Nightcrawler is essentially a sequence of fourteen overproduced songs that bleed into one another. Mind you these are not bad songs... But there is an overwhelming feeling that he is merely going through the motions.

Too familiar, too gloomy and too bland.

Even at its best this whole record sounds like a band who wants to make an impact by trying to be everything to everyone. And because they're not too good at everything they do yet, this lack of a definitive identity that makes it difficult to take them seriously (or if this is their definitive identity, they're just boring).

A handful of these recordings show promise, and should prove enjoyable for diehards and newcomers alike.... These standouts sadly don’t compensate for the rest of the album’s general blandness.

Although they do show some potential, the Capitol Years do not rightfully deserve the hype they are getting.

As it is now, decidedly un-personal, In Our Nature falls flat.

Overly polished and far too artificial.

To simply not want to skip tracks isn't exactly saying anything, and certainly not that Wilco has made any kind of return to relevance. But Jeff the person is doing just fine, and instead of chastising this release, let's be happy that the guy who gave us more serious, occasionally harrowing masterpieces such as Summerteeth and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot finally seems to be having some fun. Next time it'd be nice if he let us in on it.

Happiness Ltd. is a big mess.

The icy joylessness with which Bulmer humors her band's recordings doesn't ruin everything, shockingly enough.

In the end Continuum feels like little-more than the self-indulgent effort of a possibly-peaked pop star.

It’s too bad more songs don’t skip the sophomoric lyrics. Tinker around with your equalizer - you may be able to drown out the vocals and save the otherwise interesting CD.

A Colores’s most glaring failure is its reluctance to shift from the narcotic tone it so quickly assumes.

Casting off songs entirely for 17 parts that to their cult make a sum, I was sure this would be the one where I could finally take my other foot off the doorstop....[But] the fresh voices and staged character interplay keep Meloy's pretensions from boiling over, and loathe as I am to admit, two of the four title tracks culminate in something like hooks.

Decidedly unremarkable.

Despite the variety of acts on the disc, the songs are surprisingly uniform in structure: stripped down to Beck's vocals (which are left intact) and rebuilt with a drum machine set to either "monotonous" or "uninspired."

The one unique thing about Stewart's lyrical style (a sort of homage of shallow, U.S. suburban vernacular that paints a very specific picture to those of us from the suburbs) seems to be missing on Dear God, I Hate Myself. Sure, maybe it's even tongue-in-cheek, but I sure hope he's not joking.

It falls flat, offering little hope for the listener; after a few disappointing rounds of thinking that the next track simply HAS to be solid, the album exits as if it were never really there. Without a doubt, War Stories is the weakest and most disappointing UNKLE release to date.

For 80s nostalgia freaks, you might find that We Are Scientists have a few things in common with The Cure, and you might find that charming. But that’ll tide you over only so long before you realize this is nothing more than a major label trying to play catch-up by signing somebody who sounds like the flavor-of-the-month.

Numbers tout themselves as a dance-punk outfit, but they won’t get you on the dance floor anytime soon.

Nine of Arm's Way's twelve songs start with legs, but ultimately suffer from an inability to respect their limits.

The prevailing lack of substance declares itself by the time "Still Take You Home" kicks in, and it becomes evident that Alex Turner’s somewhat chirpy vocals are the album’s lone cohesive influence.

Rollie has yet to find his voice, though.

While Chrome Dreams II was clearly modeled after his more "classic" sounding work, it finds Young sounding like little more than a knockoff of his former self.

Some of the tracks may be fun, but The Best Little Secrets Are Kept is little more than mindlessness parading as innovation.

The third time is not the charm, at least in the case of this album, which is polished to the point of being ultimately less appealing and without any angles from which to approach.

From the first song to the last, Speakers And Tweeters is an audio trip back in time, but not in the poignant sentimental way that one might hope.

X & Y is uninspired adult pop that drops jaws only in its capacity to elicit yawns.