For the most part though, and we’re talking in the 90% range, the double-album is a full-on dumpster fire fueled by toxic thoughts, meaningless rants, and a surly attitude.

In simple summary, The Black Album makes The Teal Album sound like The Green Album, The Green Album sound like The Blue Album, and The Blue Album sound like the actual The White Album. The Beatles one. And all of it sounds like Weezer flowering into the absolute worst version of themselves.

There may be some good ideas here, and political awareness and a lack of fear to share those ideas should always be applauded, but as a record in 2019, Pursuit of Momentary Happiness doesn't even offer the moment for which it searches.

Listening to Varshons 2 is like catching up with a childhood friend--on surface level its pleasant, but as the conversation persists, the friendly emptiness becomes too painful to bear.

The whole endeavor feels like a joke set-up with no punchline. The Teal Album's greatest sin is it is neither the best nor worst version of itself and by being so overwhelming mediocre, it renders itself completely pointless. It is essentially musical copypasta.

Those acid-fried roots (The 13th Floor Elevators, The Black Angels) are 95-percent gone, replaced by too much space and too much polish as Blackwell tries to be a soul singer. Sorry to ruin it, but he fails. It's very difficult to appreciate Myth of a Man; it's so leftfield of what Night Beats had going.

This bland, wishy-washy concoction of pop-rock FIDLAR half-assedly barfs up reflects the quartet of 30-something's own addictive tendencies; each watered-down attempt at a "genre-revival"-punk, in this case--falls victim to insipid rip-offs of their "punk" influences.

Some of the arrangements wouldn't be that bad if they hadn't been sampled and sequenced to death. But if over-producing the life out of something is one thing, any use of the dreaded Auto-Tune facility is another. It runs through A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships like the plague to the point where numerous listens later I still have no idea what Matty Healy's actual singing voice sounds like.

Grapetooth are all style, no substance--the album's hopelessly nostalgic fishcam lens cover shot, the twee synth leads, the empty, half-assed vocal melodies. The worst part? Grapetooth lasts 40 minutes.

As art, it is immature and vacant. As fun, it barely registers. It's less of a step-up from Drones than a step sideways, if only because the self-parody here feels deliberate.

Great Thunder is nothing but dull, adult contemporary rock-lite that swings with the tempo of a slow cooker. [Aug - Oct 2018, p.85]

Render Another Ugly Method is merely the calcified misery of a young woman who can't reach outside herself. [Aug - Oct 2018, p.80]

While the subdued vocal harmonies are a minimal draw, they are often out of tune. In fact there's no need to bother with this album unless you like harmless, predictable, and formulaic adult contemporary fluff-rock.

Over the course of the whole record, the lethargic tempos, lack of style, and the uninspired songwriting become a bit tiring. So the album as a whole is a disappointment for someone with so much talent and potential.

The album as a whole is frustratingly disappointing for a band with so much talent and past successes.

David takes the album title's sentiment to heart to such a degree, every song sounds like a cover version of whatever transient entries are currently topping the charts.

While his voice isn't bad, it's not particularly enchanting either. And even though the lyrics are spiritually inspired by channeling the higher consciousness of human emotionality and compassion, they often come across as cheesy over the course of the album's approximately 60 minutes of simple and conventional tracks.

Even though their trademark sounds stick out like fingerprints in an ongoing crime scene, there is little to salvage from their efforts other than a jam session that should have remained private.

It's Morrissey's weakened, diminished lyricism that kicks it down from being a solid-if-not-stunning Moz record to something almost unpalatable.

Some bright instrumental flourishes are occasionally added in an attempt to give the songs some pulp but it's nothing to get too excited about since they're neither grabbing nor contagious and act more like threadbare window dressings to the mundane song structures and their gentle acoustics. For better or worse, a collection of guest vocalists, both male and female, are used throughout, including an appearance by former Midlake vocalist Tim Smith. But this only serves to highlight the album's inconsistencies.

Despite a committed effort, Wonderful Wonderful isn't a title that accurately reflects its content.

More recycled Roky Erickson-isms and smoky garage-rock riffs pollute the ears along with the most odious proggy lyrics this side of Genesis' The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. [Jul - Sep 2017, p.35]

There is zero expectation for Blondie to create Parallel Lines 2.0. That would require an actual miracle. Pollinator, however, is too removed from oh so many things that made Blondie great to be acceptable.

The intriguing collage cover of Hamburg Demonstrations is the best thing about this album, which feels unfinished, more like a gathering of demos than a realized, cohesive collection.

Remastering the songs doesn't take away the superfluous guitar tracks. "All Around the World" is still nine minutes and 20 seconds long. "My Big Mouth" still sounds like it belongs on a Beady Eye album.

At best, Pixies are just the masters at a game that is no longer interesting. Songs stray so far from the raw energy of Surfer Rosa that Head Carrier could easily be mistaken for any number of hair product soaked '80s metal. [Aug-Sep 2016, p.75]

This just comes off as clumsy and premature. [May - Jun 2016, p.95]

Painting With is by a distance the most annoying album you'll hear this year, and not just because it sounds exactly how those people imagine the band always has.