Their third full-length radiates the stale resignation of a band whose moment has passed. [May 20111, p.93]

He name-drops so many famous folks he's obviously banking on his connections. [Sep 2003, p.97]

You're left wondering how much more impressive Wilson's stroking pipes might sound with less gauche material. [Feb 2012, p.92]

The combination of tinkling pianos, gutsy strum and homespun wisdom places this very much in the middle of the road. [Apr 2004, p.92]

Things degenerate into a dreary stream of self-pitying/self-mythologising ballads. [Sep 2003, p.106]

Seems dated. [Feb 2005, p.73]

Feels timid and trite. [Oct 2005, p.98]

Lerner's voice--pale and uninteresting, rather than poinant--allow his songs to sag. [Sep 2009, p.96]

The clumsy pot-banging campfire folk of his backing band doesn't help make it all any more listenable. Great lyrics, though. [Mar 2009, p.92]

An efficient if fairly joyless hybrid of the Stones, AC/DC and Oasis. [Nov 2003, p.109]

My Bloody Underground is the sound of someone geting My Bloody Valentine about two-thirds right, which is to say that while BJM can certainly conjure interminable, feedback-slathered drones, they lack Kevin Shields' gift for sonic invention or melody. [June 2008, p.83]

II might as well be a sketch for something more impressive. [Aug 2009, p.94]

It may seem churlish to identify one reunion as especially cynical, but recent Pixies activities have felt notably artless--a situation emphasised by Indie Cindy. [Jun 2014, p.82]

Lavishly appointed, expensively designed and almost entirely characterless. [Sep 2006, p.84]

The albums three producers create a gloopy mix of mid-'80s soft rock and air-punching choruses which lack the urgency of the Killers, while the gambling metaphors and religious images quickly irritate. [Oct 2010, p.94]

Only the sub-Marilyn Manson riff-slammer "Mars Needs Women" stand out in an otherwise generic batch of spoofy "Rocky Horror" lyrics and painful superfluous drum solos. [Mar 2010, p.107]

This drab, psych-wimsy-garnished exercise in English indie classicism stretches his [Oasis's Paul "Bonehead" Arthurs] goodwill. [Jul 2013, p.80]

Audioslave is weighed down by Cornell's po-faced bellow, and it goes on 20 minutes too long. [Feb 203, p.79]

Almost succeeds through sheer force of personality. [Aug 2006, p.108]

An uninspired outfit played into a corner. [Mar 2015, p.73]

Realism is conceptually closer to "69 Love Songs" than anything he's done since, opting for a "variety folk" sound somewhere between Kurt Weill and Sufjan Stevens, but its ratio of heart-felt-to-hokey is out of whack. [Feb 2010, p.93]

Entertaining, largely forgettable. [Jan 2003, p.120]

One man's hurt is often another man's monotony. [Nov 2006, p.120]

It's over-polished and lacks excitement. [Jun 2007, p.119]

B-Real and Sen Dog's adenoidal cartton raps about beefs and bongs can still raise a smile when matched to a sparse, elastic beat, but the novelty of a Cypress Hill comeback has long since worn off by the 15th track. [May 2010, p.86]

For the most part this is worthy of a half-decent coffeehouse open mic night, nothing more. [Dec 2011, p.79]

The result is rather tiring. [Dec 2011, p.95]

Most of the album comes across as a weedy, irritating student pastiche of the DFA sound rather than something that deserves a place in its esteemed catalogue. [Sep 2009, p.105]