Ultimately, Harry's House doesn’t really go anywhere or do much of anything at all. It breezes by with songs that seemed designed for the festival circuit and that are interesting and experimental enough that they’ll fit with Harry’s aesthetic without being too alienating for radio, almost as if he and his team couldn’t decide which was more important to them, so they went with neither.

Stale songwriting and (mercifully) brief track durations birth forth mind-numbing verses and uninteresting choruses that repeat all too often, in all too predictable configurations. With such uninspired material to work with, it's difficult to conjure an emotion either side of ambivalent, neither to exalt nor to condemn.

The Jaws of Life sets itself apart by not really doing anything memorable or interesting. In fact, it doesn't do much at all besides existing. It neither follows trends nor tries its hand at anything original.

As a comeback album following one of the decade's most memorable flameouts, it reaches all expectations adequately. But considering the late musician you're obviously modeled after (and more disappointingly, the Hella-inspired track to which this album seems to forget ever existed), King of the Beach feels more like an expertly timed marketing ploy.

Atlas Sound meanders where it ponders, a purely ethereal trip without the oomph.

With few exceptions, Ascension is channeled into one energy level, despite the variety of sounds. It’s busy lethargy: too hive-like to be soothing, too sedated to be invigorating.

Greenwood has pretty much stacked the chips up against himself by deciding to get involved in this album in the first place. There's no need for him to be seen as a competitor to any canonical composer at this point in his career, but by putting his works side-by-side with Penderecki's, he inadvertently puts himself in that light, and it leaves us with an album that tells us very little about his work that isn't obvious to anybody who knows how long he's been composing (young composer still learning his trade--gasp!), and nothing about Penderecki that we haven't already known for over forty years.

Untitled is far from terrible, but it's still a deflating, disappointing, infuriating listen.

Coupled with the fact that his synergy of indie, singer-songwriter, pop, and trip hop is never quite realized, renders Resurgam a few steps below the 2008 hip hop releases that have already proven themselves to be superb.

A few rays of light cut through the murky and mediocre experience, but when all is said and done, Light We Made is like that dream you struggle to remember in the morning: forgotten.

Angel Face deserves some credit for possessing a small handful of excellent singles, but outside of those, this album falters almost uniformly. I can see what Stephen Sanchez was going for conceptually and aesthetically – and admittedly, I even fell for it based off the strength of the singles. However, the additional eight songs add no value at best and more often than not kill whatever buzz that was generated by the likes of "Only Girl", "Evangeline", "Be More", and "Until I Found You".

The magic of the live performance is watered down and he only momentarily looks to test his voice. One can’t help but get the feeling that the potential is there with Castro, but one must wonder if his laid-back disposition could not only be a strength, but also the weakness which limits his capabilities.

There is no time to make sense of preceding chaos, probably because there is nothing worth making sense of.

The music takes a decidedly darker, slower note, further delving into the folk rock of The Trials of Van Occupanther and losing the powerful orchestration that made Van Occupanther so special.

It's a shame that the album fails to hit, and in some ways, it's also a shame that it's not terrible, either.

The problem with Something To Die For is that it's an album built to succeed on the strength of its hooks and not its songwriting.

To their credit, the album is fun in small doses. Still, the musicianship is never great, sometimes dreadful. The "fun" of the album sometimes feels forced, trying to capitalize on the success of "In Case We Die."

The disappointingly flat production was applied to a set of tracks that more often present themselves as sketches rather than fully fleshed songs. Moreover, this LP just gently passes you by, revealing itself to be devoid of any truly memorable songs.

Common's latest shows him with his head in the clouds and addressing the same tired crowd with the same speech he's been writing for years.

In defence of Surfing the Void, it's certainly not an album I'd describe as 'bad' per se--it's just a massive disappointment.

The speed at which the songs are played sounds not only like they are stuck in the mud, but that the weight tethered to them is also dragging them backwards. The final result is an anemic, lackluster 52 minutes.

Tying everything back to the idea of the album as a showcase for Grande’s newfound maturity, My Everything ends up ringing hollow.

Not Without a Fight lacks the kind of hooks, fun riffs, and sing-along choruses that made the band famous and it also lacks the solid song writing that helped their last album not become a horrible failure.

It’s not a bad album, but it is hindered with a lack of understanding on what made the band so great to begin with. So, prepare to experience as many rough moments as there is smooth ones.

There is just about enough top quality pop music on offer to ensure Snow Patrol’s star continues to grow on the world stage but, worryingly, A Hundred Million Suns is another middling affair from a by-now-mature pop act, and now might be the time to ask why.

For the most part Hats Off To The Buskers is second-tier British post-punk.

It sounds like the work of a band who are simply trying to get their feelings off their chest, rather than one trying to sell records.

It has great ideas brewing, but there are tons of bells and whistles in the production that upstage the songwriting, which admittedly is weaker than usual for The Faint.