The result creates a perfect arc--one O’Connor has, here, fully realized.

The long list of guest stars lends the songs a variety that Morrison’s most monochromatic solo albums could well use.

The album, which features Beyonce, Ellie Goulding and Sia, stresses soft-edged production and slow build rhythms, bunched into some fairly catchy pop songs.

In truth, 5 Seconds of Summer are unlikely to replace their elders any time soon. But they do provide a nice alternative--one with fetching songs and just enough sass to stand out.

Instead of using that realization to push ahead, Four represents a step back in both sound and sensibility.

These seemingly underbaked songs reveal more formality and beauty with repeated listens. You have to hear through a lot of haze to get to that, but in the end, it's worth it.

It's an album where the rich embroidery overshadows the essential garment. Details impress but the overall picture never quite comes together.

The innocence in Grande’s voice helps her bring off the cliches in the more earnest material, like the soapy ballad “Why Try” or “Just A Little Bit of Your Heart,” co-written by One Direction’s Harry Styles. She proves less sure on more flip songs.

The match between Bennett and Gaga winds up quite differently from the one between the master and k.d. lang in 2002. Those two created a more sober and mature affair. By contrast, the duets with Gaga give Bennett a whole new hold on youth.

The production has a creaminess that never obscures its clarity. The melodies have equal definition, shunning the clichés of the most rote, American R&B.

As great as the tune ["Wake Me Up"] may be, it’s Blacc’s voice that hooks you. It’s substantive, searching, and full of the depth modern soul men too often lack.

It's good for Brown that so many stars have rallied around him, despite his troubles. If only the new songs supported him as strongly.

Piece By Piece piles on the gloss and glop. It’s a fat sounding recording that fights with, rather than enhances, Clarkson’s to-the-rafters vocals.

It helps that her smooth voice sits so comfortably on the songs, content to illuminate their fine tunes rather than over-embellish them with flash.

Jon Fratelli proves a cleverly withering lyricist. Nearly all the songs treat lovers as thieves, imposters or liars.

Only in a few songs does he draw on soul’s common language of strain and overstatement and it’s exciting when he does. At his most forceful he can sound like Simply Red’s Mick Hucknall. Far more often he’s in the erudite territory of Smokey Robinson, letting his falsetto waft ever higher.

Only a few tracks, like “Guts Over Fear” (with guest vocals from Sia) bore inside the rapper to show his vulnerable side. But the snarl of the rest finds him at a peak of writerly dexterity and rhyming velocity.

The 3rdEyeGirl album has a much cleaner sound, and a sharper focus, than Prince’s solo album.

If the new music has the consistency of loose porridge, the lyrics prove just as watered down.

Ruess’ voice has great volume, but no body. There’s no roundness, or richness, to his tone. It’s all hard angles, offering no cushion for the screech. Worse, he often pushes his voice beyond its bounds, in the process making him sound as pinched as Alvin or one of the Chipmunks.

Kid obviously lusts for the Man in Black’s bad boy image, but he ignores the demons that fueled it. Even the album’s production misses its role model’s core.

The new [album] sinks decent riffs and an earnest message in unlistenably didactic lyrics.

The album could use a hefty dose of editing, annoying to any listener--unless, of course, they’re too stoned to care.

Like most star collaborations, this one shoehorns in some ill-suited, name-brand guests--like Gloria Estefan and R&B’s Miguel. Santana’s glistening leads compete with, rather than complement, these artists. Some tracks feel as awkward as Match.com first dates.

The orchestrations also let us focus on Young as a pure singer, rather than as a holistic musician. And he’s a remarkably effective one. In his aged, spindly whine lies a world of emotion.

There’s no getting around the fact that his versions of “Feeling Good” or “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” pale compared to those of Nina Simone and Roberta Flack.

Ultimately, the strategy backfires. The Dragons’ approach may help them conjure effective public environments, but they’re devoid of personal expression.

Trainor may be talented, with a large voice and a witty writing style, but over the course of the album she crosses the line from confident to smug.