More often, however, Orbits has too much going on rather than too little.

The band's weakness is an unfortunate tendency to drift occasionally into MOR territory, and sometimes generic boy-meets-girl lyrics fail to keep the arrangements above water.

The production--by chart-grabbing Fraser T Smith (James Morrison, Taio Cruz, Cee-Lo)--can only bring so much depth or variety to unadventurous songs which are bellowed and wailed with all the subtlety of Florence Welch giving birth to a rhino.

What Good Charlotte don't seem to have picked up along the way are any startlingly new ways of delivering their honeyed ramalama pop-punk. Which could prove troublesome for them in the long run, now that the punk bubble has once again popped.

They sound like a pub soul covers band allowed to let rip on a few originals.

They're probably the only band in history whose latest album would sound better if they did not appear on it.

The Beginning is a depressing listen, not because the music's that bad, but because it implies that even the most successful pop producer on the planet can't afford to indulge in anything that might be construed as intelligent or interesting, lest the masses run away screaming in terror.

It's dumb for sure, but knowingly so, and its incessantly upbeat vibes do provide something of a lift.

Expectedly inconsistent, Almost Alice is a great idea some distance short of being properly realised.

It is full of catchy melodies and hooks. It is extraordinarily lame. Think of Keane, and remove the grit.

Margins struggles to rise above the ordinary. Fans of Maxïmo Park will not be disappointed, but it's frankly hard to see anyone else caring very much.

The Devil's Rain, then, is a slightly mixed bag of tricks, treats and travesties.

Santana's talent is compromised by a complacency to play these tracks as truly as possible.

When all's said, Some Kind of Trouble is not a terrible record by any means, but there's little sense that Blunt has advanced--and equally little sense that it'll make any difference to his bottom line.

Unconvincing and overbearing, it's like being ambushed by the cast of a Broadway rock musical.

Sweet 7 doesn’t sell the Sugababes as individuals or as a brand.

Fortune is never terrible. It just feels cripplingly pointless.

Disappointing fare from Britpop revivalists on the receiving end of critical vitriol.