency. [No. 93, p.55]

A record that plays like just the sort of effort we've come to expect from the Dandy Warhols: an uninspired, over-referential half-nod to the group's heroes. [No.87, p.54]

Opening slog, "Heaven Is A Gated Community" plods hopelessly beneath its titular destination, setting the pace for a record-long limp. [No. 93, p.57]

In spite of its shortcomings, there's something fascinating about this saccharine new Butthole brew.... Like driving by a head-on collision late at night, it's almost impossible to avert your eyes. [#51, p.88]

Aside from a handful of tunes, little here is all that memorable, namely because the hooks can’t see their way clear of the repetitive, robotic arrangements.