The A.V. Club's Scores

For 4,544 reviews, this publication has graded:
  • 64% higher than the average critic
  • 2% same as the average critic
  • 34% lower than the average critic
On average, this publication grades 1.5 points higher than other critics. (0-100 point scale)
Average Music review score: 74
Highest review score: 100 The Life Of Pablo
Lowest review score: 0 Graffiti
Score distribution:
4544 music reviews
    • 76 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    The rush of Escovedo's ecstasy and agony proves frustratingly one-sided on the stale, hard-to-embrace Street Songs Of Love, which reduces all the unruly feelings that go with rough-and-tumble romantic relationships down to a series of blustery, MOR power ballads.
    • 76 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    It’s a pretty enough record, but not one that makes any sort of impression, breaks any ground, or leaves listeners wanting more.
    • 55 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Transplants make a splattery mess of modern music as often as they stumble over something new and exciting.
    • 66 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Mostly, White Knight sounds like an album that was probably a lot more fun to make than it is to listen to.
    • 50 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    The album's midsection--in other words, just about everything between the first song and the last song--sags under the weight of midtempo, middle-of-the-road throwaways. [31 Mar 2004]
    • The A.V. Club
    • 67 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    When The Geometrid is good, it's extremely good... Too much of the album's remainder, however, is forgettable and lukewarm, the work of a band that's still trying to define itself.
    • 79 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    There’s some beautiful songwriting here, but it’s buried beneath the smudges of its producers.
    • 61 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Too often, solid tracks like “Foothills”--never mind its ridiculous and hilarious rhymes like “I’ll take lunch with my coworkers / But after work I just go berzerkers”--are lost among the album’s wackier, ambitious forays.
    • 65 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Sonically, Plain Rap picks up where Labcabin left off, and at its best ("Rush," "Guestlist," "Frontline"), it recaptures that album's sophisticated sonic slinkiness, if not its lyrical brilliance. Too often, however, Plain Rap sounds like what Labcabin's detractors unfairly accused it of being: mature and adult to the point of sounding hopelessly dull.
    • 60 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz ends up a collection of fleeting engaging moments sandwiched between a slew of half-formed musical ideas.
    • 78 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    The bulk of the album is made of slight, rote country-rockers, as sturdy and flat as a table.
    • 64 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Ultimately, Musik, Die Schwer Zu Twerk is satisfied with halfheartedly rehashing a handful of psych and prog rock signifiers with little renewed enthusiasm or inventiveness.
    • 67 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Over There That Way’s pandering play for indie-pop acceptance makes it a more leisurely listen. But, with no need to periodically clean a little heavy-metal grit out of the ears, the album just doesn’t demand much attention.
    • 74 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Working In Tennessee is often sleepy to the point of being narcoleptic. Still, even when he strains to hit notes, which he does often, Haggard sounds like he's enjoying himself.
    • 62 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    He sounds absolutely defeated on this short, non-starter of a record.
    • 70 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    While steeped in New Found Glory's same old mix of hormonal angst and simple syrup, the album shows a marked drop in metabolism.
    • 71 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    For the most part, Basement Jaxx are coloring within the lines on Junto, which leads to disappointing results.
    • 68 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    The result is a muddled collection of gently electronic pop that vacillates between mildly engaging and outright boring, a prime candidate for scoring teen TV dramas and stocking Starbucks shelves.
    • 63 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Money is pure bubblegum, the kind of instantly disposable pop ephemera listeners forget about while it’s still playing.
    • 71 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    With so much New Age nattering, here more than ever your enjoyment will depend on your own zeal for enlightenment and/or bong rips.
    • 64 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Unlike Indie Cindy, Head Carrier knows exactly what it is. Whether that’s something we’ll remember is another discussion entirely.
    • 67 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    As Out Of Exile carries on, the songs sound repetitious and a little formulaic; each guitar solo seems to arrive at a preordained moment, and both the album and the individual songs drag on too long.
    • 60 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    As usual, his nasal voice gets grating, but at least his band has returned to what it does best.
    • 56 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Peeling off much of the outfit’s Utah-bred oddness and emotive chaos, the album is a clear ploy at breaking through to a more pop-inclined audience.
    • 69 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    These two tracks ["Alpenglow" and "The Dome"] are outliers, though, emotionally and sonically devastating songs on an otherwise languid and forgettable record.
    • 61 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Jean's ambition and eclecticism are admirable as ever, but the further he strays from his hip-hop roots, the less vital he seems.
    • 72 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Cranekiss is going for hypnotic, but too often ends up narcotizing.
    • 59 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    As the title suggests, Chickenfoot III is stupid like a fox, filling a VH-shaped void created by the inaction and endless drama of Hagar's former bandmates.
    • 72 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Let’s Be Still falters in its lethargy.
    • 76 Metascore
    • 50 Critic Score
    Instead of anarchist dance jams full of crunchy 8-bit noise, (III) is more like a static-filled radio station fading in and out of range.