There's no economics, no race, hardly any compassion. Joe name-checks America as if his hometown of Berkeley was in the middle of it, then name-checks Jesus as if he's never met anyone who's attended church. And to lend his maunderings rock grandeur, he ties them together with devices that sunk under their own weight back when the Who invented them.

Inferior to not just Nirvana but Oasis.

Lest you doubted it, this is grotesque.

Deeply anonymous.

It's only a mix record (two mix records, why stint in utopia?), so how bad can it be? Start with four tracks featuring Dead Can Dance and/or Lisa Gerrard. And for that mass appeal--Blade Runner!

These meanderings are the kind of indulgence that ends label deals.

The sole outright attraction of her pathologically modest follow-up is "Then Ya Gone."

He claims his Dave Matthews-sponsored major- label debut was his chance to make a true band record, and I guess his boys are trickier than Crazy Horse, just not in any way you haven't heard before.

Rainer Maria is the genuine collegiate article: impressionistic and overwrought.

Aiming to fill the Queenhole by injecting video-game sci-fi and radio-head sonics into a pop-metal base, the Korn protégés forge a "startling vision of a future world in which communications technology has been turned against us, becoming a tool for government surveillance rather than personal convenience." Gosh, how'd they think of that?

These ill jockeys are just a two-inch ruler for Marshall Mathers to measure his dick against.

Bad laptop Blondie.

[A] sentimental cutesification of surf and country.

The musical parsimony, cultural insularity, moral certitude, and histrionic affectations of these lo-fi artier-than-thous promise indie ideologues whole lifetimes of egoistic irrelevance.

What a weird (dishonest? ironic? clueless?) name for a record that's all literature and arty sound effects.

What gave Shawn Christensen and his botched tonsillectomy the idea of joining the exalted ranks of Robert Smith and Simon Le Bon?

Boring strummed singer-songwritering with not terribly interesting electronica.

[Crosses] PG-13 thug and subpar Luther Vandross.

This no-talent is masscult rock at its most brazen.

If you thought they were bad when they were cute, or even that they were cute when they were good, believe me, you don't want to hear them mature.

His productivity isn't exuberance, it's greed; his PG rating isn't scruples, it's cowardice.