Gilding the Lily at it’s core really is a good album, it just doesn’t have enough present to differentiate itself from the pack.

"Much Too Late" is a rant that seems to come out of nowhere and doesn't fit in with anything else on this record. Aside from that, though, this is good stuff.

You could call it "rock on autopilot". It would be a good description. If you asked some space creatures to create an album of banal Earthling arena rock, they might very well create In the Dark using a tentacleful of the simplest mathematical algorithms.

Though This Unruly Mess I’ve Made is decent, its biggest failing lies in its quality control. For every good song, there are two mediocre and/or forgettable ones next to them.

While the album will most likely not be considered a classic, it will undoubtedly satiate the Skrillex diehards.

The electricity that defined T.I.'s early career-dexterous lyricism molded effortlessly to trap rap essentials -- feels further away than ever before.

The sound of a middle-aged shock rocker long past his creative, controversial, and commercial peak trying to drag his the ball-and-chain of his career along as he trudges over the hill. Sadly, it's all rather predictable.

With all of the bad blood to go around, however, it's tough to swallow the lighter fare that Judgement Days offers.

He has nothing to prove. Yet, for those same reasons, the simplicity and humble warmth of Liverpool 8 are even more disarming.

The pervading campiness of the music trumps any sort of real emotion that might be hidden underneath that ghostly-white group exterior.

Though it doesn't strike me as having the longevity of Random Album Title or 4x4=12, it's nonetheless worth the price of admission.

A sometimes pleasant but ultimately uneven album--not one worth hating, by any means, but not one that shows the Kooks' best qualities, much less takes them to another level.

There are some new moves here, but they tend to feel half-baked, under-exploited or, in the case of Kendrick Lamar’s appearance on “Let Us Move On”, just a bit hackneyed.

Not without flaws, the brilliant first half proves to be a hard act for the second half to match with similar or equal brilliance. That said, with no deal breakers, and a boatload of potential, Hands provides more than enough for some alt-music thrills.

While it's impossible to truly define what makes LP1 so frustrating, it's safe to say that through all the angry growls and snoozy pop melodies that color the album, believing is Joss Stone becomes increasingly difficult each time these songs are played.

This album has two really good Ringo tracks and two other decent ones.

All at Once is every bit as self-important as its predecessor, but its anxieties can sometimes feel rote and stretched beyond recognition.

No amount of time with the disc, however, will make The Mirror Explodes any less impenetrable. Apparently, Hecksher just likes his music noisy, druggy and slow. And that doesn’t make for a listening experience any more compelling than it sounds.

Imagine Dragons are confident in their capability and knowledge of pop music, but Origins tries too hard to demonstrate their varied interests with the results generic and indistinct.

No matter how many dark subjects are nested throughout, too often the music on Exile falls back into the same old tricks of bells-and-whistles pop choruses and obvious hooks.

As a crossover it mixes the popular appeal of a boy band aesthetic and trite songwriting with undeniably catchy melodies and the requisite wall-shaking bass.

Each song is well written and impeccably arranged but the album often bounces along from one style to another, sounding as though each song is paying tribute to various influences instead of combining them all to create a distinct sound of its own.

Riot City Blues would make a wonderful addition to any pub’s jukebox, but it’s galling how ordinary Primal Scream sound when they’re not crackling with the sparks of invention that coloured a record like Screamadelica.

Happy in Galoshes is a fresh start for a rock star who began his career derided as a lightweight, but who is slowly gaining respect and credibility both in hindsight and looking forward.

It fails in the execution of its most basic concept, it manages to be simultaneously po-faced and frivolous, and its tracks never quite make it into the above-average rank.

As far as the sound goes, they do nicely when they are respectful of the reggae tradition, when they mix punchy punk vocals and reggae, and, occasionally, when they mix world music styles with the former. The move into a more electronic dancehall style, however, mostly combines with poor lyrics for a one-two punch that may knock out many listeners from the very first track.

Forcing a similar style [as heard on All We Grow] through a filter of laptop presets and masked vocals only highlights how those convenient, but more limited, tools require tighter songwriting than Carey musters up on Hoyas.

This record, though not awful by any means, is simply not up to the standards set by the God MC.

Fans coming to this expecting a Zero 7 album will likely find it thoroughly disorienting and/or frustrating, which is the opposite effect their first three albums produced.

It’s a shame that St. Lucia’s work is riddled by persistently criminal overproduction and weak moments.

Unbroken would be a far better album without them [the first four, "utterly vapid" songs] but like it or not they're there, sitting right out in front. It'd seem tragic if such a descriptor wasn't being used to describe an album so laced with actual, genuine tragedy.

Whatever the conceit for releasing only eight songs—perhaps they didn’t have enough material or were just eager to release these particular eight tracks—Keane serves up a concise, competent follow-up to Perfect Symmetry (2008).

In This Light and on This Evening dials it down so far that it doesn’t contain one track that comes close to the power of songs they seemed to toss off so effortlessly before.

BE starts with a bang but ends with a whimper.

There’s no question Costa has progressed since his first EP. But as he ventures on his musical journey through the past, he might want to look at the albums of the 1960s icons he so admires and think about if their "progress" improved their music or diluted it.

The album’s cleanly produced and confidently performed, and the material has been polished up until it shines brightly at first. But a few repetitions quickly drain Remind Me Where the Light Is of much of its impact.

Though a few of the songs on Love the Future fail to capture the spark of their early successes, overall it’s a fairly impressive introductory statement.

There is certainly enough solid material here for an album, but Black has committed one of the cardinal sins of modern music: this is too damn long.

The thing is, Kitten is neither original nor daring enough. This is just the same old, same old schtick that has already been mined to death.

That’s not to say it isn’t a pretty powerful album with a few moments of greatness buried somewhere beneath. It’s just to say ... come on, man! Get those hands dirty!

Like most b-side or rarities collections, this double-disc excursion seems more like the band's excuse to make some extra cash than to offer a glimpse into their evolution.

Overall I Created Disco is just a pretty confection, good for transient enjoyment at best.

Bringing in superstar producer David Foster (he of Celebrity Duets) to helm production made sense too but the problem with Soul is that it just seems focus-grouped to death.

As sophomore efforts go, Form & Control is a great success.... Unfortunately, what it lacks are hooks.

Mondo serves as much as an introduction to a promising new as it does a reminder of a major producing talent.

It’s fair to say that every song on You Have No Idea sounds different, but every one sounds like someone else, too. When everything is added up, it all falls a little short in every department.

The songs so consistently mine the same material that it starts feeling like a portrait of our era as a deeply sad one, where lost souls abound.

In fleeting moments Grasque offers glimpses into Makrigiannis’s inventive musical mind, but too often it gets stuck wandering up in the clouds.

Complete with “hey hey heys” and a cowbell that ensures that even the most resistant listeners will notice the beat, Blurred Lines is music you dance to. The lyrics are the source of most of the trouble.

Donkey Show runs out of steam at its end... When Coleman's on his game, though, Donkey Show is a heckuva good time.

Their sophomore effort might be a touch inconsistent, but by keeping things simple and sticking to their strengths, Anderson and O’Neill make us all wish that they don’t take so long putting out album number three.

Too often, however, songs succumb to the stylings that make bad mainstream pop music garish and annoying rather than uplifting and catchy.

If you enjoy hearing young men discuss "clothes, hoes and liquor" at length and in detail, to the accompaniment of varying sonic backdrops, this is the record for you. In case the above doesn't make it plain enough: this is a party album.

There are too few surprises amid the usual, admittedly fun, rocktronic rave-ups.

A hollow release, the veneer of a good album covering up an otherwise unremarkable and sometimes disappointing collection of songs.

Ultimately, there just isn't enough content here to drive an entire album, and halfway through Taylor loses her footing.

All in all, Black Star Elephant seems accomplishes its goals--delivering an album that thrives off its ‘good vibes’. There is no denying that Nico & Vinz better their listeners by eschewing negativity, not to mention avoiding profanity for the most part. That said, sometimes so much positivity grows ever too schmaltzy and a bit blasé.

Bay is unable to ever quite match the sheer fire of opening stretch of the album, which is a bit of a bummer. And revisiting that whole matter of treading new ground, well it just doesn’t happen. Still, the pieces are just too good to resist--Bay has plenty to offer.

On Euphoric Heartbreak, they either pair those quirks with clumsy writing or, more often, pretend the quirks don't exist. The resulting album smears together into one gigantic well-produced stadium anthem, shining like the night sky while remaining just as inert.

Those who are inclined to grumble that 'they don't make 'em like they used to' will be relieved to discover that Mr. Williams still does.

The problems with The Endless River are not so much what we are given, but what is left out. Without the vocals, something is very clearly missing and the listener is left wanting more.

The musical performances by West and his collaborators alone are able to save Nasir from total disaster and do warrant a listen. But as for Nas, he's left completely overshadowed.

It’s just as likely to bore as to thrill, and while Jenkinson is clearly demonstrating his love for his instrument, he’s not displaying an awful lot of emotion for anything else.

There's another classic Joker EP in here. It's just a shame we couldn't get our first classic Joker album.

The Bundles are happy just to follow wherever their unique, usually vivid, sometimes perverse pop imaginations take them all by themselves, but there are enough good reasons for you to go along for the ride, too.

Many of the tunes are good for a romp around the kitchen (or the dance floor, if you prefer) but the girl is right when she says she is yet to come into her own both as a woman and a recording artist.

To avoid risking further embarrassment and degradation of their impressive legacy, McCulloch and Sergeant need to consider making The Fountain the final Echo & the Bunnymen album. Because on the evidence here, they don’t have another comeback in them.

The album is much more conservative than Yorn's debut, and in many ways more ordinary.

Much like the last four releases, [A Funk Odyssey] is bland background party music with a few moments that sparkle.

It's a selfish record, a me-first record, a record that exists purely to make DMX feel like a tough guy.

This is a fun, lightweight side project. And it sounds like the ear candy that it is.

Boasting imaginative craft, his dedication to his technique’s style is apparent, but in every other facet the album takes a downward spiral.

It can feel a little meandering, and a couple of the more "organically" arranged pieces seem out of place.

While not all of the stuff here works, it still remains that the Cinematic Orchestra can live up to their name with an affecting beauty.

Beneath its peacock plumage, preening, posturing and ‘performance’ there lies too little imagination.

If you can overlook the fact that Cannibals With Cutlery is a tad on the long side, you may find a great deal to enjoy and be amused with. Even if that amusement comes solely in playing a game of “spot the influences”, which To Kill a King wear proudly on their collective sleeves.

Like Joanne before Chromatica, Smile plays like a necessary centering exercise, indulging her insecurities and less surefire instincts. If Witness was overdetermined, Smile is an earnest exhale, for better or for worse. It delivers an image of her journey towards inner peace that is honest (if corny) and catchy (if not exactly inventive).

Fortunately, the delivery has far more in common with Brushfire Fairytales than it does with On and On; rather than continue the "random thoughts put to music" feel of the latter album, songs actually have distinct verses and choruses as on the former, a formula that works much, much better for Johnson.

At its best, it's a fantastic album, with amazing musicianship that's emotionally striking. At it's worse, it's empty.

For every good example of what a 21st century band can do with new wave influences, there is a pale imitation of a song you thought was cool 20 years ago.

At it’s best, Indicud delivers catchy, meaningful tunes with a cinematic quality in the way that the’’re delivered. However, the album isn’t able to consistently hold this level of gratification over its entire course.

On When the Sun Goes Down you get a teenybopper posing as a dorm-hardened college junior, and we all know how convincingly that scenario plays.

There are a few moments on the album that are clearer than the rest.

Overall, the disc’s major flaw lies within its cloudy production values.

It was a phenomenal album two years ago, when it was called Movement In Still Life and BT released it. Now, in 2002, it just seems dated.

He's trying to simultaneously stretch and stay true to his roots. It's a hard balancing act to pull off, and he's only partially successful.

If you wanna know how NOT to do it, listen to the last five tracks on Goodbye Lullaby. Avril wrote them all herself, and let's just say she's an artist who benefits from collaboration.

The 12 songs on Young the Giant are well-written, well-arranged, and well-performed. It's all good material and decently catchy, but there isn't much that sets Young the Giant apart.

The basic problem with A Hyperactive Workout for the Flying Squad is that it has a tendency to fuzz that fine line between inspiration and imitation.

An album that retains their penchant for unapologetic pop and a sound so radio-ready, it’s bound to beg comparison with the Simply Red style of old.

Escape‘s songwriting is woefully thin.

As such, like Blue Carpet Treatment, Doggumentary is an album that reminds us all why we like Snoop so much, and pleases us through his taste for good music more than his talent for good rhymes.

It might be a better album if a tad self-edited, but overall it'll do for most Mobyites.

They have made an art of mediocre rap over above average tracks.

Song-for-song, I'd pick In Blue over this latest. And there are, of course, lots of better albums that you can get. Still, relatively few of those albums are current albums by artists as purely pop as -- but this much better than -- Britney.

Senor Smoke, luckily, is catchy and fun enough that the lyrics don’t entirely sink the album.

There are certainly worse ways to make party music, but it doesn’t make it any less disappointing, especially if Zion I is going to keep up some of its backpackery, fight-for-change rhetoric.

Ultimately, Bell X1 only occasionally hit modest highs with Bloodless Coup, but it's the vast lows that make them tough to swallow.