This album would be better without Scott screaming about absolute nonsense. [Sep 2004, p.119]

A collection of enigmatic indie-rock tunes. [Nov 2004, p.119]

The Swedish quartet--best known for "Jerk It Out," featured in an iPod ad a few years ago--also churns out concise, addictive tunes that wrap fierce emotions in soaring old-fashioned '60s garage pop.

With tighter, mercifully shorter songs, like the Slayer-meets-slash trasher 'Almost Easy,' they're now defiling America's youth with more substance than style. [Nov 2007, p.114]

Wiz has a decent feel for hooks and occasionally does some interesting things with melody. But it’s simply not enough to retain interest.

Their debut suffers from Morello's uneven arrangements, which vacillate between rousing hardcore funk and predictable hard-rock crunch.

Producer Mick Jones does his best to juice up these almost-songs. [Jan 2006, p.91]

Clinging to the guest stars is crucial to getting through this thing--pros like Courtney Noelle provide basic hooks where the headliner's own horrible mantras ("I got so much," "Fall asleep") fail completely.

Here's the Crystal Method with a not-so-fresh batch of rave-rock jock jams seemingly designed to advertise a car you can no longer afford.

On cuts like "How Do I Maintain Pt. 1," the rhythmic interplay gets weighed down by its own excess, but the more expansive clouds of synth exhaust in wordless bookends "Run" and "Reintegration Time" offer more rewarding highs.

The music privileges texture over catchiness. [Jun 2007, p.97]

This is a low-spark affair. [Nov 2004, p.112]

The title of Gomez's seventh studio album reflects the low-key, easy-flowing attitude these boyish Brits have maintained since winning the U.K.'s coveted Mercury Prize with their 1998 debut.

The New Classic establishes the Australian artist as a competent rapper with a decent ear for hooks, but that's about it.

They sound like they can't be bothered. [Oct 2004, p.120]

Kittie still spew the alternately golden-throated and throat-shredding thrash of their 2000 debut, Spit. [Dec 2001, p.154]

On this speedy live best-of, loads of smirky, self-deprecating one-liners about boobies, boners, and crooked wieners can't conceal the music's winning wistfulness. [12/2000, p.222]

Sometimes [his] acoustic finger-plucking moves past half-angst into something boozier, but his solo debut is boxed wine at best. [May 2006, p.91]

Rise Up doesn't always meet the occasion, but it's Cypress' most consistently listenable album in 15 years.

Turgid even for the genre, Artwork will make you hate yourself for singing along with tricky standouts like 'Empty With You.'

Unburdened by Kanye's melancholia or Eminem's vertiginousness, Roth is perfectly likable, and perfectly bland.

It's rarely as lively as 2007's Last Light, but the interplay of organ, cello, and acoustic guitar on "Brooklyn Fawn" has a genuinely comforting warmth.

There’s plenty of sublime to go with the ridiculous, as well.

Buried under reverb, distortion, and computer st-st-stutter, our pop astronaut mostly wastes the forward-thinking production with cringeworthy lines.

Guetta can't match the inexhaustible bliss of his Kelly Rowland–aided 2009 disco smash "When Love Takes Over," but he can make 50 Cent seem like an edgy Daft Punk fanboy, which is not an insubstantial trick.

Any distinction between "Dry Your Eyes" (which sneers, "Don't pretend to cry") and "The Revelator" (which offers moral support in hard times) is erased by the band's numbing grandiosity.

Part of what made the Strokes so exciting was the flair they brought to the old trick of sounding hot while looking cool. On his solo debut, bassist Nikolai Fraiture never manages either.

While Transplants' self-titled debut caught the trio at that moment when the third-beer buzz kicks in... the new record seems to have picked up several pints and bong hits later, when shit starts to get grisly. [Aug 2005, p.96]