When the hooks fall off, his lone-gunman purging becomes more tiring than cathartic. [Dec 2003, p.128]

Doesn't build much on the Buffett ease and placeless island rhythms of Johnson's previous albums, but hey, ambition is for the ambitious. [Apr 2005, p.102]

People from New York trying to sound like people from England trying to imagine what Neil Young would sound like if he were in Coldplay. [Oct 2005, p.137]

Supermodel's failing is that it's copying one of the foundational records of this trend, which is, you guessed it, Torches. It's hard to think outside a box you built yourself.

Cudi's unrepentant attitude is partly why Indicud sounds so engaging, at least during the album's sparkling first half. (Sadly, he doesn't have enough good songs to fill out its hour-plus, 18-track length.)

Whether they're trying to obscure the songs' perceived flaws or make some sort of dazzling artistic statement, the band opts for grandiose production (courtesy of Jacknife Lee) and sprawling arrangements--cue the orchestra and the choir--that blunt the effect of Lightbody's deceptively strong songwriting.

They return to what made them one of the '80s most reliable rift-heavy outfits. [Oct 2007, p.99]

While it's still easy to dismiss his shock tactics as puerile and insensitive (if you're gonna sing about someone "pretty as a swastika," they'd better be really ugly), he hasn't sounded this vital--and tuneful--since "Mechanical Animals."

You know you're in trouble when Avril Lavigne starts sharing song titles with R.E.M. and Pink Floyd.

They might not know where they're going, but they have no doubt they'll get there.

Produced by power-pop whiz Butch Walker and Fountains of Wayne's Adam Schlesinger, Alter the Ending contains no shortage of high-gloss thrills.

Snoop's 11th album unevenly celebrates his all-over-the-map persona.

These tracks lack the energy to power a glow stick. [Mar 2004, p.96]

He's got many peaceful, breezy songs about peaceful, easy feelings but lacks the hooks to hang 'em on. [Jun 2003, p.109]

But if the rote button-pushing gets bleak, the beats and battle rhymes are state-of-the-art. [Jun 2004, p.103]

Has moments of cheese-ball grace. [Mar 2006, p.95]

Unabashedly upbeat, MC Zumbi compares ghetto life to being a "caged bird," but even when he dismisses haters ("Burning incense, yeah, they tried to call us yoga"), he sounds optimistic.

At an hour and 45 minutes, it’s a lot. But throw QC’s formidable team at streaming services and something will probably stick. ... For anyone willing to take the full plunge, it’s a mostly satisfying chance to hear the sound of contemporary rap evolving in real time.

Iggy Pop's deadpan delivery on "He's Frank" sets the tone for an album that sometimes gets a little goofy, while the danceable "Toe Jam" pairs David Byrne with Dizzee Rascal (finally!). The lesser-known guests offer more misses than hits.

Their debut begins with a rousing arena-rock anthem called 'Death' and then delivers detached variations on the same subject for the next nine tracks with a professionalism that's simultaneously compelling and creepy.

Women’s Rights has its share of more complex situations as well, not to mention the occasional fourth chord.

Thing is, dubstep's slithering textures actually suit Davis' demented croon, particularly in the cuts produced by Skrillex.

An over-the-top homage to sex whose emotional age equals its bloated number of tracks: 15. [Mar 2004, p.93]

Crooked Shadows, their first album in nine years, folds the polished dynamics of contemporary pop into a hesitant, uneven collection of heartsongs that nonetheless ache and soar like vintage Dashboard.

For the first solo album under his nom de tune, Scott Kannberg eschews the catchy cacophony of his earlier bands--Pavement and Preston School of Industry--for breezily quirky '70s country-pop and late-'60s psychedelia that's two parts Lindsey Buckingham and one part Roky Erickson.

It's unfortunate, then, that most of Vol.1 winds up sounding like rejected Aerosmith ballads. Which is to say, epic, overproduced anthems made to accompany Ben Affleck anthropomorphizing animal crackers on Liv Tyler's stomach.

Musically, Everclear sound almost exactly the same as when they signed with Capitol in 1995: punk, profoundly polished. But the details Alexakis sprinkles into the mix keep things interesting. [Apr 2003, p.102]

Think Africa ’70 minus the choruses and sax solos. If that doesn’t sound heretical to you, the groove awaits.