Clearly, Bryan Adams has been spending far too much time on the road.

We're not just saying that because his first new studio album in six years is called Room Service. We're not saying that because the title track is a horribly cliche song about the "crazy life" of a touring rock star (aw, boo-hoo, Bryan). And we're not even saying it because the disc actually lists all the hotels where much of this material was recorded over the past few years.

No, our, er, reservations about Room Service stem from the fact that Adams' songs themselves have now begun to resemble high-priced hotel rooms: They're pretty and welcoming and comfortable and pleasant and instantly familiar, sure. But they're also bland and sanitized and interchangeable and predictable and totally forgettable the second you turn your back on them.

This latest batch of lightly gritty rockers, melodic power-pop and romantic power ballads -- all delivered in Adams' increasingly Rod-like sandpaper rasp -- contain no more substance than that mint the maid puts on your pillow.

It's a pity, really. Adams' stripped-down live recordings of late have shown he's still ready, willing and able to rock like he used to.

Maybe he should get the concierge to dig up a copy of one of his old albums.

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