Unfortunately, Coppola hasn’t got Winehouse’s writing or vocal chops and Pallin clearly lacks Ronson’s knowledge of hit song construction.

Drowners prove themselves competent in making a tight indie rock album full of enjoyable melodies, but their strict adherence to formula and professionalism is undermining and can be dull.

Doing lame imitations of other things that are popular seems to be the mission statement for Sounds From Nowhere.

We all love to revel in a real tearjerker (Someone Like You, anyone?), but these whiney odes are heartbreak songs minus the heart.

Sure, her formidable pipes are as strong as ever, but on every song she comes across as a pale imitation of someone else.

Phantom Punch is a wobbly ride through tracks that, for the most part, hiss and snarl with the leather-jacket swagger of his garagey backing band while Lerche either nervously essays a pseudo-rock "growl" over top or reverts to his customary loungey warble, both of which sound equally absurd.

While a couple of catchy turns of phrase compensate for some elementary rhymes, there aren't enough hooks to make the songs memorable.

Billy Bragg’s studio return finds him in his comfort zone provided by the Blokes and producer Grant Showbiz under yet another title copped from novelist Colin MacInnes.

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

The Nashville band’s ninth studio album is definitely sleepy and nuanced, only Wagner’s halted singing is disintegrating further into the background as the overall sound inches closer to adult contemporary.

The album is bogged down in missteps like Tyga, Lil’ Twist and YG’s limp One Time and uninspired strip club anthem Back It Up.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear Jill Cunniff had crawled under a rock and refused to listen to any music since her old band, Luscious Jackson, split in 99.

You can’t really fault the band for successfully doing much what it did in the 90s, but don’t expect Purple. There’s no Vasoline or Interstate Love Song.

While Lerche could pull off Bacharach's breezy lounge swinger persona, he lacks the pipes, the pain and the maturity to deliver the smooth retro romanticism these jazz-inflected ballads require.

Fun and charming in places, barely listenable in others.

Williams is at his best when he’s being weird, so cheeky title track Swings Both Ways, which finds him examining his fluid sexuality with Rufus Wainwright, is good. But any fresh moments are balanced by too many unlistenable ones.

On Electra Heart, Diamandis trades her cabaret post-punk vocal histrionics and thrift-store chic for an unconvincing Jacqueline Susann bombshell image and more overtly top-40-friendly sound.

Its formulaic songwriting and middling, lite-pop arrangements seem more concerned with top 40 appeal than with maximizing the richness and openness of his voice.

Unfortunately, singer Gary Lightbody can't resist playing it safe. He slides comfortably back into the stadium-size ballads and mushy MOR formulas that scored on their million-seller, Final Straw.

Too bad only the icily sardonic Irreplaceable has any real weight or relevance.

Some songs start out peppy and intriguing, but his moaning over top sucks all the life out of the groove.

Hopefully, Canadian audiences won’t be fooled by the British hype, because Bell X1 don’t have what it takes to win over the Great White North.

The sick is far outweighed by the sloppy as the selection shifts from slo-mo chronic puffers to wobbly boozer bumps bracketed by two thugged-out rips by Guilty Simpson.

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

At best, the songs on their ninth album are bland recreations of their past successes.

So there’s no shortage of sick beats, but Common’s decision to dumb down his rhymes to a rude and rudimentary level comes off horribly crass at best and at worst downright embarrassing.

The songs are not so much about love as the memory of love and, accordingly, there's a chasm between her aggressive vocal runs and the cautiously generalist lyrics, especially on the maudlin latter half.

Hungry Bird is tired, unvaried and dull, possibly because the band’s dissolved and reformed many times since 1991, with singer/songwriter/guitarist Eef Barzelay the only constant.