The dressing is a little different this time around; a few more jokes, a couple catchy tunes (this is most definitely not the worst Weezer album ever), but once again Weezer are content with churning out sugary pop tunes that go down easy and unimpressively.

Magnetic generally lacks the catchiness and vitality of past efforts, as the band tries in vein to reinvent the wheel but fails to accomplish anything as impressive as ‘Iris’, ‘Here is Gone’, ‘Black Balloon’, ‘Let Love In’, [insert hit single here].

Carry On is not a bad album, nor is it a good one.

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.

When an emcee sounds interrupted or unbalanced by the guitar and most of the music appears to be ripped from a bedroom jam session, it’s painfully obvious; Street Sweeper Social Club would better benefit society by performing said namesake operation.

Whatever's On Your Mind fails to leave much of a lasting impression aside from the hooks and the impressive way the band can make a straightforward pop tune sonically adventurous.

With a good production, some of these tracks could have been saved, but by all accounts, Let the Bad Times Roll is the worst album The Offspring have ever made.

There’s something for everyone, and OCS do well to cater to a crowd who are afraid of falling with the rest of us into the future.

Any halfway interesting endeavor is either quickly discarded or frustratingly bereft of further exploration and expansion.

Sadly, ‘Coloratura’ is not enough to save the LP from being a mess. In the end, you can’t even say you are disappointed anymore. This is who Coldplay are now, producing the most casual music for the most casual listeners possible.

To summarise, Man of the Woods is an astoundingly poor, inconsistent, and sloppily constructed outing from an artist whose defining feature has been his ability to cleanly reinvent his image.

These slightly above average hooks/melodies deserve better. I deserve better. So tell me it’s over.

While the album also has its fair share of bona fide, looks-like-we-just-broke-the-bottom-of-the-barrel moments ("Fire It Up" instantly comes to mind here), Disturbed manage to do just enough to keep metal purists from dispensing with them completely.

The massive dip in quality towards the end, including the progressive worsening through closing, bonus and hidden tracks, is disappointing, considering how well the album begins.

Truly, the blame lies at the feet of Sean, whose limp bars and flow make middling fare of ten reasonably well-rounded bangers.

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.

While she has not found Torn Mk.II and continues to prove her weaknesses as a vocalist, Imbruglia has at least shown some much welcome diversity here. That, along with her hallmark sweet melodies, means that Come To Life is at least worth a listen.

In the glutton of pretty records, With Our Heads in the Clouds and Our Hearts in the Fields presents itself as a merely a needle in the haystack; the likelihood is that it will be lost in the mix, not good enough to be remember, but also not bad enough to be singled-out.

It aims to give fans something different, but it does the bare minimum.

It is the last two tracks of EP2 that bring a little disappointment.

While Saints Of Los Angeles is occasionally stunning, as is consistent with Sixx’s recent return to form, it often sounds too much like something Nikki Sixx would expect Crüe fans to like, rather than the top-class rock n’ roll he’s time-and-time-again proven himself capable of making.

In fairness, Witness isn't a failure, and its good intentions, both politically and sexually, aren't insufferable as much as they are listless and unsatisfying.

Fly From Here attempts to offer, amongst all this, an image of Yes that isn't hampered by the past, with five tracks smuggled onto the end of the record but having no narrative relation to the 'epic' that sells it.

There are a lot of cosmetics present to cover up the band’s shortcomings, but not even the most epic posturing and glossy production can hide this record’s blemishes.

It's not Kanye's return to form, but it does enough to stave off the kind musical irrelevance that seemed to be creeping up on him as his detestable personal misconduct began to dwarf his poor-to-middling studio output.

Sure, there are a handful of half-decent cuts included here, but even they have limited lasting value. Meanwhile, the filler (arguably half the LP) is mind-numbingly boring.

I can forgive a couple of transgressions if Teenage Dream redeemed itself with songs that were more than trashy, one-dimensional pop, but, alas, the rest of the album is just as predictable as the VMAs and only marginally more entertaining.

Baptize is as much a trip through modern day Atreyu cliché as it highlights the best of the group’s more...aged cuts.

For as poor as Man of the Woods was, at least it was ambitious…unlike whatever this amorphous clump of hackneyed trends is.

Korn feel tired, bland and dated.

This moment of fuzzed-out, fucked-up pop music with questionably scant odes to rap music is not designed for posterity. To his credit, Post gets that, and is content to make overlong albums where every song can be a single. Not every song on beerbongs and bentleys can be a single, but there’s enough of them hiding in there to make it one of 2018’s more rewarding releases.

Aside from its opening track, which I’ll get to, this album is essentially a blank space.

As a whole, Cardiology is an attempt to leave behind the band's failed newer sound and return to their pop-punk roots.

At a mere thirty-six minutes, it’s not a stretch to see Britney Jean as a half-baked effort, more of a commitment to be completed and shipped off than the labor of love it was touted as.

There’s no question about which side of the disc is the more interesting- sleaze beats manufactured sentiment any day--but ultimately it’s the country half that most people will pay attention to, and to that end there is very little to actively criticise.

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.

Of course, nothing on This is Forever is really new territory; the 80’s influenced synthesizers, the electronic drums, the monotone vocalist, it’s all been heard before. It’s all been done so much better.

Shinedown has the raw talent to keep Amaryllis afloat, but the album is full of holes and it always appears to be on the verge of sinking.

NAV is front-to-back one of the blandest takes on the genre so far.

What we get is listless by the numbers "latin rock", dull, sleepy ballads, and overblown Diva numbers I wouldn't wish on Whitney Houston.

The production quality is a crowning grace throughout the album in the face of some very dodgy writing and bad musical choices.

Truthfully, Super Collider is just a Megadeth album born of complacency and issued with only the faintest interest in remaining relevant.