If that hardly sounds like the greatest thing to happen to hip hop in recent times, it's nothing compared to his fourth LP, which is a litany of lazy beats and even lazier rhymes; "Your mama she gets crazy," he instructs on Krazy. [Dec 2009, p. 120]

The problem here isn't sullying Jackson's memory and reputation: he was perfectly capable of doing that himself. The problem is that Michael simply isn't good enough. [Feb. 2011, p. 108]

Nine Track Mind whimpers like a sick kitten. [Mar 2016, p.113]

Singer Jay Gordon spends much of the record predictably preening his way through third-hand Bowie and third-rate Simon LeBon impressions while the band labour on a set of half-baked electro-metal...

Only Haim's contribution to Red Eye enlivens the tedium. [Aug 2013, p.99]

Sloppy, emotion-free, chicken-in-a-basket ballads. [May 2007, p.125]

The only area in which JC tops Justin is cheesy double entendres. [Jun 2004, p.96]

There are no real songs here, only weak gags and unfunny skits. [Jan 2007, p.152]

While the maverick spirit that drives this pair is admirable, it doesn't make the end result any more enjoyable. [Apr 2008, p.102]

[They] continue precisely where they left off on 2002's Static Delusions..., bashing their way through 11 indistinguishable songs without recourse to wit, style or tune. [Jul 2004, p.112]

The title track and Come Out To LA hit home with the impact of a piece of GCSE Social Studies course work. [Apr 2018, p.108]

Numbingly tedious, bashed-out-in-an-afternoon grunt-a-longs about, well, numbingly tedious stuff that we may already have come to term with. [Aug 2012, p.109]

Not good. [Oct 2012, p.106]

A willfully dumb concoction of crotch-grabbing Southern rock workouts and boneheaded strip-joint anthems. [Dec 2007, p.121]

The Unforgiving's rampaging orchestral stabs and hysterical synths, coupled with Sharon den Adel's fevered vocal flourishes, make for awful Euro-pop with the odd distorted guitar. [May 2011, p.115]

They run a schizophrenic gamut of cinematic moods that bleed into one another jammed together into one disorienting hour that reaches its end without any discernible narrative reward. [Dec 2012, p.104]

California Hymn pulls something out of the hat at the end, but Anyway.... is so addled and confused it will likely be in the bin long before then. A real shocker. [Sep 2016, p.111]

Musically, it sucks. [Feb 2005, p.98]

Without Pop The Glock's digitised vocals Hartley sounds like a karaoke version of '80s rapper Roxanne Shante. [Aug 2010, p.126]

A risible attempt to recapture long-vanished glories. [Nov 2007, p.137]

Wretched. [Dec 2003, p.124]

Entirely meritless. [Apr 2013, p.104]

Fatally it offers nothing to suggest a band moving forwards. [May 2013, p.109]

A load of rubbish. [Jul 2012, p.110]

Some rather ordinary, slightly tuneless indie rock. [Jul 2005, p.112]

Ultimately, this 11-track LP is nine songs too long as the rest swill around the bottom of the indie-rock barrel like thin gruel. [Apr 2014, p.121]

Middle-age is no excuse for such an unforgivably bland collection of over-emoted love songs. [Dec 2002, p.102]

There's a sense that he's trying to pass off a lack of ability as some kind of artistic statement. [Aug 2009, p.113]