What disappoints most about Full Speed though is how despite the slick sheen, its lasting impression is characterized by a lack of ambition or awareness.

He's trying to remind you that he's still tough, though these lines mostly just conjure images of Travis Bickle in the mirror: a guy alone and clueless, snarling at imagined enemies that can't talk back.

The problem bedeviling the first new Chic album since 1992’s Chic-ism is one of definition: What does Chic mean in 2018? To Rodgers and his collaborators, it means a Daft Punk album whose processed vocals and acoustic elements collide to abrasive effect; it means a tighter Maroon 5 album. Yet Adam & the Levines are nowhere in sight, nor indeed any major star with the exception of Craig David, Elton John, and Lady Gaga, the latter intoning the lyrics of an unwise remake of 1979’s “I Want Your Love” as if she were Minnie Mouse imitating Grace Jones.

Never transcends the level of a cheeky bumper sticker. [Aug 2006, p.82]

Spheres does just what they need it to do: land two or three easily digestible mega-jams to punch up the next concert setlist. ... The rest is, well, the rest. Four of the 12 tracks are interludes or faceless dance instrumentals. ... There’s just very little anchoring these songs. No sense of purpose, cohesion or emotional reckoning.

The best you could say for Lil Xan is that he can be serviceable: “Saved by the Bell” and “Shine Hard” are catchy enough, and at least fully-formed ideas. The album may be bad but it is not especially so. It’s paint by numbers and as such blends in with everything else. You might hear it at an Urban Outfitters and confuse it for three other recent rap albums you’ve heard.

He's just retracing past missteps. [Dec 2006, p.100]

No World For Tomorrow should ensure that 21-year-old dudes in women's jeans will gooble up reissues of "2112" for years to come. [Nov 2007, p.116]

The Offspring's nervousness is palpable in their protestations of relevance and liveliness, but no matter how fast or loud things get, there's no energy or wit, nothing to convince you this band could win, or even prolong, a fight with oblivion.

They burden their appealing, childlike take on Brechtian cabaret's cold raunch with so much lush production... that it's as though Palmer is being drowned by a gallon jug of overpriced perfume. [Jun 2006, p.79]

Despite some bold, funkdafied grunting, it never really gets up off the downstroke... the bar-band bluster only blunts her individualism, making for music that's less Take Back the Night than the Night Belongs to Michelob. [Oct 2000, p.184]

Does its best to earn a few Daft Punk comparisons. [Aug 2006, p.82]

Wordy but somnambulant. [Sep 2006, p.112]

These trebly, trenchant Brits have truly gone pear-shaped.

As a lyricist, Fallon has moved beyond bald cliché to bland commonplace.

The second record falters with a clunky combo of Celtic rock and leaden hip-hop rhythms that squashes the fragile, hook-free tunes. [Jul 2007, p.100]

A better-than-decent, ultimately pointless live set. [Jun 2006, p.82]

Too often [Woomble] is an impotent voice struggling to cut through the clutter. [Apr 2007, p.88]

Under the Boards, finds [Conley] in a surprisingly dark and newwavish mode, bobbing through spare, angular arrangements that overemphasize the off-key bleat that's his albatross as much as the band's signature.

Sadly, nothing else on the Whip's debut matches that electrifying outburst, as the Manchester, England quartet downshift into a less savage, more sensitive sound often verging on generic synth pop.

If only she was as shameless lyrically as she is musically, she wouldn't be feminist (who cares) but she'd simply be worth letting in your ear.

The result is alternately audacious and befuddling.

His lonesome drawl may sound arresting when it's 3 a.m. and you're stumbling home from the bar, but maudlin tunes like 'You Don't Feel Like Home to Me' and 'Some Tragedy' need more than quietly strummed minor chords to sell their hard-luck laments. [Oct 2007, p.104]

More Than Just a Dream steps backwards--where its predecessor was shockingly felt, this settles for something more distant, theatrical, grandiose.

They [Adam Young's fans] deserve better. We deserve better. Come to think of it, Adam Young deserves better.

[He] has a goofy sense of humor and an excellent feel for the dance floor but virtually no knack for song form. [Sep 2006, p.114]

It all rings hollow due to how thinly sketched out the writing and production is. Much of it is awkward, directionless, and, at times, just confusing--showing an artist grasping at a million ideas and hoping to grab one, with none of it being done in any interesting or shrewd way.

With her bandmates providing roughed-up backing that's neither appropriate nor compelling, Persson comes off like a stylish girl with unnecessarily ratty hair. [Nov 2006, p.97]