His most irrelevant album to date: a double CD, thirty-track compendium of indecipherable song titles, gratuitously weird sounds and occasional wisps of ersatz classical piano that are aimlessly pretty.

The second album... is miles worse than their shallow but tasty first, its big-budget production only making its shortcomings more apparent. [21 Sep 2006, p.88]

Though this comeback celebrates the parole of ex-junkie bassist Cris Kirkwood, tuneful it ain't.

Taking on familiar songs, though, always unearths the rough edges beneath the polish, especially when they sound flat wrong emanating from the mouth of America's peppiest nineteen-year-old.

Offers the same disco-metal dreck he's been peddling for 30 years. [Mar 2021, p.73]

An electronic-noise collage that sounds disturbingly rooted in the what-the-fuck? tradition of Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music.

Underneath is the Verve Pipe's third album and it's more of exactly what made them a hit with "The Freshman" -- earnest alternative-lite vocals that cross Matchbox Twenty with Phil Collins delivered in sugary choruses that loop endlessly in case you weren't paying attention the first ten times.

As Her Loss abandons 21’s form of smack talk as a playful, revelatory exercise, its tone shifts to Drake’s toxic petulance. ... There’s a gloominess this time around, and it’s not just the sloppy sequencing and hit-or-miss quality that ranges from clear standouts like “Pussy & Millions,” where the so-called “treacherous twins” team up with Travis Scott, to aimless dross like “Major Distribution.” ... Singular misfire.

There are punk, country and EDM experiments that sound like Nineties novelty act the Bloodhound Gang without the jokes.

Their musical influences sound fifth-hand -- distilled Matchbox Twenty, Black Crowes and Deep Blue Something -- and singer Pat Monahan seems like he's boring even himself.

In place of once-sharp radical jabs, we get empty alarmism.

It's all pummeling, vacuous rave noise--useful mainly for thrash dancing and scaring neighbors.

Shuffles between romantic ecstasy and agony with tempos crawling and Tweet stretching out lush melodies till they're barely recognizable.

Eve 6 seem to want to improve themselves but keep bumping up against their own limitations of style and substance.

Qualifies as cruel and unusual cuteness.... It's as if Jimmy Fallon and David Gray had a baby, suckled by Edie Brickell and diapered by the Spin Doctors.

Nowhere amidst all the confusion is there even a worthwhile tune to be salvaged. Hideously dull.

Whether it's a fuck-you to fans who scoffed at 2003's synth-poppy Welcome to the Monkey House or a vindictive fulfillment of their contractual obligation to Capitol Records, this crap smells bad any way you sniff it.

Rossdale’s voice becomes a distraction when it overpowers the group’s wooshy guitar textures. But mostly Bush’s biggest sin is going back to the same well again and again hoping to find something new, something vital but coming up emptyhanded.

There's nothing here to be triumphant about.

No matter what mode they’re in, they manage to turn four-minute songs into small eternities.

The Papercut Chronicles II is the year's most charmless album, 11 punishingly dull rock-rap tunes with hooks that would've sounded dated a decade ago.

Alas, her cat-strangling whine is still a remarkably ugly sound, no matter what she's singing.

Leav[es] one wondering whatever happened to the immortal MC whou could carry an album by himself without needing a breath. [4 May 2006, p.59]

Gunna has a flashy and intoxicating vocal style, and that alone DS4 a worthy escapade. But he can’t transcend the clichés that define his era.

Heavy on outside contributions and certainly missing 2Pac's editorial control and final production decisions, Until the End of Time bops and weaves from peak to valley in schizophrenic fashion.

If you are not Jah, however, you may lack the stomach for Sinead's megasincere tributes to Curtis Mayfield and Jesus Christ Superstar.

Streets of Gold is about as pleasant as a case of genital herpes.

Her attempt at breaking out as a solo artist has been rocky--lead single "Cannonball" sank like one--and this album of insta-dated EDM-pop anthems and half-cocked bass drops probably won't help her cause.