If you love these songs and want to hear them sound different and not as good as the versions you cherish, this record is for you! If not, what you'll hear is a confusing collection of material you didn't much enjoy in the first place sound unpleasant in new, and parallel, ways.

Relapse is not only a half-baked rerun; it’s only half of a half-baked rerun.

If you get a kick out of '90s Ibiza anthems and the first Depeche Mode album, than Bright Black Heaven might just put a big, goofy smile on your face; if you are looking for mature songwriting or forward-thinking electronic pop music, Bright Black Heaven is probably best avoided.

Because most of the time they choose attitude over melody or innovation, Generation slips into would-have, could-have territory.

Most artists, though, recognize the necessity to steal creatively, combining unlikely influences to make something close to novel. Greta Van Fleet, though, seem to lack even a passing familiarity with the last four decades of recorded music. Despite all the talk of artistic growth, the band have really only moved on from I to IV.

Thus the biggest flaw on The Fabled City lies not within the music, but with the brusque seriousness of Morello’s rhetoric and delivery that veers dangerously close to self-parody.

He leans more towards his softer, folksy side here than he did on Shotter’s Nation, and works hard to preserve the instrumental slop and shamble, while ignoring compelling melodies, energy, or a sense of purpose.

Hip-hop is not at its best on The Re-Up, but there are brief flashes of hope hidden amidst the gunk.

A very disappointing step backwards.

It's sure to sell on brand recognition alone, but I doubt a series of mannered and soulless hooks are going to find much life outside of the European remix circuit.

It's all very clockwork.

The overall sound is thin and tinny.

Dark Horse finds the group at a creative low point. Each song sounds like an older, better Nickelback hit, and Kroeger only once displays his prior songwriting strength with the sad-bastard portrait .Just to Get High.'

Battle Born is a confused mess of an album, drenched in influences but positively overextended in its execution, the band trying way too hard to do something grander and more complex than what they've done before.

When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold is almost entirely forgettable.

Hooks so catchy, voices so belty, organ so loud and . . . organy -- the whole experience overwhelmed my ears and hurt my brain. Listen at your own risk.

There are only two or three songs here that seem like they deserve company with Jones’s better work.

Lostprophets has survived in music by understanding what their fans like and catering to them, but with Weapons, the band is firmly entrenched in their comfort zone. While that might excite long-time fans of the band, it provides little to those looking for innovation or excitement out of the genre.

The songs are so generic that the only thing left at the record's conclusion is the feeling of how hollow and insubstantial the whole thing is.

The once fist-raising anthems for the Lilith generation have been replaced by the bland.

Several spins of Street Sweeper Social Club reveals the weaknesses inherit in this duo’s style. While Boots is mostly on point with his critical lyricism, he lacks a punchy energy that is required to match Morello’s heavier riffs.

Ultimately scuppered by too many leaden ballads and self-indulgent guest spots, this outing leaves the future looking very unclear once more for Meat Loaf and offers little to those who aren't already die-hard fans.

Where Wildflower fails is in almost everything.

Life is too short to spend valuable time with a record as essentially inessential as Seven's Travels.

After the first three songs, Steinhardt complains about everything without actually saying anything.

Even with several excellent songs... it's the lyrical inanity that makes the most lasting impression.

These are easy, derivative songs that might be listenable if they weren’t so overladen with noise.

Pharrell and his Neptunes exert a svengali-like control over the record helping Common release his most contrived and banal album to date.