So, no matter what you hear from the PR spinners, this album is not groundbreaking.

Fall Out Boy have risen to be emperors, and though Make America Psycho Again is a dull excuse for a remix record, several features make it so that the ride is at least bearable.

If you decide to dive into the feature-film length collection of songs, you’ll find West firmly in the sonic palette of his post-TLOP run. There are messy, antagonistic productions akin that extend the Yeezus formula of pummeling listeners into submission. ... There’s a rare moment of humility in “24″, where West sings – shouts really – “we gon’ be okay” alongside a choir and over a discordant organ playing for an imagined too-hot summertime congregation. It’s as close to sublime as the messy, deeply flawed Donda gets.

There is definitely material to like on What One Becomes, but, aside from “Clutch of Oblivion”, it’s scattered throughout longer pieces that are harder to enjoy as full songs.

Here, the best and worst moments come about when he’s working with others (which is the majority of the album), perhaps because Mr. Oizo’s trying to match each collaborator’s style. If this is the case, All Wet results in an as-yet unbalanced back-and-forth of not getting lost in his own sound or not adding enough of it in.

It's great if you like her, not so great if you don't, and right down the middle for everyone else.

Too often TKOL RMX 1234567 feels as calculated and mechanical as its soulless title.

If you enjoy the genre and can stand the glare bouncing off the album’s shiny surface, you’ll likely find plenty to like in It’s Never Been Like That.

Spirituality is more overt on The Life of Pablo than any of his previous sets, but it’s damn near impossible to decipher. Sure, The Life of Pablo‘s obscurities and eccentricities make it ripe for endless dissection by West’s fans and followers, but make no mistake: this albums is flawed, it’s problematic, and most of all, it’s no masterpiece.

That’s the big problem for The Planet: it’s too morose and humorless to be really good pop music, and too upbeat and cheap to be taken very seriously.

Despite a few obvious highlights and stuff worthy of mention, you’ve heard this all before and, unfortunately, done a whole lot better.

The concept of the record is solid, but the execution is lacking.

After such a promising start, Bailey Rae and her stable of producers simply lose momentum.

Despite some worthwhile moments in efforts like 'The Re-Arranger,' 'My Only Offer,' and the serenely infectious 'You Are Free,' the biggest fault in Re-Arrange Us lies in the duo’s inability this time around to capitalize upon original ideas that have been presented but not built upon.

More than anything, UUVVWWZ is a bad name because it is so disappointing--such an audacious appellation has no business belonging to generally derivative musicians who only occasionally reach their artistic potential.

It’s paint-by-numbers Harlem rap from the Jim Jones era, and frankly, in 2014 there’s just too much going on in hip hop for this to carry much sway, leaving Dream.Zone.Achieve a too-long-by-half 80-minute course in hard-nosed Harlem rap with plenty of good beats but without a distinct voice to guide it.

As far as lightweight, easy-listening charts pop goes, V doesn’t totally offend the sensibilities, and that’s surely more than can be said about some of Maroon 5’s overly pandering, less exploratory “pop-rock” peers.

Zollo’s delivery is as anthemic as ever, though suddenly she seems sedated, which describes this incarnation of PGMG perfectly.

Sonically professional yet lyrically amateur to the point you may find yourself listening to the album multiple times without any idea what any of it was actually going on about.

The compilation nature of this LP makes it sound like a set of songs that has been allowed to gestate too long and the bloated, overripe package it presents reflects that.

Heavily influenced by the stylings of '60s and '70s groups like the Byrds and the guitar rock of T. Rex, Elf Power's effort at mature songwriting simply plays out as FM-lite.

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

It seems as though Franti's writing has morphed into messages of peace, love, and personal empowerment without context -- which doesn't make the songs bad per se, just closer to average.

I don’t really think that White Mountain really is background music, but it is forgettable enough to be mistaken for such on a first listen.

The journeyman ready-mades of We Are Only What We Feel betray a basic incomprehension and simultaneous exploitation of disposable music.

Last Night on Earth too often finds Ranaldo relying on familiar arrangements as a crutch more than a creative tool.

A messy set of songs caught up in a fruitless search for some kind of thematic self-justification. If Under the Blacklight really was a concept album, then the concept was irretrievably flawed.

Danger Days is a far cry from the artistic plane that The Black Parade sits on: it's a decent pop-rock album, a disastrously confused concept album, and even with its marketing, much is left to be desired.

Completely mediocre.

Trouble Maker is more of the same; retreads of staid ideas, sounds and themes better suited to teenage ennui.

Personality plays like a compendium of Rose's artistic influences retranslated in his own style. Yet the variety appears to come at the expense of real depth in these productions.

There is nothing radical or particularly daring about this stuff.

From that trio of songs, it’s clear that Steve could do more with his sound, but he’s hunkered down in the gritty blues shuffle, making Sonic Soul Surfer one of the most frustrating albums of 2015 so far.

After some time, you can't really connect with the material, and thus it flies by like a wash of intriguing but ultimately unimportant noise.

There is just enough fun stuff with the band's basic sound and their occasional add-on instruments to make Darkness Rains an easy listen. But there isn't enough good stuff to make it a particularly memorable album. So it ends up being a record with a cool basic sound that doesn't stick with the listener for any length of time.

This is mostly solid, occasionally great music and nothing more. That's fine, but it's also a little disappointing and will be too easy for history to forget.

The individual songs may be big, but the road they travel is a narrow and short one.

It's an album that feels more about hanging on to the sudden influx of fans than about moving the message (whatever that is) forward.

Chasing Yesterday, despite alluding to the framework of time in its title, is an album of no time: not interested enough to truly mine from the past, seemingly incapable of moving forward with new ideas, and too stuck in old rhythms to be called music of its time.

Over the course of three fuzzed-out discs, there’s one solid Oneida album to be found in here. You just have to wade through some indulgent, excessive, and flat-out boring instrumental passages to get to it.

Ultimately, the arrangements of more than half the songs are defined by their progressive '70s bombast and pretentiousness.

What is missing, and what has been missing since Electric, is the groove to match the swagger. These are self-serious songs with self-serious arrangements.

The electronica genre wasn't a bad one to dabble in, but what Was I The Wave? is missing is more punch and pizzazz, more depth musically.

Savage approximates an extreme metal endgame, pushing the music into increasingly intricate, brutal, and downright boring forms.

Heaven Upside Down finds Manson struggling for meaning. The lyrics are not the harsh, pointed barbs that he supposes they are. Simply sounding like the tame, blunted fury of a man rehashing the same old tired themes.

More disappointing than that, though, is the fact that there is hardly anything groundbreaking to be found in Chase This Light’s 40 minutes, which is less than we’ve come to expect from this band.

When Neilson and co. put the effort into the music (and the lyrics), then Carbeth is a moving portrait of a lost way of life; it’s a celebration of the world pictured on the album cover, a small cottage hidden in rustic greenery. When they take the easy road, it’s everything you’d expect and nothing more.

Blast Off Through the Wicker has the groundwork of a strong album, but many will find it at times too rough around the edges to be accessible and too preoccupied to be engaging.

The bulk of A Dramatic Turn Events finds Dream Theater perhaps too settled into their ways.

At best, we have a middling collection of songs that are going to sound great in a packed arena. At worst, it’s a pretty significant step back from X, and once the initial novelty of its release wears off, it’s unlikely to enjoy the popular acclaim or the longevity of its predecessor.

It doesn’t help that Clark’s affection for ‘80s synth pop lays the sonic foundation for much of Petits Fours, and it also doesn’t help that as it continues, Francis cedes an increasing amount of lead singing duties to his wife.

It’s hard to fault the band for the album’s underwhelming second half, since the first half is so strong. But in the future the band needs to avoid the self-indulgence this slips into.

Ultimately, it is difficult to see this heavy and difficult album as anything but a significant misstep and a genuine disappointment.

Bands like Christine and the Queens and Mother Mother have attempted the same swagger-filled beats that Methyl Ethel have tried on Everything Is Forgotten, and each has successfully made a jam-worthy song. However, within the genre of indie, the same swagger groove tends to be artificial, and the same soul-searching loses its way amongst the noise.

The Real Feel really feels stilted overall. There are pretty moments, but little that’s electrifying.

REVIEW#1: <A HREF="http://www.popmatters.com/music/reviews/n/national-alligator.shtml" TARGET="_blank">Over 13 doing-nothing tracks, Matt Berninger bumbles out useless lyrics that he doesn't have the guts to put across.</A> (Score=20); REVIEW#2: <A HREF="http://popmatters.com/music/reviews/n/national-alligator2.shtml" TARGET="_blank">Alligator is one of those albums that slowly dawns on you. Given half a chance, it's ultimately a very rewarding listening experience that I predict will continue to grow in stature as time passes.</A> (Score=70)

Don't Act Like You Don't Care doesn't alienate, but it doesn't quite manage to draw in people to Temple's music and make them care about it.

Like reformed alcoholics who were more fun when they drank, This Machine is alternately sullen and unconvincingly earnest, and inoffensive to a fault. "16 Tons" is obviously an exception to this, and awful as it is, it represents a bold shamelessness that is nevertheless far preferable to the dry, strained hooks populating the rest of the album.

The goofy, almost throwaway squaredance of a club song that is “4x4”, complete with some accordion work, might very well be album’s most memorable song: absurd, ridiculous, and actually playful in a way in which these other Bangerz aren’t.

Sadly, Higher Than the Eiffel's redeeming features can't prevent it from being utterly meaningless. Nevertheless, its bone-headedness is probably a benefit, recklessly cajoling us into enjoying ourselves.

On Built to Spill Play the Songs of Daniel Johnston, Built to Spill sadly suck most of the vitality and marrow from Johnston's occasionally vexing compositions.

Like a showtune from Wicked, Louder serves as an above average power-pop album that you can bust a lung trying to sing along to without any of that pesky “thinking” to get in the way.

My Everything truly sound[s] like a grab-bag of ideas, lacking any sort of conceptual unity or overall theme.

Yes, if you’ve spent any time with the Vines’ three previous records you know what you’re getting yourself into.

It’s the slower, acoustic ballads that may be Kings & Queens’ biggest surprise, and to which listeners may respond most strongly, one way or the other. The trouble is, Treay’s no pop singer; he retreats into a mumble, slurring his words.

The rough, grinding quality of the instrumentation fits with the intended immediacy of the project, but the songs themselves sound half-finished and half-considered.

As it stands, Osaka Ramones is a misguided affair almost from start to finish, and, as a whole, should be given as wide a berth as possible except by completists who have to have absolutely everything by Shonen Knife.

It’s a disappointing yet completely listenable effort that suffers for being nothing more than a new Placebo record.

Kill Them With Kindess simply doesn’t demonstrate the talent or caliber of song I know that Headlights are capable of.

Attention Deficit Domination only wishes it could posses as much power as the best doom metal evangelists. There is a noticeable lack of the vacuous bass that propels the best representatives of this genre into hell.

Sock It to Me isn’t an unpleasant experience, but Green’s only doing things that have been done before and more skillfully.

This is as commercial as country gets.

This time out, Carey sheds the vital to prioritize the simple, and simple melodies aren't substantial enough to fill A Hundred Acres.

Simply put, their attempts at a new, more mature direction have found them lacking in all departments: lyrical, compositional, and creative.

Yeah Right feels more than a little contrived, but it wouldn’t have to if Bleeding Rainbow’s songs were better.

While it may continue to be unfair to compare Phish’s live shows to their studio work and that Joy is a nobler attempt than most of their other albums, Phish’s strengths and, most noticeably, their limitations are nonetheless as evident as ever.

[By] stripping down their music to basics, Black Dice have lost the soul in their music. The neatly-defined order of the motifs and disorder of the noise together create a surprisingly tedious album.

These words deserve better than the music that has been made to accompany them.

Too often, Cam’s ramblings come off as inessential; they used to sound like the idle muses of a savant.

Stealing of a Nation has some nice melodies, driving rhythms, hooky choruses, and fuzzy explosive guitar, but the sameness of the beats, the laziness of the lyrics, and Max Heyes' (Doves, Primal Scream) clipped, staccato production are enough to do the album in.

After some severe front-loading, the album is filled out by songs that are too dark or lifeless to work alongside the Candyland motif of the cover and sunbeamy splash of California Gurls.

There is certainly no doubt about Dresselhaus' knack for the keystroke. He takes pins and needles of sound and builds rather interesting fields. But it's the additional elements that he drags into each track that end up running him in circles.

It would serve River City Extension well to venture a bit more outside the box on their next album and add other perspectives and viewpoints. Otherwise, there proclamations run the risk of falling on deaf ears.

By the time Present/Future reaches the halfway mark, Cherry has pretty much played out his hand in a weary show of repetitive music and uninspiring lyrics.

An album that at best struggles to be exceptional and at worst is nearly unlistenable.

The tunes would be a whole lot better with careful pruning.

While the first album by the “new” Mooney Suzuki might be a step up from their last record, Alive & Amplified... it’s a far far cry from the exciting sounds of their glory days.

This album is a step down from Hurley and a bigger step down from the Red album, but it's pretty much on par with Raditude.

Given the hype-supposedly this is John's return to his classic Tumbleweed Connection/Honky Chateau sound-and the star power, the bar should be high for these guys. Sadly, they can't reach it.

Too often does this Mary J. Blige record not actually feel like a Mary J. Blige record, and compounding that fundamental issue is the mere reality that so many of these songs piggyback the hottest genre of music in the world right now.

If this album is a concrete example of Wayne's policies as a rap artist going forward, however, I don't see how he'll keep pulling in accolades. As a possible swan song for Lil' Wayne, Best Rapper Alive, Tha Carter IV ranks among hip-hop's most disappointing.

Unfortunately, this is the kind of sequel where nothing new is introduced, no great revelations are to be had, and the things that made the previous installment so great are nowhere to be found.

Its insular lack of adventure ultimately delivers disappointingly dull listening.

Trent Reznor has run out of ideas.

Taken on their own, tunes like "Pool Song" and "Tidal Wave" are hip songs to listen to while getting a tan. In the midst of a 12-song record though, they sink under the weight of their own drone.

Nearly the entire record sounds too polished, too clean.

Renacer paints a clear portrait of a band lacking the courage and will to abandon the tendencies they have clearly grown out of and no longer stand behind.

Most people should pick up Zero 7's full length Simple Things for a solid atmospheric album. If a few more uptempo songs won't do you any harm, this compilation is not so bad for your backyard.