All 11 tracks feature painfully predictable song structures and lethargic chord progressions devoid of anything resembling a hook.

The album could've been distinctive but instead lacks depth or the transporting quality of her imaginative lyrics.

G-Unit needs to stop remaking Lloyd Banks's first hit, On Fire, from, like, two years ago.

On first listen, Matricidal sounds like an hour of Friedberger playing with all the buttons on his keyboards, taking no care to connect sounds or smooth the edits. Yet taken as a whole and with time, it evokes something melancholy, strange and nostalgic--equally beautiful and eerie.

It's not what anyone is hoping for from Harry, but the highlights are decent enough to keep hardcore Blondie fans satiated until she finds some collaborators worthy of her talent.

These directionless, half-baked jams may show a young artist trying to find himself and mature, but he sure isn't there yet.

To make listeners' hearts melt, there's a lullaby for Joel's daughter, Harlow, a bit of a cynical move when most of the album is about sleeping with other radio stars, getting wasted like it's your birthday and getting wasted, sleeping with someone, blacking out and thinking it was the best night of your life.

There is plenty of momentum on the first half of the record.... So, it’s a bummer that the last half of the album descends into bland and skippable.

Unfortunately, there are none of the ridiculous disses, insane freestyles or wacky interludes that make real mixtapes entertaining.

First single Dope has that by way of Dr. Dre’s Deep Cover, but it fails to push the balance of the album beyond mediocrity.

How poignantly they express their inarticulate messages through Blink-182 rip-offs and recycled versions of their own material.

Kroeger’s voice sounds more like a wounded goat than ever before, and their blatantly recycled songs touch on familiar themes like strippers, sex, prostitutes, drugs, sex, drinking and sex.

While some of his New Orleans ilk have strayed from the region’s classic bounce sound, the lead-off title track assures us that the same old Juve is in the mix.

Curve isn't going to change anyone's mind about Our Lady Peace.

There’s a built-in redundancy to a Linkin Park remix album. Their music already sounds like hard rock that’s been tweaked by a knowledgable 15-year-old on his first laptop.

The album wobbles between Timberlake-style sexy-time R&B, Bublé-light standards and flat attempts at sincere John Legend-type balladry.

There are a couple of moments of idiosyncrasy here, particularly on the title track and 'On & On,' but Guilt’s formulaic approach makes it easy to pass on the whole album.

The Second Round isn't much different from the first.

Beyond The Neighbourhood isn't Athlete's triumph, but with far more rock moments, spacey sounds and well-placed hooks, as on the driving anthem Hurricane and the dreamy Airport Disco, they've redeemed themselves a little.

Past the dancehall signifiers (Paul's increasingly strained lilt and tepid syncopated pulse), the new record is brazenly mediocre.

It'd be one thing if the new trio built on the band's legacy. Instead, Yours Truly regurgitates Sublime's 90s ska-punk blueprint and gussies it up with a new layer of radio-ready sheen.

While they must know they won’t be reinventing the wheel any time soon, Sparkle Lounge is their most upbeat music in a while.

This “mix­tape album” decently whets the appetite.

Like the Double Down monstrosity, the first bite is an odd mix of tasty and disgusting, but by the end of it you just feel ill and ashamed.

Robert Smith, Franz Ferdinand and Wolfmother offer glimpses of what this project might’ve been, but then along comes 3 Doors Down-clone Shinedown and it’s off with the heads of everyone involved in this nightmare.

They're still making forays into metal (Crash), but most Sum fans will agree that the band just hasn't been the same since guitarist Brownsound left town.

The bulk of Boys is sufficiently well put together; the generally witty pop walks that tricky line between edginess and accessibility.

On a disc that ultimately exhausts itself with boredom and clichés, it's just not worth it.