Fail[s] to constantly engage the listener.

For every hit, there exists a miss.

The Collective's aspirations come off as bland and blurry, as if aspiration alone was the sole goal for this jam, spread out over three quarters of an hour.

Familiarity can be a good thing, but The Stands get plain fresh, crossing the line between feeling safe and feeling violated.

That Fasciinatiion isn't a revelatory departure is not to say that it is completely without merit. It is, however, undeniably lacking an air of excitement.

Despite its faults, Morning Tide will no doubt satisfy fans of crafty pop and have them dancing and singing.

Most of these tracks can be found on the Internet in their original Iron & Wine incarnations, and all but one sounds 100% better that way.

There is a feeling of being sucked into a mid-90s vortex here.

Everything goes smoothly on In the Clear, with no real highs or lows, so to speak, and as such it unrolls without much fanfare or energy.

With a Cape and a Cane feels more like it was made by a band of salty old musicians hoping to revive a past success instead of a sophomore album.

Once through, we realize Ideal Lives does not feel unified, which is exactly what makes it so interesting but also so difficult to fully embrace.

Dangerous Dreams is a passable album that never achieves greatness, nor does it fail miserably, rather residing with the mundane.

For some reason, the band seemed to strip things down on this album, as the tracks are less sophisticated and experimental than on previous works, (which is fine for most bands, but for ones that aspire to keep their crown at the forefront of indie-pop, just not going to cut it).

Decent and decadent, Good Apollo is still ultimately the least of the band’s 3 full lengths. It continues the band’s tradition for experimentation, with melodies breaking through the chaos but it is less successful and equally disappointing with no new tricks.

Some songs are worth a listen, but the overall package sounds and feels redundant and, putting myself at the mercy of =W= fans everywhere, renders itself irrelevant.

We know in their perfect pop moments, Fountains of Wayne can be inspiring, but Out-of-State Plates proves that in imperfection, they can wear even the most admiring fans out.

Even the songs that rise above the simple looped-beat formula don’t have much to offer.

For devote metal heads, Early Man may represent a renaissance of the original, pure metal sound that started it all. For everyone else, Closing In will be received as a retro novelty rather than a serious musical accomplishment.

Skipping over a few songs, such as "When Butterflies Leave" and "Whispers From A Spiritual Garden" — because who wants to hear spiritual babbling when Islam can sing so diatonically correct — the album flourishes into a masterpiece of sincerity to its core.

The problem is simply that Gang of Four got Entertainment! right the first time, whether they like it or not.

The Secret Migration has the power to cast a spell over you with its dreamy, wraithlike keyboards. Many won't fall for it, though, and will undoubtedly find them too melodramatic.

Ultimately at this point, the songs that I'm most attracted to are still the slower, more intuitive weepers showcasing Vedder's voice, and alas, such simplicity is scarce on Backspacer.

Cash grab? Perhaps. Phoning it in? Maybe. Or maybe it’s their attempt to open up to a new crowd - but whatever it is it’s better left as an experiment.

They can't be accused of not making spirited music, but Northern State are still looking for the right words to express their sensible worldview.

Earlier pieces that amused or excited the listener have given way to more approachable sounds constantly on the verge of blending in completely. While seldom bad and almost wholly listenable, Vapours proves to be a bland disappointment from a group of usually creative musicians.

At times the running-on-fumes punk benefits The Monitor's overall sound. But the problem is that the songs that surround the defined centerpieces sound undeveloped or just plain fall flat, particularly early on when we hear about a supposed hero covered in excrement and piss as a dramatic plot-point.

Once Upon A Time is simply derivative, a rehash of the band itself.

Where Cale flaps up is in not allowing himself enough space for nuance atop his overdriven guitars, forcing the deployment of gaudy keyboard settings to match the guitars’ "intensity" and even fumbling into a bona fide mall-punk chorus in "Perfect."