Underneath their smart stylistic kinks, however, lies a fundamentally old-fashioned imagination. [Aug 2016, p.107]

Baby Monkey has nothing of the danger, adventure or indeed chemical frisson that defined rave culture--it's just smug sonic wallpaper. [Mar 2004, p.113]

While Azalea drops the occasional zinger, The New Classic is the sound of an ersatz rebel playing to script, having a shot at the rap career Paris Hilton never quite got round to. [Jun 2014, p.123]

Sara Lucas's strident vocals are often incomprehensible, rarely alighting on a tune for long enough to become memorable. [Feb 2013, p.102]

Jovi's delivery of the usual cliches has a curious, sickly sheen. [May 2013, p.96]

Human Conditions is not a musical disaster on the scale of Heathen Chemistry. It's just that, from Richard Ashcroft, more is expected. [Nov 2002, p.98]

While there's throat-shredding fervour, it becomes a crazily overextended blur of goofy anthemics. [Sep 2015, p.117]

47 minutes of homogenous power pop...

Few would guess it was about environmental apocalypse; indeed, you can listen to the whole album with out noticing very much at all. [Aug 2010, p.123]

It's frustratingly patchy. [Aug 2016, p.114]

Whatever her technical gifts as a vocalist, there remains something chilly and self-satisfied about the woman's brand of soul-baring that makes it awfully hard to swallow. [Jul 2003, p.108]

Too much of This River is more The Commitments, less The Bar-Kays. [Aug 2013, p.98]

There's little to grasp here, the chiming guitar of 11 and blustery feedback of 6 excepted. [Aug 2015, p.106]

Not much helped by their enervating vocals, debut release Native To is lo-fi '80s-influenced synth-pop that simply comes and goes, serving no discernible purpose at all. [Jul 2011, p.120]

It's often fascinating only in the details. [May 2004, p.110]

Despite some evidence of talent, though, it's mostly just musical gatecrashing. [Apr 2005, p.123]

The prepetually gruff Rule, a second division DMX or Redman, and producer Irv Gotti leave no cliche unturned. [Dec 2001, p.124]

No band can survive on novelty alone, and Electric Six still thrive on parody rather than invention. [Dec 2006, p.134]

The result is a too quiet, curiously unfinished-sounding album with barely a moment to remember, let alone cherish. [Oct 2007, p.96]

It starts promisingly ... but 43 minutes of joyless hectoring becomes an endurance test. [Feb 2012, 110]

Certainly the reverb/echo-drenched deconstructions of 'No You Girls' and 'Ulysses' pack a punch, but elsewhere it feels merely like an exercise in bolstering beats, amping basslines, then adding some beeps and FX. Pointless, really. [Jul 2009, p.122]

On Old Sock, he sings some that are to him as comfy as and to us as whiffy as the album's title. [May 2013, p.99]

Unconvincing and safe. [Feb 2004, p.102]

There's still no getting over the patchiness. [Mar 2006, p.106]

Not enough bold venture, too much going round in circles. [Jan 2013, p.110]

Embracism is like a night in a dingy club with someone you've just met reeling through emotions with each additional drink. [Sep 2013, p.99]

The novelty soon fades and the collision of styles rarely coalesces into anything approaching a song. [May 2011, p.120]

Sadly, their own sixth album lacks the drive of either Battles or Mogwai. [Aug 2009, p.113]