Excellent lyrics can’t save the record from the unnecessary length of some songs; Flesh sacrifices some of its immediacy and impact in tracks that can drift away from the point.

Although All Of Me shares that record's [The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill] fervour, it lacks its cohesiveness due to a few forgettable pop turns.

Too bad that so many of the instrumental tracks are pleasant but forgettable downtempo jams that dilute the impact of the highlights.

Gaga has wrenched herself away from dance-pop to focus on the country and classic rock influences that have always been present in her music, albeit gussied up like a coked-out drag queen stumbling out of a bar at 4 am.

Their beats and rhymes reflect none of the punchliney fun they used to have.

A handful of songs, like 'Things I'll Do,' find Northern State at their zenith, perfect storms of concept, beat and lyrical cleverness. Others are catchy but inane. Enough are just insipid.

It's apparent Nelson doesn't share Adams's enthusiasm for the Fleetwood Mac and Grateful Dead numbers, but he's at home with Gram Parsons's $1,000 Wedding and Leonard Cohen's well-covered Hallelujah.

While this is an atmospheric record, it's also upbeat and poppy enough to encourage dancing or at least vigorous head-nodding.

Without shattering any paradigms, they’ve assembled a very listenable collection of songs that’d be a welcome addition to a Starbucks summer playlist.

One of the more interesting – and fun – cover albums out there.

Fans of Anne Briggs and Vashti Bunyan will find a lot to love here.

This album, like everything else Legend has done, showcases his skill as an artist, but it lacks the passion that would help him reach the Stevie Wonder status he strives for.

This time Karl Hyde and Rick Smith team up with a revolving cast of dance producers (Appleblim, Al Tourettes, High Contrast), hoping one of the many approaches to rock-meets-techno will again produce a bankable hit. Surprise! That doesn't happen.

A likeable, though inconsistent, record.

An album that vacillates between raucous and refined without losing sight of the dance floor.

The biggest problem beyond the recycled rhymes is the production. There are lots of beatsmiths on hand here, but none even come close to doing what the Neptunes did for them on their proper albums.

The result is one of their most serene and sonically consistent efforts to date.

In his old glamcore days, Malin's affected voice might've been easier to overlook, but in this context, it can grow grating.

These tunes tend to meander and often feel like they should be going somewhere we never get to. But a lot of it is very lovely.

The overall effect is pleasantly daydreamy, though the album quickly settles into one gear.

Overall, the gangsta bravado and rabble-rousing sound uninspired and too familiar.

His greatest strength is his storytelling: lyrics are never expected or trite, not annoyingly inscrutable but just obscure enough to be intriguing.

Current fans may appreciate these saccharine sounds, but others will find them a little much. Still, the highlights make this album worth recommending to those with a penchant for breakup music.

The record's best moments aim low rather than loud, with spacious, skittery beats that let loose Rihanna's Caribbean cadence.

Less adventurous is her sex-on-the-dance-floor lyrical fixation, so it's those playful touches that set Femme Fatale apart from most cornball dance pop on the radio these days.

Wading through almost an hour of smoky-voiced lonely-heart ballads like You Only Call Me When You're Drunk, Late Night Partner and Until Tomorrow Then is a yawn-inducing exercise that makes you question whether Harcourt's really this sad or if he's just putting on a lugubrious front.

Sure, your tweenage little sister will probably love this album, but I’m sorry, if she was even partially aware of hiphop and R&B music for the last decade or so, she’d know how much pilfered production and recycled rap is crafted here.

There are moments when the sweeping melodies verge on the grandiose, but they successfully walk that difficult line between obnoxiously extroverted and too restrained.