A hideous mess of electro noodling and maddeningly obtuse, tuneless vocals. [May 2006, p.126]

A serious let-down. [Oct 2006, p.119]

Where once Of Montreal sparkled, they're now mired in a plodding, asexual beige. [Nov 2013, p.113]

Suffers from the same faults as previous efforts: limp tunes, pompous guitar solos and an overhwlming sense of "Will this do?" [Sep 2003, p.98]

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

An excruciating listen. [May 2006, p.129]

Son of Richard and Linda. Acorns can fall far... [March 2011, p. 115]

It's one boringly pedestrian plod after another. [Jun 2012, p.104]

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]

The feel is of youngish bucks cruelly taunting their 64-year-old granny. [Nov 2004, p.127]

A moribund collection of ragged but never rugged songs. [Jan 2004, p.114]

Children moan, accordions groan and Bjork's disembodied voice occasionally growls into earshot. [Sep 2005, p.114]

Miserable and insipid. [Dec 2004, p.130]

So migraine-inducing that the Crazy Frog would seem like light relief. [May 2006, p.129]

Wretched. [Dec 2003, p.124]

Duets guns unerringly for lounge-y stasis, swerving any trace of the funk, grit or bile which make Morrison such a unique treasure.... Criminal. [May 2015, p.108]

A sad waste of everyone's time. [Jun 2009, p.119]

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]

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]

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

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

With each mid-tempo riff swamped by syrupy harmonies and machine-tooled strings, this is metal with the edges filed down and all the soul sucked out. [May 2006, p.128]

Half-written, overproduced songs collide with grandiose ideas, and the self-indulgence is astonishing as sounds and samples appear with little grace. [Aug 2004, p.116]

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

This debut has her trilling like Mariah Carey on fluffy R&B tunes. [Oct 2003, p.103]

[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]

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...

The actual effect... is closer to a whinier Duran Duran, with even their slapped bass-driven grooves hobbled by the paper-thin production. [Apr 2005, p.124]

A disappointment. [Nov 2004, p.124]

Contains far too many bland ballads. [Feb 2006, p.105]

They fail to relocate it [their exuberance] on the follow-up, which if anything, is even drearier. [Sep 2011, p.104]

An album that's--unusually--both disorienting and immensely tedious. [Nov 2012, p.103]

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

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

It's marooned in novelty. [Apr 2005, p.121]

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

They may still want to party every night, but it would take a Kiss Kasket full of Viagra to animate this limp cock rock. [Dec 2009, p. 116]

Not good. [Oct 2012, p.106]

Give this album a very wide berth. [Feb 2011, p.120]

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]

Most of it already sounds a decade old. [Dec 2003, p.137]

As bland as paint. [May 2005, p.110]

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]

The band sound bored. [Dec 2012, p.103]

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]

A numbing montage of half-formed ideas and too-slick production. [Jul 2003, p.100]

They wouldn't be totally awful if Client A could actually sing. [Oct 2003, p.103]

Tough to endure even once. [Aug 2003, p.110]

Alas, they're not very good. [Feb 2005, p.102]

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

There are so many idiotically composed adverts between tracks, you wonder if you haven't tuned into a local radio station by accident. [Sep 2003, p.99]

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]

This is hollow, pretentious and deeply dull music. [Apr 2007, p.116]

Most disappointing of all... is the drab nature of Ryder's contribution: slurred, incoherent, and largely based around drug stories and lots of swearing. [Aug 2003, p.103]

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]

Joel and Benji Madden's fifth album of anthemic dumbness. [Dec. 2010, p. 110]

At least Nickelback know how to write a tune. [Jul 2003, p.104]

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

As worthless as it's possible for music to be. [Feb 2005, p.100]

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

Until they find their own voice, they'll forever be a tribute band. [Mar 2014, p.116]

Their attempts at songwriting here are woeful. [Sep 2007, p.95]

Entirely meritless. [Apr 2013, p.104]

So ill-conceived and shoddily executed it could well finish them off altogether. [Feb 2003, p.102]

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

Where they were once a glorious mess, here they are simply a mess. [Apr 2007, p.114]

The drab orchestrations offer tepid schmaltz, not romance. [Dec 2002, p.112]

Another dollop of rock sludge with a remarkably honest title. [Aug 2003, p.115]

Embarrassing. [Dec 2003, p.134]

Anyone believing that Bush betrayed grunge's punk promise will feel like reaching for a shotgun. [Aug 2008, p.135]

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

There are no highlights. Appalling. [Sep 2011, p.110]

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

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]