True to its goal, there's lots of fun to be had here, even if the music does lack depth and innovation.

The album could use a hefty dose of editing, annoying to any listener--unless, of course, they’re too stoned to care.

The sound is more dense and self-conscious than ever, the twin Achilles’ heels of this star. At times, the mix blurs Tesfay’s vocals, preventing them from taking a deserved center stage.

The songs offer few individualized lyrical details, and no consistent themes, to pin on a particular person. The arrangements, likewise, have a slick adaptability that makes these songs serviceable cover material for any pop star of the hour.

That hybrid [hip-hop and pop], and Sparks’ new maturity, allows her to find her voice, as well as a potential new role.

Due to the era the album fetishes, the music sounds inescapably chintzy.... Jepsen’s improbably young voice helps distract from that.

He serves up several ballads, which salute hunting, fishing, and scarecrows. None are particularly convincing, given the anchor-man blandness of Bryan’s vocals.

The artist widened his palette this time, bringing in the country singer Jake Owen on one track, and soul star Aloe Blacc on a song that aims to repeat the magic Blacc struck on Aviici’s “Wake Me Up.” Unfortunately, Young’s nerdy sensibility kills that.

If the end result isn’t as big a blast as the star’s previous records, it still has his likable tone and witty character to count on.

Cohen vocals frequently sound more robust than they do in the studio, which is a surprise.... Still, it’s the band that gives the tracks the most animation.

Switching this band’s sound to international rock just amounts to trading one bland canvas for another.

The studio sound erased many of those aural pimples, acting like dermabrasion for the ears. The appeal of the songs also helps smooth things over. Adults may notice that this “singer-songwriter” rarely writes without armies of collaborators. But the material he’s been handed has hooks.

Unfortunately, the songs end up seeming more lightweight than they otherwise might.

The long list of guest stars lends the songs a variety that Morrison’s most monochromatic solo albums could well use.

Piece By Piece piles on the gloss and glop. It’s a fat sounding recording that fights with, rather than enhances, Clarkson’s to-the-rafters vocals.

Kid obviously lusts for the Man in Black’s bad boy image, but he ignores the demons that fueled it. Even the album’s production misses its role model’s core.

Sean doesn’t have Drake’s brooding soul, but he’s a lot more fun to listen to these days.

Ultimately, the strategy backfires. The Dragons’ approach may help them conjure effective public environments, but they’re devoid of personal expression.

The production has a creaminess that never obscures its clarity. The melodies have equal definition, shunning the clichés of the most rote, American R&B.

The album ends up seeming more like a stop-gap than a surge ahead. For the first two-thirds, Drake relies on his usual sing-song style, stoking interest only with his inventive stretches in phrasing.... Otherwise, cooler hooks, melodic flashes of R&B, or great variation can be hard to find.

The album, which features Beyonce, Ellie Goulding and Sia, stresses soft-edged production and slow build rhythms, bunched into some fairly catchy pop songs.

As song choices go, most pf these rate as overly obvious. But that’s not what turns this album into such a compromise. Krall shows no interest in pushing out the bounds of the songs.

Trainor may be talented, with a large voice and a witty writing style, but over the course of the album she crosses the line from confident to smug.

“Uptown Funk” turns out to be one of the only lazy tracks on Ronson’s fourth album. Yes, the other songs obsess on the past, but most enliven it. Better, some revive a quirk of history others overlooked.

Disappointingly, Pink hasn’t taken Minaj further into the surreality that first promised to turn her into Missy Elliott to the 10th power. But there’s no denying the album’s catchiness.

Sucker ends up monochromatic, but that only helps Charli hone a persona. If the one here doesn’t exactly make her the new Joe Strummer, it does suggest a British answer to Kesha. She’s the likable brat of the hour.

The dance songs don’t have nearly as much uniqueness or specificity.... By contrast, exhilarating ballads like “Whole Damn Year” make the most of Blige’s queen-of-pain character.

Mockingjay has a distinct ’80s feel, evident in its more-is-more approach.