The first Wheat album that'll make you cringe through four or five listens before you can tolerate its artificial sweetness. [#61, p.111]

The songs on Sucker aren't the greatest tunes Brock has ever committed to tape... [#51, p.103]

It is, for the most part, a distant shadow of former glories. [No. 98, p.56]

The results are about as bold and memorable as a spent glowstick. [No. 148, p.55]

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]

Even at 16 tracks, RKives feels paltry and incomplete. [No. 98, p.59]

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]

Unlike a deadmau5 or Skrillex, Van Dyk can only do his one style, and by the time the album is two-thirds over, you're already ready for him to mix out. [#86, p.59]

Admittedly, it's hard not to respect Patton's creative adventurousness, but sweet Jesus, the gulf between admiration and enjoyment of one of his projects has never been so wide. [No.89, p.57]

Uneven. [#73, p.112]

At its worst (most of it), it's layered synth sounds with beats and vocals smacking of a manufactured sexiness, all designed to hide the gaping void where memorable songwriting should be. [No. 93, p.59]

'War Cry," the album's longest track at more than 11 minutes, sums up the band's problem with its blend of barely audible vocals and meandering guitar solos that go from metallic shredding to simple repeated clusters of notes without building much tension or release. [No. 109, p.59]

Too much of A River, though, doesn't give you enough music to love it. [#68, p.110]

Like a handful of Flinstones Chewables, Velocity is sugary, prehistoric and well-intentioned, but Apples don't make a meal. [#56, p.78]

This laudable open-mindedness [to try anything] may have finally backfired. [No. 122, p.55]

Even as it completely eschews Mohawke's maximalist, hyperkinetic style of old for a newfound soft side, Lantern registers as a limp, populist gesture for how ham-fistedly it attempts to reconcile the two. [No. 122, p.57]

The relationship songs are distressingly generic; she backpedals on her "edgy" (for country) envelope-pushing; and she sings about what's she's not. [No. 122, p.57]

The Monsanto Years is another head-scratcher of an album. [No. 122, p.61]

We're left with a meandering, psychedelic buzz--not a dizzying, mind-expanding head-trip. [#71, p.102]

Magik Markers' simulations are dutiful, but they lack even a hint of the revolutionary spirit, menacing explosiveness, creativity, musicianship, savvy, wit, humor, heart or charm oif their heroes [Sonic Youth]. [Fall 2007, p.101]

Bossy's reformation seems based in penning the dullest platitudes imaginable. [No. 112, p.59]

Last Of Our Kind has heavy and abrasive moments that are heavier and more abrasive than anything in The darkness discography. [No. 121, p.53]

Their latest is another reliably pleasant, if inconsequential offering. [No. 106, p.52]

Queens Of The Stone Age lumbers its way through a series of increasingly skronky, sludge-by-numbers jams and sound. [No. 100, p.57]

Take the fake phone call and run, don't elephant walk, away. [No. 98, p.56]

Strength In Numbers makes you wonder if you ever really liked this band at all. [#75, p.94]

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.

Shallow and superficial. [#56, p.101]