The suspicion that Mika might have major talent under the plagiarism and cynicism is what makes "Life In Cartoon Motion" so remarkably unlovely.

The truth is most of this new record is karaoke, too--it's just that, like their fans, the band are so desperate to mean something that they have the gall to call it 'new'.

This lumpen, bloated, boring album is as much of a let-down as any of Timbaland's other "solo" works.

With so much of the joyous, uplifting and just plain life-affirming Motown back catalogue freely available (not to mention the any number of soul all-nighters dotted across the country), Going Back is a redundant exercise into one man's nostalgia.

This is a pompous, blandly histrionic album, faintly monumental in its drabness.

An album that's desperately hard to listen to, let alone care about.

His voice still sounds like it could curdle milk, an anaemic whine with no substance. Song-wise, this is mass-production fodder about which there's very little one can say.

How the mighty have truly fallen.

The record has some horrific moments, nearly all of them Borrell's.

Beyond the artificiality of this album's every attempt to be loved, what's most surprising is Pharrell's failure to program so much as a decent beat.

It's the state of the great man himself that's truly depressing. If the slurring on 'Murder' (pronounced muurrrerrr) is an attempt to sound like a stroke victim, it's worryingly convincing.

The lack of creativity on display here is palpable.

Unforgivably bad.

For people awaiting that second Jet album, this should prove a welcome distraction from their crayons. For the rest of us it's a look of bemusement and a scratched head.

Because beneath the clownishly self-effacing exterior, there's an artless ambition at work here that's terrible to behold.

Earth To The Dandy Warhols is just vacuous mid-tempo babble and clatter.

The rest of the tracks bop along with various degrees of offensiveness or inoffensiveness, troubling and achieving nothing.

There's no gentle way of saying this, so let's cut to the chase. This record is, quite simply, useless.

On the evidence of 'Democrazy', the wrong self-indulgent flake got fired from Blur.

Unfortunately for the oh-so-cleverly named Mongrel are nothing more than a patronising exercise in telling the poor listener what they already know: that governments can be corrupt, war on the whole is not pleasant and we all have a right to freedom.

A plodding collection of ballads carefully designed to show-off her jaw-dropping vocal range to the fullest.

'14 Shades of Grey' features no standout moments or highlights, just a formulaic, plodding, sixty plus moribund minutes that make this album about an hour too long. Avoid at all costs, even if you're a member of Staind's family.

Stripped of the rough guitars and eclectic production of the original, two things are exposed - those words and that voice. Neither fare well.

He, like Ashcroft before RPA & The United Nations Of Sound, has absolutely no idea how rubbish he's capable of being. Take note Liam, and be careful.

Herein lays Wayne's problem: he clearly has no understanding of rock.