There are a few good songs, but A Head Full of Dreams is disappointing because it's the first Coldplay album in awhile that is distinctly less than the sum of its parts.

If Purpose focused on the excursions into global dance sounds that earned him popularity outside the insular Belieber fandom, it might have been one of the best pop records of the year and alleviated some of the headaches induced by his lyrical persona. It certainly doesn't help that Purpose is another entry in an ever growing catalog of big tent releases that relegates some of its best tracks to bonus track status.

Folds just doesn’t seem to have the same grip on likable, semi-charming songwriting he once did.

Without rising above the sum of the parts brought together, Travis loses control of his own album and it ends up sounding like a collection of tracks from various artists with the loose theme of Travis Scott barely tying it all together.

So really what Neck Deep have here is something that is both faithful to its influences, and striving to be free of them. What that creates is an album that, though narrowly defined, is still working through something of an identity crisis.

While the album is often an enjoyable listen, it is difficult not to wonder what the collective talents of Andrew Dost and Jack Antonoff of fun., or even the talents of a Sam Means of The Format, could’ve yielded to Grand Romantic’s songwriting.

Connector tries to juggle too much in too short of moments, confining juxtaposing or conflicting elements to 15-20 second bursts, often between choruses.

Lil Durk's first album is lacking in a lot of things, the first being songs. Now, ten tracks is not necessarily too little of a number, but when half of the album is filler, that's when that number starts to work against you.

At first blush, things are catchy, the drumming is incredibly interesting and it’s all over pretty quick. But delve into things, and nothing’s changed. Which is lazy on a few levels.

New Glow has its moments, but you won't find it on many EOTY lists.

Hit The Lights came back in 2015, and all things considered, sound like they did in 2011.

Generally speaking, the Jack Ü project is fully functional party music that hedges its bets with collaborations and does little in the way of genuine innovation.

It is not deserving of a Hurley-level bashing, and it’s too aware to be Pinkerton. It’s an album they could have made 10 years ago, but it’s also one that feels moderately current.

It's under-produced on essentially all aspects of the musicianship, while Jordan Pundik's hyper-nasally vocals are mixed poorly and too sugar-coated.

For a producer who had such a big hand in one of the best records of the year, though, 10 Summers is just too by-the-numbers to excite anyone.

It’s all well and good to deal with tough topics through music, but My Everything puts on a breezy pop face that severely hinders the potential poignancy of Grande’s words, morphing them into a more disquieting figure.

This record is guaranteed to indiscriminately piss off both kinds of Black Keys fans: the diehard purists yearning for the blues rock halcyon days and the recent devotees primed for another round of hooky singles.

There's nothing to really chew on here, nothing to keep you coming back.

It’s not going to be a new favorite album for anyone other than Avril Lavigne’s most ardent admirers, but a handful of great summer mixtape songs and a few other exercises in mindless pop fun are still enough to make Avril Lavigne the eponymous singer’s best record in nine years. That might not be saying much, but it's a step in the right direction.

An album with too many cooks in the kitchen and not enough good songs to recommend.

Bangerz is at times touching and at others a blast--but for a disappointingly large portion it’s as annoying as her detractors had hoped.

He still has an ear for production and his voice remains a pliable tool, but to keep himself tethered to an aesthetic he defined and completed within a year is to do himself and the listener a disservice.

Last year’s stellar Battle Born, felt considerably more vibrant than Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Action ever does.

Its 10 songs meander by with enough sense to not stick around, and other than the grungy rock-out moments of “Nightwater Girlfriend,” we barely notice anything.

Yes, the lack of production and general scuzziness of the record is reminiscent of what we’d like to hear from No Age, but aside from this the music lacks excitement and inspiration.

On Parocosm, Ernest Greene tips his hand too early, too obviously: there’s not a lot to make you believe that he genuinely finds these sounds beautiful without some sort of winking hipness.

His flows are lazy, uninspired, and flat out boring.

Three years after his album should have put the "sideline" comments to rest, Cole’s still studying the traditional playbook from the bench, preferring to follow Nas’ bible than strike out on his own.