Think Ash covering Nirvana and you'll have an idea of just how bad an idea this album is. [Mar-Apr 2013, p.94]

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.

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]

The Endless River belongs not in the pantheon of the great Pink Floyd, but in a hotel elevator.

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.

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.

If this somehow still manages to be the kind of thing that'll get you out on the dance floor, you still have to survive instrumentals that plod rather than thrill, songs that meander rather than aim, and a slew of lazy sing-speech.

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

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.

While this could have been a record defined by atmosphere, the near-absence of energy and long, formless instrumental sections will have listeners tuning out long before it hits any sort of stride.

It's not that the songs on here are necessarily terrible; certainly there's nothing to plumb the depths of "Elevation" or "Get on your Boots," but rather that Songs of Innocence is a soulless and unwanted lump of shiny plastic.

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.

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

Instrumentally, the album might be as strong as any Stooges work, with blistering guitar, blazing tempos, and well-placed skronking sax, but time and again, Pop proves its hindrance. [#17, p.93]

Art for art's sake may impress at parties, but recorded it brings teh good times to a screeching halt. [Feb. 2011, p. 70]

Loud Like Love is sadly a chugging bore. [Aug-Sep 2013, p.93]

Spencer and Matt Verta-Ray go even farther into chugging rockabilly riffs and hiccupping Elvis poses they explored on their 2006 debut. [Summer 2007, p.90]

Sia's latest full-length We Are Born, is, in a word, confusing. [Summer 2010, p.85]

For the most part, Hauschka's attempt at turning the piano into a percussion instrument falls short. [May 2011, p.84]

The directionless album may have a number of songs that will make radio programmers drool, but the staying power resembles anything but a classic.

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.

The problem once again is that it’s all been done before and better. [#15]

While Ashcroft should be applauded for trying something entirely new, TUNOS is overly eager to please, overly stylized, and falls way short of honoring the genres for which Ashcroft clearly cares deeply. [Feb 2011, p.70]

Real Life Is No Cool plays more like a tug-of-war as singer and producer struggle to find harmony between two disparate sounds. [Holiday 2009, p.81]

For much of Fasciination, it’s the music that keeps the record afloat, because, even at his very best, singer Tim Fink doesn’t have much to say. [Summer 2008]

It's not easy to describe what's going on here, if one can even figure it out anyway.

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.

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