It's not necessarily a welcome change, as drugged-up, dubbed-out majesty has always been Fearless's stock-in-trade, but there's something oddly captivating about these dusky grooves and forlorn moods that makes it difficult to view the project as a failure.

With Frances the Mute, the Mars Volta have unfurled a big and bold artistic statement... Unfortunately, that bold artistic statement is rife with pomposity and glimpses of prog-rock at its most horrifically self-indulgent.

Slick, well-constructed and mall-friendly.

O'Connor's lack of subtlety eventually grows tiring.

Julia and Lena's voices are nothing special, and their lyrics are still derivative -- suitable fodder for Charmed or a Rachel Leigh Cook movie, but not the sort of thing that makes a lasting impression.

They hit all the right notes and create the right hooks for success, at least in theory, but for all the passion in Jake Snider's voice, he might as well be singing about the ham sandwich he ate for lunch.

While the album's bouts of strangulated sexuality are initially stirring, this lack of melody eventually dooms Do Rabbits Wonder? to wallow in a torpid swamp of half-formed ideas and analog squall.

The album, while competent, is thoroughly flawed.

There's nothing distinctive about it.

The Milk Of Human Kindness grabs at elements of its predecessors, but they're often the wrong ones.

The quality is uniform, but below par.

Unlike Leona Naess the musician, Leona Naess the album is nearly forgettable, such is the perfection of its production and cardboard cut-out lyrical and musical themes.

There's not quite enough to justify the addition of another album to the Blondie catalogue.

There wouldn't be a problem at all if Buzzkunst wasn't such a maddeningly forgettable record.

Yes, it has a certain something that makes you bob your head and/or shake your ass to songs that you'd probably be ticked off by if someone drove past your pad blasting them out his windows. But no, it's not the stuff that great CDs are made of.

Aside from being tracked incorrectly (on my copy anyway) and not always being of the choicest sound quality, Sad Sappy Sucker shows that Modest Mouse’s rise to the pinnacle of indiedom started at the bottom, just like everybody else.

The least interesting, least engaging Sleater-Kinney album ever.

Whereas Walking With Thee was a wonderful relief in the indie/retro-rock world, pushing the band's internal parameters and the idea of what pop music should sound like, Winchester Cathedral feels more like a roadblock, or at least a pit stop, rather than a step forward in Clinic's previously innovative evolution.

As Higden struggles to make his way to the forefront, his bandmates appear greedy, desperately reaching for moments of startling stateliness -- much to the detriment of the songs themselves, which are lost in an atmospheric morass with delusions of (Radiohead) grandeur written all over it.

Middling music that shoots for epic and edgy, but takes far too few chances and falls short of its fans' expectations.

While Sha Sha is certainly ripe with hooks and strong in stylistic concept, the songs are woefully one-dimensional and marred by immaturity.

With an approach that seems so clinical, the album sounds cold and soulless -- and, well, boring.

As recently as last year it looked like The Datsuns might be next in line to make arena-sized, super-popular rock the way Zeppelin, AC/DC and G'n'R did. They still might, but it's going to take better songs than these.

If the whole record could be as good as the first ten seconds of "Artificial Light", it would be great. But it isn't.

Your senses will be sorely disappointed.

The low points are easier to spot than the highs, which tend to peak at a low elevation.

Dangerous Dreams' late arrival was nearly enough to doom it to obscurity, but the disc's lack of new ideas puts the final nail in the coffin.

Awake is a distinctly flawed album; much of what's here is precious or forced-sounding.