Don't you want to think? Don't you enjoy thinking? Or do you instead prefer listening to background whining? Are you happy to settle for this?

Every song is predictable, workman-like, lacking invention.

The intensity on Billy Talent III feels the same as the intensity of the band's live show, awkwardly forced and absolutely repellent.

There's nothing on 'Folklore' that comes anywhere near the catchiness of anything off her debut.

Where the was once teen angst, there is nowt but middle-aged resignation. And no, the lyrics to ‘Ironic’ still aren’t bloody ironic.

There's barely a narrative other than posturing. It's not really an album, more a relentless ad campaign.

Bahdeni Nami is nothing more than a dull and flat dance record, dressed in the trappings of the 'exotic' and 'worldly'.

A substandard, second-tier album with some strings thrown in for good measure.

This is a bad album. The power ballads have some good elements. You might sing one of these songs at karaoke one day. You should not listen to this album in its entirety.

What was promised to be Twain's 'very, very pure' album is anything but. ... A terrible album.

Form & Control's only real highlight is its title track... But when it's surrounded by so much dross, it's hardly redeeming, and getting loaded may well be the only way to endure the rest of this tripe.

Liam Howlett and the boys embrace their psycho circus schtick on The Day Is My Enemy to the point of suffocation.

This is not just the band’s worst record, it’s also the worst record with any profile to be released this year.

Nothing goes anywhere, and yet every song is so long. It’s painful.

Difficult second album? In a way. In that it's difficult to listen to it without smashing your CD player to make it stop.

These odd moments aside, it’s tempting to suggest that never before have a band--and a band who, let us remember, this writer awarded a generous 8/10 for their summery, tuneful debut--managed to nail mediocrity so definitely between its tired eyes.

This is dead-eyed pop with aspirations of being your comfort food but turns out to be a starchy soulless slop.

Many demons are slain at the altar of the Reverend in the course this album--wit, eloquence, incisiveness and originality to name but a few.

Leave this to collect dust in the bargain bin. Or, better still, the bins out the back of HMV.

Shame on the person who made this. Shame on the people who release, market and play this. And shame on anyone who buys it.

Yet none of this is enough to relieve the air that everything on Curse Our Love has been intentionally dumbed down to make it as easily digestible as possible. Above all this album's great many sins, this is what offends the most.

Quite simply, this record is the devil's spawn incarnate.

What’s not so easy however is appraising something so overwhelmingly awful and so lacking in merit as BE without sounding like one of the smug, condescending middle class intelligentsia.