As the marginal progression of Waking Up attests, OneRepublic gladly mix things up a little. Unfortunately, whether it be through compromise, confusion or otherwise, they are still to find their consistent sweet spot.

For long-time listeners, there's a definite air of familiarity in each track, but this record can serve as an acceptable introduction to Alien Ant Farm.

It’s a record so entrenched in referencing other music that it ceases to be artistic expression, and is entirely separated from expression as a concept, floating in its own sterility. Looks like it’s back to the drawing board for whichever craven startup CEO cooked this one up in the experience machine; you won’t be able to unplug fast enough.

Artpop is the third album by pop recording artist Lady Gaga. Therefore it has similarities to her previous work but is inherently different because it is a different album.

This Delicate Thing We’ve Made is undone by too much, too much, too much of everything. Too many ideas aren’t allowed to compete with each other, meaning that the bad ideas are given just as much importance as the good ones.

Completely unaided by flat production and little or no deviation from one or two initial ideas, it's verging on an insult to the memory of one of punk's pioneers.

Although the guitar sounds are very pretty and sublime it’s tough to listen to an album where the songs follow the same exact boring formula.

The songwriting is certainly not poor and Glenn’s voice is far from shot, but what makes this album so average is the combination of the lazy arrangements and the poor production which makes the album sound as if the veteran vocalist is singing over a backing CD.

This is a solid slab of industrial metal without a distinguished bone in its body, and not much else. Here’s hoping for next time.

Unfortunately, with Fragile Future, Hawthorne Heights start awkwardly and never really find their feet.

Symphonic elements always have potential in music, but often are ruined by the execution and this album is no exception. Cradle of Filth fall into the trap of using them as a replacement for actual songwriting, relying on the symphonic arrangements to cover up their lack of talent. It doesn't work, especially because the arrangements themselves aren't too interesting in the first place.

It has great ideas brewing, but there are tons of bells and whistles in the production that upstage the songwriting, which admittedly is weaker than usual for The Faint.

As a lyricist he’s dull and unimaginative and as a singer he’s extremely limited: both facts detract considerably from the obvious passion he exhibits elsewhere for his music and his politics.

War Stories is another win for Lavelle.

Augustana sound bored and weather-beaten to death on their self-titled, and if this is how the true Augustana sounds, then it's fair to say that they're far and away past their prime and could consider calling it quits.

The album almost has a mix-tape esque feel to it and the staggering amount of guests has much to do with this.

Ocean Avenue Acoustic is, not surprisingly, at its best when it ventures beyond what is anticipated.

There are still traces of their recent, more mature outings, but those moments are predictably outshined by the ones that harken back to the band's glory days.

For better or worse, it's the most predictable album of the year.

For those who don't mind a slight drop-off in substance, Future This packs all the energy needed to fill arenas and get people jumping and swaying in a U2-inspired trance.

Is it a question of [Moore]simply not caring, or does he actually believe that his fans are too stupid to not realize any clear lack of progression and that they're simply being force-fed the same half-assed bass trends again and again and again?

The energy and personality which flood out of every melody give this album its own stamp of authority.

This band’s tedium, their mercilessly polished tones, their big bucks mastering, their humourless refusal to spotlight any glorious points of absurdity within their own writing, their algorithmic combination of the most derivative parts of how many separate genres into a no less unremarkable whole - it all makes for one of the most irksome feints at artistry I’ve heard this decade and feels oriented towards an impressionable audience with sickeningly calculated precision.

As a Lily Allen record, it’s a sneering, vapid imitation: a Lily Allen stereotype.

While pacing proves to be the record’s ultimate strength, Sagarmatha simply doesn’t say enough to be a real force.

His conception of melody and harmony is well above the average hip-hop artist, but the album as a whole is very flat and boring.

It's hard to mess up a good thing too badly and there are certainly enjoyable moments on The Green Album.

The album is harmless fun, and the funky, groovy, hook-dominated tracks are impossible to hate.

There's a minor detail to enjoy in almost every song on here, but the whole is average to the point of being physically sickening for anybody who fell in love with their magical debut.

Strangeland is a good but not great album that will be enjoyed by fans of classic Keane, who at this point may reluctantly begin to put down their torches and pitchforks.

It's not necessarily a masterpiece nor was it ever meant to be a grand statement that'd capture everyone's attention; a low-key unveiling is more fitting, for it's the Collective's return to form, except in a way that nobody expected.

Adventures is a record that is just as quirky as it is brilliant.

Overall, Ritual is too much of the same.

These are the blunders we have come to expect from Wayne, but we expect to be compensated for our time with some classic tracks, and on Carter IV, there are none.

It's too empty, too boring, too lifeless, too lazy.

This album just seems too comfortable.

Back on My B.S. disappoints regardless, making it a point of no contest that the Busta Rhymes of old is gone forever.

With cliches becoming scarcer, there is clearly lyrical growth evident, yet one could hardly call them ground-breaking or especially relatable.

To be honest, Super Critical is simply a cute record that shows they are back on track after a few years of less successful experiments.

The album is a frustrating, calculated mishmash of pop powerhouses, balladry and dance music, but are either underdeveloped, overdeveloped, or just plain bad.

It is more of the same: overproduced, generic disney channel beats by names no one knows, derivative choruses and melodies that obviously sound manufactured by a tie-wielding Atlantic executive, and lyricism that fails at even being anthemic for parties.

This is verse-chorus-verse as pleasantly intuitive as it comes, thematically light yet with enough room for the musicians to show their considerable skill.

The truly interesting thing about this is that, for such a spacey album, it’s among the shallowest things I’ve ever heard.

Even at 45 minutes, Education, Education, Education & War feels too long, because the Chiefs are 100% committed to impose their sarcastic views till the last second.

The band sounds like they're simply trying too hard to keep up with their more contemporaries, and it shows; the song writing is poorly executed, the syrupy hooks are, for the most part, dull and unimaginative, and the band fails to cover any ground it already hasn't before.

For better or worse, there’s nothing new or surprising about Disturbed’s eighth release. On Divisive, the band don’t step outside their comfort zone, they don’t add any new elements, they don’t push the envelope on their established formula, they’re just Disturbed – but they’re Disturbed from their classic era, which is better than nothing.

It’s a series of surprisingly coherent and original steps forward, followed by a series of steps both backwards and sideways. I’d venture to say that’s better than continuing to rummage around the status quo at least, even if the cumulative results are still decidedly average.

There are almost no redeeming qualities to be found here, and the whole thing is shamelessly derivative, thoroughly lacking in any sort of creativity, and (worst of all) a logical point in Skrillex’s career arc, one which has been pointing downhill ever since 2010. Listen at your own risk.

Its a richly textured, layered, and almost earnest stab at everything this artist ever attempted to do before, all rolled up nice on one album.

Album Title Goes Here is simply, and honestly, a pointless release, a record designed for two very different crowds, yet lacking the ammunition to even moderately please anyone.

The result is an unfortunately hollow album, recycled in its sound and empty in its emotion.

Any piece that can cover an emotional spectrum ranging from gruff cries all the way to handclaps must have a lot to offer. ... Step aside Nickelback, there’s a new sheriff in town and his name is Imagine Dragons.

Go Now and Live is by no means a bad album, since it is a solidly composed, straight-ahead rock release with some satisfyingly driving rhythms. The experience may even assist the growth of this talented band, rather than hamper it. Too often though, the songwriting feels incomplete.

Another drug-induced and psychotic chapter in the kaleidoscopic and perplexing saga that is the life and times of one Quentin Dupieux.

I suppose you could say that’s what wrong with Relapse, it is almost completely non-sequitor, with no real lyrical substance until the last half of the album....Relapse sucks.

One where the sum of its parts are greater than the whole. Only including ten tracks, This Modern Glitch is as inconsistent as ever, and could actually be hindered by having less bullets to spray around the target.

Taking into account that half of Leave This Town was never intended for headphone listening, and is better heard blasting on a car stereo or a jukebox, it can seem somewhat picky to criticise the album for being poorly-written or for sounding like compressed dog poo.

"Unbroken" is her best effort yet. Ignoring the first 4 songs, it's a great album, filled with songs that have meaning.

Midnight Memories takes the slight progression of Take Me Home and demolishes it.

I’m intrigued but not enamored. Twenty-one years in, it’s certainly understandable how it’d be challenging to continually create that spark. In the meanwhile, Tenterhooks’ embers will keep fans warm.

Fans of the band are either going to be blindly loyal, or extremely disappointed with this release. Meanwhile, those who felt that Editors were overly generic will either be interested in their new direction, or simply feel they are now generic in a different genre.

Ultimately, A Fine Mess is a subpar offering that sounds like you’d imagine it to: a handful of B-sides with varying degrees of enjoyment, made worse by a myriad of problems. Devoted fans should find a meagre portion of redemption here, but to the casual listener this will bring little enjoyment to the table.

Blank by the numbers, blank’s the result.

The two biggest problems with BE are thus; the energy that made their first LP a surprisingly decent effort has been removed completely, and Liam’s lyrics have plumbed to new, previously unassailable depths of self-parody.

The melodies just aren’t flowing and the choruses are rarely memorable. The instrumentation is lacking to say the least, and their brand new ideas are questionable at best. There’s absolutely no lyrical, emotional, or musical substance.

The only merit to be found on this soulless revisionism is the production, which is at least serviceable. Outside of that, this is, to the surprise of no one, inferior to the original in every conceivable way.

What ultimately holds Flamingo together is its consistency; a trait which is not exactly synonymous with The Killers. It could be argued that there is not a single bad song included amongst its ten tracks (although it pays not to closely inspect the four bonus cuts included on the Deluxe Edition of the LP) and all are in some way catchy. It makes for a sound and interesting listen, but one which still leaves listeners a little disappointed.

So why does every record feel like a Year Zero? It’s because each release comes with a caveat; that being “could do better”.

While not enough to stand among the best the Pumpkins have to offer, Zeigeist nonetheless stands fairly well on it's own

Anywhere I Lay My Head is a vanity project made by Scarlett Johansson, for Scarlett Johansson, and what's more, it sounds suspiciously like a desperate cry for credibility from a woman who doesn't actually need any.

Laborintus II is a strange and unique creation that despite being far from the days of Mr. Bungle and Faith No More, feels completely and totally Mike Patton.

Fist of God is very much in step with all the party rage of every other club track album that’s been released in the last year or so--and that’s exactly its problem.

Glitterbug is pleasant enough and far from a chore to listen to, even if it feels too safe and inoffensive to warrant repeated listening.

The Vision is a true mixed bag that while offering up a few outstanding gems, disappoints more than it probably should and reveals its maker as far less of a visionary as we all assumed him to be.

At its worst, Younger Now is inoffensively bland, wasted Dolly Parton talent aside. Songs like "Love Someone" are dead on arrival with their lifeless energy and forgettable hooks.

Can’t Say I Ain’t Country is an amalgamation of country-pop’s worst features. It’s country without the grit or emotion; pop without any of the fun or hooks.

Regrettably, Moon Music follows in its predecessor’s footsteps by being universally bland, lyrically barren, and committing the mortal sin of posturing as a deep and important record while containing absolutely nothing of relevance.

The frustrating desire for something daring or interesting is never satiated. To be blunt, Evolution is essentially a blander version of Immortalized, which was the flavourless porridge version of Asylum, which was the graham cracker version of Indestructible. Even the song titles are uninspired.

'My Gun' is one of the best tracks Fifty's lent his name to; Adam Deitch and Eric Krasno's skilful production keeps the tension bubbling just below the surface with a muted hard rock guitar riff; 50's rhyme and flow is more varied and expressive than his usual monotone drawl.... The remainder of the album is as inconsistent as Fifty’s career to date.

Filled with fun, catchy, bright & bouncy hooks, they redefined the art of being a guilty pleasure into being a shameful delight!

The Pretty Reckless don’t do a great deal to prove the cynics wrong here. More frustratingly, they are undoubtedly capable of much better.

The Path Of Totality is an album that doesn't work because it tries to be something it's not; no, it fails because of not just its terrible premise but its truly dreadful execution.

Illusion is a decent release, but it doesn't differentiate itself from anything Fleet Foxes would have written.

Strings, masses of fans, and stadium-size choruses make up the patchwork for the majority of this album; the end result is pretentious and overblown, but that doesn’t stop This Is War from succeeding--well, for the most part anyway.

Colbie’s soothing vocals, the warm sound of the music, and the memorable choruses are all well worth listening to this for when the mood for something easy hits you.

Unfortunately, it is hard to embrace these strengths on such a predictably unfocused album.

Even with its glaring issues, Rise shows a lot of promise for Hollywood Vampires. If the band should ever choose to proceed further, an exclusive focus on original material seems like the best way to go, given that this is where Rise displays its, and the band’s, strongest attributes.

I would love nothing more than to tell you that Nobody's Daughter is a massive ***-you to the haters, but unfortunately, all this does is give them more ammunition, meekly soiling the legacy of a band that deserves far, far better.

If you’re the type of music fan who loves every facet of their music to be vacant of genuine emotion, creativity and expression, this album will satiate your cravings, you hungry listener.

Changes is inferior to its predecessor in a lot of ways, but that doesn’t stop it from being a decent album. The most interesting part about this project is it lacks the 101 radio hits he’s so well known for.

The dressing is a little different this time around; a few more jokes, a couple catchy tunes (this is most definitely not the worst Weezer album ever), but once again Weezer are content with churning out sugary pop tunes that go down easy and unimpressively.

The album features a great number of their best songs to date, a couple expected stinkers, and some expected and unexpected lyricism.

Magnetic generally lacks the catchiness and vitality of past efforts, as the band tries in vein to reinvent the wheel but fails to accomplish anything as impressive as ‘Iris’, ‘Here is Gone’, ‘Black Balloon’, ‘Let Love In’, [insert hit single here].

As with many records that share Wake Up’s exuberant qualities, the individual tracks are largely hit-or-miss.

Obviously, Atlantic did not rape Lupe into releasing a soulless, automated, corporate record. The real irony is that Lupe's fans demanded this garbage be released.

Carry On is not a bad album, nor is it a good one.

Weapons feels so full, so intentional, that it's hard not to get dragged into the chorus of people that will doubtless lock arms to these songs live.

The disappointingly flat production was applied to a set of tracks that more often present themselves as sketches rather than fully fleshed songs. Moreover, this LP just gently passes you by, revealing itself to be devoid of any truly memorable songs.