What was once joyful, now sounds careworn and overly precious.

Playing Coke to Knopfler's bourbon on some decent songs, [Harris] challenges his guitar to a beauty contest; it's a draw. [Jun 2006, p.140]

"Beer for My Horses," a rangy duet with Willie Nelson, and easy grooves like "Ain't It Just Like You" don't chase away the overbearing taste of "Red, White and Blue," the album's centerpiece first single. [#9, p.150]

Her reach is remarkable. [Aug 2003, p.120]

Generally, they’re smart and musical enough to turn rhetorical gestures into convincing rock & roll. But when they subtitle the whole schmear “A Love Vision!” you wonder who they’re trying to kid.

Longwave sound more British than Strokes-ish, with a mild talent for writing melodies that demand your attention. [Apr 2003, p.125]

Beautiful but strangely unhinged. [Jul 2006, p.100]

Most of the tracks don't quite rise above their obvious influences, Radiohead and U2. [#10, p.118]

He lacks [Daft Punk and Justice's] wit or personality, and the album turns into a sucession of flashy vocal cameos and samples. [Apr 2008, p.81]

Producer Guy Sigsworth (Seal, Björk, Madonna) adds a touch of Eurodisco to her infatuation-junkie rambles.

Overflows with heart and hooks. [May 2005, p.116]

Not for all--or even most--tastes, the result is abrasive and weirdly haunting. [Nov 2005, p.135]

Sad, pretty, funny and touching. [#14, p.137]

If his subject matter is getting stranger, however, his semiacoustic music is comfortingly familiar and expert. [#11, p.135]

Distraught longtime fans can take comfort in the gothic ire of the Banner-fronted, Hurricane Katrina–lamenting “Seein’ Thangs” and the ambling blues-hop storytelling of Phonte Coleman on “Backstage Girl,” but little else can be salvaged from the wreckage of Shadow’s abruptly imploding talent.

Even the presence of A-list guests can't redeem such jaded, formulaic songs. [#4, p.118]

Even Monsoon’s best moments are marred by barely audible vocals and dull lyrical abstractions.

It's not quite as thrillingly risky as the Deftones' White Pony, but it deserves the collegiate adulation it will likely receive. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.107]

A set of tuneful, atmospheric doom-pop gems that appealingly swirls stiletto-heel beauty and black-leather brawn. [May 2006, p.108]

A strained, washed-out, sluggish record. [Oct 2004, p.129]

will.i.am... does push [Big] beyond her Sly Stone safety zone. [Apr 2007, p.111]

It improves on the debut, slightly. [#10, p.114]

While Air and Daft Punk have taken discarded pop styles and created modern classics, Trans Am seem happy to wallow in early-MTV nostalgia. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.114]

Buffeted by big guitars, her thin, untrained voice occasionally sounds listless. [May 2004, p.118]

In the quest to make overly bronzed twentysomethings sweat, this endearing pseudo–rebel loses much of the little–sister angst that made her so appealing in the first place.

Harder, denser, uglier. [#15, p.128]

Tweekend lacks the immediacy of Vegas, but it works better the further it strays from Ecstasy-fueled breakbeats and squawking electro-hooks. Unfortunately, it doesn't stray too far. [Aug/Sep 2001, p.122]

A suite of weak songs and half-finished ideas. [Mar 2004, p.120]

More proof of RZA's eccentric genius. [Dec 2003, p.146]

[Some] attempts at genre-mashing suffer from some uncharacteristically sluggish Muggs production. [May 2004, p.120]

What’s revealed is...well, what we’re used to. Beyonce is still a beauty-shop feminist, quick with the smack-downs, and she still describes the rattling rush of love with preternatural poise.

The promising threesome spend most of their time in a creative rut, largely because of an unrelenting adherence to a diet of chunky beats and straightforward battle rhymes -- neither of which is particularly easy to digest.

From the AC/DC-guitar rips of 'So Hott,' the first single, to the tongue-piercing snare of the title song, the album revels in the physicality of rock & roll.

The doggedly retro approach ultimately muzzles the Noise COnspiracy's radical bite. [Nov 2005, p.136]

A retread of a retread. [Nov 2006, p.148]

Hit-and-miss. [Jul 2006, p.104]

This is feel-good stuff, the sound of a rejuvenating artistic vacation. [#12, p.136]

By turns sensual and despondent. [Oct 2004, p.126]

Now, on only their third major-label release, they sound almost middle-aged. [Oct 2007, p.110]

A couple of great amped-up stormers... and a lot of nearly identical songs. [Jun/Jul 2004, p.145]

Around the midway point, just as APC seem handcuffed to despair, they remember that a good protest song should stir the spirit rather than sink it. [Dec 2004, p.140]

An album that begins as a me-against-the-world celebration of self ends as a somber plea for emotional wholeness. [Dec 2006, p.173]

They exult in a catchy send-up of swaggering retro-rock sleaze. [May 2005, p.121]

Give Whirlwind Heat this: The first time out, they've managed to sound exactly like the worst bands downtown New York coughed up in 1982. [May 2003, p.125]

What makes the stop-and-go, drum-thick music on this CD such a smooth ride, is that despite the pout, this is still the same old David. [#12, p.140]

50's signature wit is notably absent, so the fate of G-Unit hinges largely on his posse. [Jan 2004, p.104]

[An] album of sharply assembled rock & roll. [Jun 2007, p.105]

Although their guitar-drums set-up is reminiscent of the White Stripes, the Animals are more interested in the wake-and-bake vibe of haggard hippie bands like Love and the Jefferson Airplane.

This wouldn't be a Squarepusher record if it didn't flip the bird to listeners at some point. [#10, p.126]

Wake Up... is the set of inspired anthems they needed to deliver in '96. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.103]

Congrats, boys, you’ve made Warped’s one millionth girls-suck album.

Denser and more scuzzed-up than Fallen, the album amps everything up to gloriously epic, over-the-top proportions. [Oct 2006, p.129]

Pragmatically exploiting his sure tune sense, his saving falsetto and a command of the political facts well exceeding that of Living With War, he’s turned out the first great protest album of the new dispensation.

The arrangements are so flush with guitar hooks and buoyant harmonies that these tunes are entertaining even when they're not catchy. [Oct/Nov 2001, p.108]

They're so straightforward, you can forget how crafty, even sly, Smash Mouth can get. [Sep 2003, p.129]

Jean's histrionic singing and simplistic lyrics can intensify his material... or derail it via self-parody. [Dec 2003, p.138]

A great deal, unfortunately, fall into chugga-lugga tedium. [#9, p.148]

It’s epic, mercurial, high-impact progressive rock that moves like a whirlwind.

As overblown as he is oversensitive, reaching toward the rafters whether his jumbled platitudes about wounded relationships warrant it or not, Cook is more like Michael Bolton in a T-shirt.

Over the top and steadfastly retro, but in a good way. [Dec 2005, p.155]

T’nT use gnarled-up keyboard sounds and mix tricks the way third-tier punk bands use screaming and feedback--to disguise the lack of something to say.

Is Under Rug Swept as good as Jagged Little Pill? Ultimately, no. [Feb/Mar 2002, p.108]

Good living has tilted his writing from surefooted and universal to numbing and platitudinous, while his stormy passions are becalmed by an overwhelming production job. [#14, p.130]

It takes a few listens for Songs to feel more than just odd, but as with most Eitzel projects, its mood lingers like cigar smoke. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.106]

It sounds as bitter and cynical as most of Chilton's solo stuff since Big Star originally imploded. [Oct 2005, p.134]

The more you listen, the less soothing his songs become; this is drifty music about living a rootless life where satisfaction is elusive.

Takes Cursive back to their chickenscratch days. [Sep 2005, p.144]

It's the sound of a group treading water. [Jul 2007, p.110]

They’ve buried those strengths deep to make way for a humorless new approach that borrows the turgid bleariness of Oasis (“Living’s much too easy and dying will be some kind of bore”) but misses the Gallaghers’ pomp and glory.

Austere in its beauty and a little wearying. [Mar 2005, p.143]

For the most part, the formula still works fine. [Jun/Jul 2002, p.107]

Almost every one of these twangy, homespun gems finds him in the heat of romantic battle--taunting, eviscerating or pleading with a lover or an ex.

Spears’s fifth studio album is her most consistent, a seamlessly entertaining collection of bright, brash electropop.

Angry Mob delivers 13 consistently catchy tracks that bounce unrelentingly. [Apr 2007, p.115]

The first few songs on their fourth might fool you into thinking they have a future.... But it's downhill after the highpoint: 'Sirens in the Deep Sea.'

At home, it's hard to see the point of these whiny raps, tongue-in-cheek R&B jams and lo-fi funk grooves. [#13, p.93]

This is a transitional album: Mould sprinting away from his past. [Apr/May 2002, p.116]

They still can't overcome their addiction to sugar. [#9, p.152]

Shaggy has one of the most grating voices in pop. [Oct 2005, p.143]

The craziest moment on this debut LP is 'Fucked Up,' where they beg to have their pussies eaten one second, their teeth smashed the next.

Walking on a Dream initially sounds as familiar as montage music in an HBO midday movie, but it will haunt your dreams.

Luckily, all the ironic distance doesn't blunt the band's attack. [May 2006, p.109]

With Simon LeBon sharpening his typically abstract lyrics and everyone bolstering the contrasting, constant hooks, Timbaland perfects the rock-techno fusion his solo album fumbled, while Duran emphasize their willfully plastic extremes. They’ve never sounded this pretty and severe.

The bulk of One Monkey finds the boys trying too hard to distance themselves from their former weirdness. [Aug 2004, p.132]

More of the same, except less. [#17, p.145]

Matthews's singular skill is adroitly tipping his elastic, emotive voice and sorority-seducing melodies from buoyant to melancholy. [Oct 2003, p.123]

Sadly, though, if Petty's fourteenth album fails to emulate the success of his best work, it won't be because corporations have conspired to turn off his mic, but because it's simply not as good. [#10, p.127]

Despite the occasional misstep... it's a welcome album to anyone who wishes the past 15 years never happened to Run-D.M.C.'s legacy. [Nov 2005, p.139]

Matt's solo joints continue to advance his kooky, obscurantist aesthetic, though they miss the distracted smolder of his comely foil. [Sep 2006, p.140]

Fink's pretty, dusky voice moves like time-lapse clouds over earthy beats that build to cymbal-crash storms. [Sep 2005, p.133]

Mostly, though, this psychodrama feels both overplayed and underwritten. [August 2007 p.110]

Bounce may sound flat in a few years, but by then its job--to see another million people, and rock them all--will be done. [#11, p.128]

A rather polite album... but it's also comprehensively gorgeous. [#27, p.138]

The protest ballads plod, and even the song about praying for God to drown the president sounds more weary than pissed. The Nightwatchman is that rare crusader whose secret identity is more exciting than his alter ego.

A turgid modern, progressive rock with superficial hip-hop sheen. [August 2007, p.119]

Reborn, the track leads off the sardonic sextet’s fifth album of apocalyptic buffoonery shot through with metal, new wave and disco, all of it hilarious, none of it a joke.

He's a full-fledged alternative auteur, skipping effortlessly from hypnotic electronics to refracted torch songs to balls-out alt-rock. [Aug 2003, p.134]

It's unfortunate that the balladry is rendered via anesthetized soul instead of the ambitious arrangements of Timbaland. [May 2003, p.118]