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.