Listening eventually becomes a test of endurance for anyone raised on the true country sounds of a Dolly Parton or Emmylou Harris. [Dec 2002, p.115]

A profoundly ordinary, deeply monotonous LP. [Apr 2002, p.100]

The story feels thrown together in two seconds, and much of it is irredeemably hokey.... In the end, despite its kooky charms, Greendale is just one more lazy Neil Young album. [Sep 2003, p.96]

Sadly sterile...

An homage to Memphis soul and R&B that initially seems a pleasant lark but grows blander and more characterless the more it is heard. [Apr 2002, p.106]

A fairly routine batch of middling-to-turgid funk numbers about lurrve performed with rather more duty than excitement.

Profoundly disappointing. [Jan 2005, p.105]

Much of Get Ready is less a call to arms than the sound of an old man wheezing out of a creaky armchair. [Sep 2001, p.108]

Fails on multiple fronts. [Dec 2004, p.116]

At the risk of sounding trite, I couldn't wait to Turn It Off. [Oct 2009, p.97]

A square-jawed, piano-based, falsetto-flecked collection of sediment sentiment. [Oct 2008, p.109]

Coral Fang finds The Distillers aping the bloodless Hollywood impotence of Hole's Celebrity Skin, their 'punk rock' inoffensive and utterly forgettable. [Dec 2003, p.113]

Tired, frightened-sounding and hopelessly misjudged.... Hugely disappointing. [Dec 2001, p.116]

The perkiness and quirkiness are paper-thin. [Dec 2004, p.112]

Tired and contrived-sounding.... Baptism? Craptism, more like. [Jun 2004, p.102]

She's lost track of almost everything that made her music marvellous. [Jun 2004, p.101]

Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson's endless calls for us to party hearty sound like nothing less than Shampoo's sozzled grans on a hen night, Fred Schneider's ironic lounge lizard is just creepy, and the same old tuned guitars spar against the same old Barbarella beats. [Apr 2008, p.102]

Could pass for a load of Stone Temple Pilots B-sides. [Sep 2006, p.106]

A poisoned chalice, indeed. [Apr 2012, p.89]

If Swingle Singers melodies and mind-numbing repetition is your bag, you're on a winner here; basically, it's easy listening with a bit of electronica.

The album takes on an airbrushed blandness that drowns out both the odd outbreak of compositional quality and the promise of adventure offered by the guests. [Dec 2001, p.104]

Breach is a dull affair of humdrum tunes, mundane performance, and lyrics which lose themselves in vague imagery as if Dylan were actually evading the chance to express himself.

Sadly, the results are soul-less. [Apr 2003, p.99]

Starts promisingly soulful, but soon descends into faux gangster bullshit and lazy, dumb-ass sexism. [Feb 2005, p.100]

Testify really doesn't work. [Dec 2002, p.122]

They're a bit like '80s vintage Judas Priest but not quite as good. Or indeed as gay. [Sep 2004, p.99]

Material which says something, but feels nothing real. [Nov 2004, p.95]

Disappoints big time. [Oct 2003, p.110]