Smith bares more than his vocal cords on this record. Every story of unrequited love that's been put to song is powerful in its own right.

Only in a few songs does he draw on soul’s common language of strain and overstatement and it’s exciting when he does. At his most forceful he can sound like Simply Red’s Mick Hucknall. Far more often he’s in the erudite territory of Smokey Robinson, letting his falsetto waft ever higher.

In the Lonely Hour is a mostly fantastic debut that is more than deserving of a double dip.

It’s universally accessible, and it’s the kind of pop that has the potential to dominate the charts and win over hearts during festival slots.

Where Smith will follow his muse next is anyone’s guess, but for now, his talent is a clear force to be reckoned with and his debut is ripe with promise.

Just when you've started to grow weary of Smith's pity party, it's over. And there are enough moments of genuine musical, lyrical, and vocal virtuosity and soul to crack even the most hardened listener's icy heart.

This is an understated and promising first step from an unpredictable and distinctive talent.

As singles, the LP works. But as a whole product, listeners could start wondering if they hit “repeat” by accident.

In The Lonely Hour starts promisingly.... The second half declines into self-pity, windy balladry and squeaky-strings-as-authenticity cliche. [Aug 2014, p.110]

When Smith gets a little feistier (his last resort), the songs feel more ambitious; but it’s the more minimal, quiet ones that hit home emotionally.

While the album flirts with a few radiant moments, Smith's endless yearning isn't wrapped in as many irresistible packages.

Thematic monomania is one thing, but musically, In the Lonely Hour could have done with more variety.

Smith's vocals are spot-on throughout, save for the odd Mariah-esque trickle towards X Factor auditionee theatrics, and find themselves paired with as pitch-perfect a production as has been heard all year.

While he has talent and likability, it's a shame this album is not a little freakier, a little riskier--a little lonelier.

In the Lonely Hour is less meaningless and vapid than a song as unapologetically hammy as “Classic,” but the result is unfortunately the same.

In the Lonely Hour is inexpressive and hard to sit through despite being built for easy listening.

In the Lonely Hour comes from a personal place, it doesn't end up feeling like a very personal record.

Apart from perhaps three exceptions, most of these tracks get lost in their own elegant, introspective and lovelorn swirl of tedious easy listening.

Smith’ sugary falsetto comes across a tad one dimensional and inexpressive on his solo debut In The Lonely Hour.

Smith plays it safe, joining the growing crop of British talent with big voices and little personalities. At least he sounds pleasant though.

In The Lonely Hour is an album made by an artist who spent years waiting to be famous, but when he got there, found that he didn’t actually have that much to say.

The music does its best to couch Smith’s melodramatic overreach in swoonily supple adult pop, but only on “Like I Can”--a grand, reach-for-the-sky imprecation focused more on his rival’s shortcomings than on what he himself brings to the table--does it have enough conviction to counter what he is singing.

Its formulaic songwriting and middling, lite-pop arrangements seem more concerned with top 40 appeal than with maximizing the richness and openness of his voice.

It’s a shame to see a talented guy rushed into making the wrong record.