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.

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

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

There are some parts you'll have to suffer through, but there are at least a handful of tracks that we can save and enjoy into the future.

Unfortunately, a handful of good moments aren't enough to outweigh an album jammed with songwriting that just doesn't amount to anything.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

Candela makes for an, at times unpleasant, but ultimately forgettable listen.

Simply put, Death of a Bachelor is exactly the hot mess it wants to be. It’s been a while since I’ve heard an album that’s so divisive in its quality, so manic on one end and so lazy on the other.

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.

The flow of Strange Clouds tends to vary between songs that are helping make the album great ("So Good," "Arena," "So Hard to Breathe"), and then the ones that keep pushing it down the route of a sophomore slump ("Ray Bands," "Just a Sign," "Play for Keeps"). Right when there's about to be a trend of some consistency, it ends up falling short.

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

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.

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.

Watching Movies With The Sound Off is a necessary step that is going to get him there [to be a truly good artist], but it isn't a strong enough statement to make that case for him.

The songwriting on Burning At Both Ends isn't nearly up to par with other prominent pop-punk groups, and Set Your Goals only stumbles more in the execution of their sound.

Even though I'm sad this record has left no lasting effect, I'm also happy that it might mean my life is heading somewhere positive.

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.

Although Hot Chelle Rae obviously aren't doing anything new here either, they've mastered the art of cheese pop and took a much more "natural" new route in sound compared to Lovesick Electric.

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.

The Gifted is a horribly disjointed album. If Wale would have gone one way or the other (soulful nostalgic beats or straight up pop-rap), the album would probably be at least a little bit better.

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.

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

The biggest problem with When Fish Ride Bicycles is the overall dull presentation and atmosphere.

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.

Aside from a few solid, unspectacular pop-rock songs though, ¡Dos! Has only one thing to offer: it makes ¡Uno! sound a hell of a lot better.

Certain songs on The Temper Trap are just not worth listening to more than a couple of times.

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.

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.

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

while the 7 or so songs on What A Pleasure have different names, it never really feels like anything ends or begins. It just kind of is, much in the same way that after listening to Beach Fossils, you know something happened but you can't remember why it did so or what it meant.

For most, the record will be too much--it's messy, it's overdone, it's arrogant, and ultimately it's disappointing – making Radke's return not really worth the wait.

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

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.

In essence, A Thousand Suns is a record with no real character or substance.

As a whole, Bullet show absolutely no progression on Fever, despite this being their third album.

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.

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.

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.

It's basically the third time Attack Attack! have written the same record.

For the most part, Young New England is embarrassingly lost in itself, a superfluous output that floats along at a frustratingly slow pace and lacks even a slight resemblance of direction.

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.