AC/DC’s legendary stylistic consistency is on display across these 12 tracks. ... But with a group as locked on a signature sound as this one, the quality of the individual songs is paramount, and too many of those on “Power Up” — from the hookless “System Down” to the blandly bluesy “No Man’s Land” — are forgettable even after half a dozen spins.

And musically, at least, that journey paid off. ... Martin can be awfully simplistic in these songs — a problem in any context but especially on an album otherwise marked by some of his most nuanced words.

“Evermore,” in a first for Swift, simply repeats its predecessor’s trick, which means the new album’s tunes must stand on their own. And not all of them are up to the standard she set on “Folklore.” There are some incredible songs here. ... Yet too many of the remaining songs on “Evermore” feel like leftovers from “Folklore.” with recycled vocal cadences and melodic phrases or lyrical scenarios that seem unfinished. ... For most pop stars, that might be enough. Not for Swift.

“Star-Crossed” is actually a less emotional experience than the blissed-out “Golden Hour,” which practically vibrated with feeling. ... Musgraves’ writing on “Star-Crossed” is squishier and more prone to cliché than on “Golden Hour” or her earlier albums.

Occasionally, as in “The Sound,” Jepsen musters enough feeling in her high, slightly raspy voice that you can understand why her fans view her with a kind of protectiveness; only Robyn does crying-in-the-club more vividly. ... But too much of “Dedicated” blurs together in a mix of lovelorn confessions and throwback grooves you’d have to listen to obsessively to differentiate. For some, that’s just the invitation they crave.

The fuddy-duddy stance--thou shalt rise from the streets and compose by hand with paper and pen--feels bitterly defensive, even when Minaj lives up to her boasts about her hard-won craft, which on Queen is almost all the time.

“Shoot for the Stars,” an ambitious but scattered expansion of Pop’s sound, is widely expected to top the charts by a long shot next week. But it can’t do much more than fill in the cracks of what his life and career should have been.

On Made in the A.M. the group takes advantage of its nothing-to-lose position with a handful of cuts that feel even loosey-goosier than usual.

It all sounds great, too, with contributions from a vast array of players and producers, including Matthew Koma, Jacquire King, guitarist Greg Leisz and fiddler Gabe Witcher. The problem is Twain’s singing. ... [Her voice is] lower and less flexible than before, and that works out OK in the slower, moodier stuff here. That’s not the case, though, in the uptempo material, which feels flat and robotic.

It's an impressively focused and clever work. But this music is not transcendent. It's still stuck in Marshall Mathers' muck, his fundamental mistrust of pleasure and love.

While the depressive stuff is unsurprisingly disturbing--“I Thought About Killing You,” which opens Ye, evokes a school shooter’s nightmarish manifesto--West’s moments of euphoria prove no less vexing. ... This hymn-like ballad ["Violent Crimes"] built on churchy keyboards is so exquisitely rendered that, like much of Ye, it threatens to bring you over to his point of view.

It’s an unpredictable mix of sharp, artful commentary, wildly creative song making and, despite the album’s title, plenty of aimless, indulgent meandering.

Working together, they [Mark Ronson, Beck, Father John Misty and dudes from detail-obsessed rock bands like Queens of the Stone Age and Tame Impala] assemble some gorgeous pieces. ... Yet other songs, for all their vivid sonic color, lack strong stories.

The most significant change is in Swift’s singing voice, a once-brittle instrument that of course has gotten deeper, huskier and more flexible since the late ’00s. But she only really takes advantage of that shift a couple of times. ... As for the lightweight bonus material, which she cut in the studio with her “Folklore” and “Evermore” collaborators Aaron Dessner and Jack Antonoff, none of it argues that it deserved a place on “Fearless,” though “Mr. Perfectly Fine” comes close.

This is pop music, and it's all in good fun.... I just wish the recipe would have included a touch more poetry.

The default setting is polished professionalism; rawness actually takes time. And here Shelton seldom pushes beyond that finesse to reach something less smooth. Which doesn’t mean If I’m Honest isn’t pleasure.

The weird aftertaste of Raditude isn't that Cuomo has so surrendered the oddball charm of his band's first two albums, though. It's that his late-career pursuit of mindless, opulent fun is so transparent that it almost taps a deeper vein of interior sadness than anything on "Pinkerton."

The album's polished, middle-of-the-road approach isn't exactly for everyone, but its agreeable heart doesn't hit any sour notes, either.

The singer cuts loose only as '8th Wonder' winds down, building to the kind of fury that causes one to wonder what this album could've been with less polish and a lot more Ditto, unfiltered.

The 11 new songs, Kiss' first since 1998's "Psycho Circus," hardly deviate from the band's time-proven formula.

Gloriana's pop acumen (and virtuoso hair-care abilities) are a sure bet to fill arenas very soon, but they shouldn't forget to toss an occasional 'Landslide' in for the grizzled oldsters out there.

Once you get past the surface attractions, Sam Endicott's arch singing and rock-rebel posturing are forced, and his production is as stiff as the mechanical discoid rhythms. [24 Apr 2005]

Consider it a musical Snuggie for tottering Valley party girls--it will feel marvelous in the cold, drunken and lonely hours of the night.

She's clearly capable of belting a worthy song out of the park, but once again she's hampered by bloop singles and the infrequent double.

More often than not, though, Nas offers windy whines instead of innovative ideas.

The King Is Dead clings so closely to formula that it doesn't sound like homage or even truth; it sounds like the studious but unconvincing work of an extremely gifted mimic.

Most of the dozen tracks on Partners-- which features duet partners such as Michael Bublé, Andrea Bocelli and the singer’s son, Jason Gould--offer no such vantage [of a whole other way of looking at [a] song].... Yet there is strong work here--four songs that live up to the singer's stated ambition.

Its latest album, Love Hate and Then There's You, is a stereotypical dilution of the Stooges/MC5 canon, there are a few unexpectedly tight tunes that hit as hard as, well, a sock in the eye.

The sonic equivalent of a blooper reel with a few solid highlights edited in to remind us of the player he once was, the 11-song album mostly rehashes ideas he's ruminated on with more focus and skill in earlier work.

“Spheres” is in reality no more — or less! — on the nose than Coldplay’s earlier albums.

Music From Another Dimension delivers riffs, clichés, solos, yowls and a virtual banquet of the same one-dimensional tropes Aerosmith has been offering for years. Mixed in, however, are a few gems.

The latest in a long line of Madonna songs that ponder the many responsibilities women are asked to shoulder. The problem on “Madame X” is that neither the post-trap grooves nor the winding melodies are sturdy enough to make any of this stuff stick in the way her old classics did. She seems to have assumed that the force of her personality would put the songs across.

The presence of those strong women [Gwen Stefani and Haim] does wonders for Harris’ amped-up music. They bring out the man, not the meathead, in the machine.

The band does black and white, but nothing in between.

Play On exhibits a distressing lack of dimension for a singer with Underwood's obvious abilities.

There's no denying that, three albums in, the winning novelty of Art Brut's tightly defined project is beginning to wear off.

The 16 songs vary in tone, from grease-and-nicotine-stained jams to spit-shined ballads, but too little of it is adroit enough in construction or execution to stick in the craw.

Between this and the first "Alone" installment, there's enough gristle for the third-best Weezer album as yet unmade. Cuomo's Patron problems are beatable--it's the "Pork & Beans" that's really derailed him lately.

Despite all the work put into his workmanlike pop, it ultimately comes off as agreeable, but not memorable.

Chesney's tone-deafness here seems especially egregious because it's surrounded by better, smarter material.

Klaxons, if you're going to shout in our ears a bunch, can you at least have something to say?

The cussing, the horror, the anger, the disappointment, the alienation, the frustration, while real and scary and sad, gets tiresome. That's a lot of Tyler, and so much ego-maniacal nihilism, while fascinating and at times revolutionary, wears thin very quickly.

Trouble is, there's never been an ounce of menace in his boy-next-door vocals, so there's a credibility gap in those performances, no matter how catchy they are.

The cartoonish sound compensates for Spears' lack of range and lung power by allowing her to ham it up.

Nearly every song overstays its welcome; what may have felt like a bunch of great jams in the studio grows tedious over the course of 12 tracks.

Though it’s larded with glib disco-funk tracks and morose, One Republic-style pop-rock tunes, “Everything I Thought It Was” contains a handful of gems in “Love & War,” a Prince-ish ballad with his prettiest falsetto singing, and the spacey slow jam “What Lovers Do”; “Selfish,” the album’s coolly received lead single, is another highlight, this one with echoes of Bieber’s underrated “Changes” from 2020.

Eventually all this mellow reflection begins to resemble a retreat rather than an advance.

The problem is that not enough of Elixer sounds strong or fresh.

With imagery haunted by death and lyrical allusions to alienation and angst, Avenged Sevenfold's fifth full-length is almost impossible to appreciate unless you fit the prime demographic: tormented teenage boys.

One just wishes the band did it with a bit more grace and inventiveness than on Appeal to Reason, where straight-outta-the Nation song titles like 'Collapse (Post-Amerika)' and 'Re-education (Through Labor)' disguise some pretty conservative ideas about how modern mainstream punk should sound.

The singer has no trouble making herself at home in these cuts, but the flimsy material can't quite conceal her hit-hungry desperation. Braxton fares better in the album's slower, more sensual songs.

It's obvious Aoki is a better tastemaker and label boss than producer, but then, didn't we all dream so big in 2005?

It's all very fun and creative, but, ironically, the duo fall into the common hip-hop traps of being short on actual hooks and not knowing when to edit themselves. [15 Dec 2004]

There might be a compelling story in there, but when the Furnaces' songs come in to elaborate on her tales... it's all but impossible to figure out what's going on. [6 Nov 2005]

Home may be where the heart is, but Bentley was a lot more compelling when he was poking around up on the ridge.

“Ice Cream,” the song with Gomez, is the most gratifyingly stylish track here. ... [The Album] plays like a transmission from a previous era. “Crazy Over You,” with its airy wind-instrument sample, rewinds even further to the hip-hop exotica of Timbaland’s late-’90s heyday. ... There’s something vaguely oppressive about “The Album.”

Mostly, however, she's operating in the Mormon Tabernacle Choir end of the musical spectrum, with arrangements emphasizing massed orchestral and choral forces often overwhelming the songs.

In glimpses it reaches that goal--like in maybe half of the sticky and finessed "Breaking Point"--but it's undone by the album's many other contradictory messages.

Instead of finding a different voice as a writer and producer of original material, Oakenfold seems trapped by dance-music genre conventions. [28 May 2006]

The Wack Album feels awfully short on fresh ideas.

A sense that his musical vision hasn't stalled in 1978 might add some urgency. Some kind of retooling might also help with his larger problem: trying to do the same job with old equipment. [11 Sep 2006]

Other than the album's highlight, the resonant break-up song "Still Missin'," Mail on Sunday rarely delivers.

Smoke + Mirrors puts across strong feelings, but it refuses to reveal how they work.

The result is a disjointed, artistically confused release that's not only way too long but also doesn't really ring true as an "album" at all, at least if your definition is a collection of new songs with a central premise or statement that one listens to from start to finish.

Not surprisingly, the music is heavy on acoustic guitars and steel drums, light on powerhouse percussion, making for a musical tour as relaxing as a ride in a hammock strung between two palm trees. And about as uneventful. [23 Jan 2005]

This album is a purposeful move into Top 40 that misses the quirk of well written pop and the sonic inventions of EDM.

The result, surprisingly, is Stone's most conventional record yet: handsome soul singing, sturdy blues-rock arrangements, lyrics about refusing to cry oneself to sleep.

By and large, Shaka Rock is an unmistakable and confident move toward respectability for Jet. But it does make you wonder why it's so rough for a band to be young, dumb and full of bad come-ons.

A slickly produced collection of largely generic, meandering songs about self-affirmation in the wake of heartache and romantic disillusionment.

In his determination to establish his own lane, though, James has let his once-strong songwriting sag.

He and band move through riffs, guitar solos and drum fills with a compact tightness that shouldn't surprise; Prince is a legendary taskmaster. The problem, though, is that half the songs, most obviously "White Caps," don't pop, don't scream for replay and should have landed on the cutting-room floor.

The album lags in its second half with songs that feel half-baked and are not aided by clever production. Many were penned by Sparks, whose writing abilities are far from hopeless; they simply need more development.

Ultimately, all his genre-grazing makes him seem slippery rather than adventurous.

As a rock star side project, though, Dead by Sunrise has an unlikely fault--it's not nearly indulgent enough.

Each shimmering track lights a momentary spark, but the attraction proves fleeting. [6 Feb 2005]

Snoop and Wiz make a sweet couple, but this lightweight trifle is unlikely to cement a committed relationship.

Unfortunately, the slick, overproduced headbanger music feels anachronistic and wouldn’t seem out of place on a Korn album. While Cypress Hill remains one of the greatest groups of all time, “Rise Up” mostly flops.

It’s a disappointingly ordinary effort that for the most part merely does what modern Nashville product is supposed to do.

If only the others brought aboard were extended as much freedom to do something other than trace outlines over the contours of this familiar canon.

Oddly, the production in most songs allows lots of open sonic space that reinforces the wispiness of her voice, which rarely ventures out of a mid-range comfort zone. Beyoncé she ain't, much less Alicia. [27 Feb 2005]

mostly, I Am Not a Human Being II shows us Lil Wayne responding weakly to the unsettling prospect of weakness.

The problem is the Duchess herself. Fergie exudes earthy charm, but can't keep up with the breakneck music. She forces emotion on the slower show-stoppers, and she's all cartoon kitten on the come-ons. [17 Sep 2006]

As meticulously as these sounds and instruments are recorded, as beautiful and haunting as they sometimes sound, they don't add up to more than one or two truly memorable songs.

The Roots have always been more about the music than the lyrics, but "Tipping Point" excels at neither. [11 Jul 2004]

It surrounds a handful of his sharpest, most insightful songs with far less effective material--tracks that either vague out into club-rap utility or sag hopelessly under the weight of cornball sentiment.

The challenge in coming back for Round 2 was to make it more than a one-note joke, but the Darkness remains in its Spinal Tap mode for most of "One Way Ticket." [6 Dec 2005]

Collins takes on 18 tracks in an outing as understandable as it is unnecessary, a high-priced karaoke spin for the ersatz prog-rock-percussionist-turned-master-of-the-'80s-pop-single.

One formula replaces another and another.

The Lips' catalog is exhaustingly long, but Arabia Mountain is a fine reassertion that its talents extend far beyond running from venue security.

There's a sense of urgency when he is inspired by the production backing him, but when the beats coast along without much flair, Method Man does the same.

Suck It and See (English slang for "give it a try"), slows the pace but ultimately feels even more detached.

In almost every way This Is Acting feels safer and more ordinary than “1000 Forms of Fear,” with familiar (if sturdy) melodies and lyrical clichés about houses on fire and footprints in the sand.

Picked by music supervisor Alexandra Patsavas, the second volume has a lot of good makeout songs and just as many calls for courage.

If Gaga had only spent as much time on pushing musical boundaries as she has social ones, Born This Way would have been a lot more successful.

It seldom gathers enough momentum, and doesn't feel the least bit cohesive.

It may not be fair to rag on the group for picking the wrong decade to rip off, but right now Kasabian's allegiance to the '90s sounds especially uninspired.

Boyle is perfectly comfortable singing actual hymns like 'Amazing Grace,' though her take on them is pretty much on a level with any local church's choir star. She's at her worst when she pushes harder; she doesn't know how to build drama, and her throat seems to constrict as she reaches for bigger notes.

What the album leaves you with is the image of a little lion man, rattling his ever-expanding cage.