As a self-conscious play for stadium-rock ascension, it may prove successful. As a successor to one of the most honest and affecting debuts of recent years, however, it feels a little empty.

Although 'I Run' and 'At Once' are the sort of soaring tunes they always did so well, on the whole there's no compelling answer to that initial question: why?

Sadly, it's an isolated gem ['Dejalo'] that can't lift Under The Blacklight out of its dull AOR mire.

His attempts to revolutionise, strip bare and stretch the borders of R&B with all manner of glitches, gollums and glaciers are admirable, but it’s only when he tranquilizes his inner Usher for the downbeat piano throb of ‘See You Fall’, the spectral orchestration of ‘Pour Cyril’ and the acoustic minimalism of ‘2 Years On (Shame Dream)’ that he achieves the subtlety and invention of, say, Sufjan Stevens.

The result is stronger than you might think, but too inconsistent and devoid of depth to stand out on a battlefield where Gaga rules all.

Terrific to get stoned to, the unfortunate upshot being that this is music that makes you fall asleep. [3 Sep 2005, p.74]

The nine tracks here turn to the old-school and the classic, making the carols you sung at school into something better suited to a night doing shots of eggnog in Fat Mike’s shed.

Here, ultimately, the DJ remains resolutely in the background. ANd that was never the point. [16 Sep 2006, p.35]

Perkins clearly has stories to tell of difficult journeys travelled, but unfortunately it comes across as yet another Yank putting out the roadside campfire with dribble from his harmonica.

Workmanlike. [18 Mar 2006, p.33]

There seems to be a hollowness, a lack of soul, an empty Big Mac carton where this album's heart should be.

In an attempt to purge themselves of the jaunty millstone that is "Young Folks" and all the joyous indie pop that went along with it, PB&J have ended up with a purely draining effort. Living Thing borders on the narcoleptic.

As an instrumental album it's vaguely impressive, but overall it's incomplete and lacks the pop touch to transform things from cerebral to listenable.

Moments do [stand alone]--instrumental 'Enrolment' is dark, stark and almost krautrocky, while closer 'Graduation' lilts with beautiful melancholy--yet, devoid of its context, it all feels somewhat banal.

This, for all the fighting talk, has the feel of a lightweight flailing around for another KO.

After a few listens, just when these songs should be beginning to grip, you get the creeping sensation Black’s slick production chops are essentially papering over flimsy songs.

Instead of bashing critics away with brilliant tunes, they find themselves defining faceless bluster-rock.

Mawkish and messy.

Better moments appear when they get a bit ballsier: 'On The Radio' and 'As Four' are jingly upbeat numbers that show they haven't spent all their in-between album down time crying into their pillows. [4 Mar 2006, p.29]

Ducktails have been labeled ‘chillwave’ and ‘hypnagogic pop’ due to their naval-gazing appeal. Sadly that appeal is lacking from this release, as is any sense of urgency, leaving Wish Hotel languishing in the middle of nowhere.

For the most part The Constant boils down to a thin chart gruel, too lumpenly pitched between the Carling Academies and the cattle-grid nightclubs to leave a mark.

Beneath the patina of skeezy Freshers’-Week-LOLZ lyrics (“got a water-bottle of whiskey in my handbag”) lies a talent.

If it weren't for the stalker-punk of 'Pussywillow' and 'Time Passing', both glowering oddly from the mess and nodding towards early B-52s, we'd shove this in the wardrobe.

[Rjd2] has moved away from sample-based instrumental hip-hop, throwing in gently psychedelic Beatles-y songcraft and live instruments to achieve a jack-of-all-trades sound that, while perfectly pleasant, is done better by Beck.

From there on in, though, it's ploddingly lightweight.

It’s all jam and no croissant, sadly.

While its synthetic atmospheres initially intrigue... The music wavers indecisively between structure and formlessness, ending up as curiously misshapen objects, half-finished designs.

Alas, it's unlikely that the applause will stretch to actually wanting to listen as the looping metallic effects, heart-attack drums and seemingly played-backwards female vocals confuse more than impress.