Oddly, nothing about This Is for Real feels sincere.

Saves the Day have given their fans nothing exciting, innovative, or new.

With Costey's 21st century modern rock production, everything on this album is blown up a dense roar that in its attempt to overwhelm with volume cannot obscure how dull the songs really are.

Even as Lambs Anger rides the wave of ‘80s nostalgia to respectable income and momentarily elevated social status, long-time fans will scratch their heads and pine for the old days, and they are right to do so.

As a piece of product, this album modestly accomplishes the goal of keeping the Jonas Brothers name out there, reenergizing the fickle base. But as an album, it is a failure, weighed down by the painfully bland production and a team of uninspired professional songwriters who add little to Nick’s developing skills.

A bloated misfire.

Razorlight is a bloodless, careerist record that has nothing to say that you haven’t heard a million times before.

There are worse things you could spend you money on, but buy one of BMG's DVD's if you want to entertained by them; pass on this forgettable CD.

For folks who love Cee-Lo as a television personality and/or demand new renditions of songs we've all heard thousands of times over, Cee-Lo's Magic Moment exists. For everyone else... well, there's probably copies of Cee-Lo Green…Is the Soul Machine lying around somewhere out there.

The red flags run rampant in this album, which has all the personality of HAL 9000.

For all of the introspection on this record, it sounds strangely hollow and thin, lacking the hefty substance that drew everyone to Rossdale’s former work.

Unfortunately, the sorta-good parts just don’t make up for the overabundance of flaccid mediocrity on display throughout most of the album.

A handful of decent songs do not a classic album make, much less a good one. While Timberlake can't be faulted for wanting to try something genuinely new this far into his career, the laziness of the productions and overall misguided lyrics make for an awkward fit. ... Timberlake's worst album to date.

Whatever the band’s intent, though, Mother of Curses simply doesn’t work.

Sad to say, there’s not a song on EP2 that sounds like it couldn’t have been banged out by a reasonably proficient group of session musicians.

In a live setting, this type of give-and-take could pay off, like an electro take on free jazz, but as it's presented here not only is it unspoken, it's unintelligible.

What we get when we put the pieces together: an album where every single song is approximately the same length; an album where you could take apart any one track, combine those segments with other stray bits of the album, and still have the same basic entity you started with; an album whose choruses consist of phrases like “No, that bitch ain’t a part of me” repeated eight times; an album that, above all else, does not want you to think about it too hard.

Thing is, most of the songs on West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum, while never outright abhorrent on their own, just aren’t tight enough to keep from being devoured by all the sonic excess.

In attempting to make a record that avoids the pop fluff he’s become famous for, Jones almost completely rids Pray IV Reign of the redeemable moments from past releases.

This collection of warmed-over power pop wouldn't have shown up on anyone's radar if it weren't for Wilson's day job as Weezer's drummer.

The Kills make the least of their limitations -- rather than magnifying the importance of each choice, the simplicity of the Kills reveals how little thought went into any choice.

It goes awry for Black Mountain, devolving into a collection of musical segments that prove that the members have really important record collections and strong political views. The crucial thing that is missing is internal inspiration.

The rest of the album varies the sonic assault in various ways, while striving to ensure that there are only occasional moments of listenability.

Perfectamundo is essentially tepid blues rock (featuring many warmed over standards) with a Latin rhythm section slapped on for some longed for but unrequited funk credibility.

If Simon wanted to cock the ears of a new generation of fans, Never Been Gone is a sure misfire, since the record contains neither strong vocal takes nor inspiring versions of her best material.

For the discerning music listener, JackInABox is only bound to be a disappointment at best, and annoying at worst.

Kintsugi is the sound of a group resting on its laurels.

Way too much of Bazooka Tooth is purely ego nonsense.