Vintage touches and modern twists combine on an irrepressible soul record.

Tennis may have sailed a great distance to bring about the inspiration for Cape Dory, but a similarly epic voyage of composition would have yielded far better results here. As it stands, it's remarkably unremarkable.

It's easy to revel in Moffat's bleak wordplay and his everyman observations, but behind the black clouds and bitterness there are reminders of love and tempered optimism, encompassed by The Greatest Story Ever Told.

Hull is a fine lyricist, able to make everyday ruminations on relationships utterly riveting. But he's not consistently complemented by music that really matters, a couple of relatively perfunctory arrangements ensuring that Simple Math is no High Violet-matching masterpiece.

They are, right now, the most inspirational, intriguing, effortlessly enrapturing band at work on these shores. And Smother might well prove to be the album of 2011.

There are many arguments for and against Tyler's mouth and mind, but once the language barrier is crossed and ears become numb, the real brilliance of Goblin can be heard.

The Oscar-winner is an understated powerhouse on her second album.

Dive into their magnificent depths and you might find a record to fall in love with several times over.

The Road From Memphis hasn't got any of the surprise factor of Potato Hole; in fact, it's more like reacquainting yourself with an old friend. But it's a work of such high quality it doesn't really matter it's nothing new.

n the fourth decade of his career, Foxx has released an album which easily equals the high points of his rich back catalogue.

In Sea of Beas there is definitely a voice, and perhaps a songwriter, who still has something stunning to offer.

The production--by chart-grabbing Fraser T Smith (James Morrison, Taio Cruz, Cee-Lo)--can only bring so much depth or variety to unadventurous songs which are bellowed and wailed with all the subtlety of Florence Welch giving birth to a rhino.

It's a real treat, so be sure to commit that title to memory should you be passing an emporium of musical delights anytime soon.

That lang is a greater and more radiant talent than the rest of the Siss Bang Boom combined is obvious, but so is the fact that in mysterious ways this strange marriage has helped her find her feet and voice again.

Cadenza is so much better than alright: it's more than a little brilliant.

The real joy of this record is that, behind the sulking and swearing, the clips of sampled speech and toying yelps, are 12 gloriously penned pieces of unadulterated pop.

Far from a cynical money-maker, this is the unwieldy outfit that unanimously improves those essential runners: harder work to start with, but providing great rewards at the finish line.

Twin Atlantic no longer stand out enough from the host of similar power-pop and emo acts that have flooded the airwaves in recent years, and Free is depressingly characterised by unimaginative, one-paced hollers like The Ghost of Eddie and Time For You to Stand Up.

As it stands, they've not only crossed over but given themselves the scope to impress even further in future.

Sometimes this build-up can establish a cocktail lounge atmosphere, but in most cases its emotional resonances hover on the right side of poignant.

This is scintillating fare, albeit rock of a variety that can dizzy itself to the extent where a point becomes dulled by the practice--not that it matters, because the poise is so polished (when it's not drenched in feedback) that the band's directionless bombast is a most pleasing soundtrack to all and any whatever-the-weather escapades.

Times New Viking are just as wilfully, wonderfully lo-fi as ever, but five albums in they've finally let the listener get that little bit closer to the heart of what they do.

Truth is, to cook up such joyful nonsense probably takes a helluva lot of effort, but it's the Beasties' gift to make this seem easier than falling off a mountain bike, and an infinite amount more fun.

Syracuse art-poppers need to let their instincts do the thinking.

While Lopez has claimed that her new public image showcases the real her, she never could pull off the idea of being a real human being with actual emotions on record.

Though born out of a fraught gestation period, this second LP is a thing of beauty.

Marley fanatics will surely welcome the appearance of this release, but the fact of the matter is that it pales in comparison to the other live material already available; for a truly representative artefact, stick to Live!, Babylon by Bus, or Live at the Roxy.

It's clear that All at Once is a record of big sounds, bigger themes and enormous – and entirely achieved – ambitions. A crushing classic.

Whilst Festival Bell lacks the visionary presence that made 1969's game-changing Liege & Lief so influential, and established the group's pre-eminent position in the folk-rock firmament, this album nevertheless confirms Fairport's reputation as an ongoing repository for quality songwriting.

Eventually, their self-indulgence completely loses the listener. No matter how hard one might try to love this album--and one can try very hard--there's only disappointment at what could have been.

When a lunar time capsule next needs a musical artefact of almost indeterminable age, Kode9 & The Spaceape are your men.

In short, then: another fantastically enjoyable album from an artist whose modus operandi, above anything else, seems to be ensuring his audience is having the best possible time. Many a self-absorbed peer should take note.

She just needs to dig up some big old songs again, as those here aren't consistently up to the standard fans have rightly come to expect.

Bootsy sets about waking up a new generation to funk's heritage.

This first album have produced something so beguiling, it's clearly been time well spent.

If this T-Bone Burnett-produced album isn't a standout, it still has plenty going for it.

This is a pop dance album par excellence bristling with positivity, tunes and ideas.

A marvellous little record where improvisation rubs shoulders with immediacy.

The songs he's written with new acolyte Sorren Maclean and Idlewild bandmate Rod Jones are more assured than ever.

Each song remains a steady, stellar journey to the next piercing solo until the noise removes itself after a surprisingly brief 50 minutes and suddenly there's a big gaping black hole where Moon Duo were. All that remains is to re-listen.

If you love synth-pop's romantic attachment to a grand, bleak, European aesthetic, then this is the Best Of for you.

Despite an all-pervading gloom that dominates tonally, and pacing that rarely gets the pulse racing, this is certainly the best Raveonettes record since 2007's keyboards-dominated left-turn LP, Lust Lust Lust..

For the flagrant pop thrill-seeker--judging by this incredible, irrepressible, ecstatic, brilliant record--neither will they ever disappoint. Don't believe the anti-hype: pop album of the year, by at least a dozen choruses.

Smith Westerns are that rare treat: an intelligent indie band with a love of a good tune and a good time.

A rewarding indie-pop set that's as warm and comforting as a hot water bottle at the end of a bed.

The band struggles to dredge up any sort of sparkle, no matter how finely-forged the hook.

Hyro Da Hero has created a fresh and interesting blend of music and clever wordplay which broaches topics of prejudice and respecting the world we live in with notable humour and intelligence.

Far from didactic or preachy, it's a lesson in the pure power of music.

It's just one eye-opening surge of splendour, like the first gasp of a newborn baby taking in the world for the very first time. The difference with this album: that sense of wonder never fades.

It sounds like all involved had fun putting this one together, and the listening experience is a pretty fun one too.

This is an album that's best aired on headphones, at critical volume.

At just 28 minutes long, Cat's Eyes certainly doesn't outstay its welcome. Hopefully this is the start of a very glimmeringly troubled yet wonderfully disturbed relationship. Amazing.

A long time coming it may have been, but Some Cold Rock Stuf is a disc worth spending plenty of time with after waiting more than a while for.

Whether Mazes are a band that to stand the test of time remains to be seen, but this is an enjoyable, exciting and mostly excellent snapshot of their lives as they are right now; and you can't help but want to join them as the days grow longer and the nights lighter.

Thanks largely to the instrumental work, there's a satisfying amount of entertainment value on this release--even if major revelations are not forthcoming.

It opens the door to tantalising, exciting possibilities, but it's also fragmented, distracted and indulgent.

She's shining bright and crying out to be taken on as Britain's new favourite pop star – and if this album is anything to go by, it looks like the stage is set.

The type of punch Metronomy now pack is differently varied, and instead of relying on catchy melodies, its excitement and originality is now more broadly sourced.

Although less varied and dynamic than Rated R, Queens of the Stone Age simply crackles with energy. At its best, it's just as electrifying, even if it doesn't maintain the dizzying momentum which rolled its follow-up to instant glory.

Hollywood Undead are content to deliver cliches--more out of a lack of imagination than cynical opportunism, but it still smacks of both. That's why to seasoned ears or any genre fan requiring more than more of the same, they're very, very boring.

Ultimately this sounds like a side project, which can only be so disappointing when that's precisely what it is.

Ben Chasny's solo venture continues to tackle folk as if the 1970s never ended.

Nine Types of Light finds the band firmly in the grip of a middle age that doesn't particularly suit them. So to put it in the popular parlance, it's a Dull Record for Times that are Anything But.

Bluegrass superstar's new album is a fine addition to her impressive catalogue.

This is a vivid selection of songs underscored by a bittersweet poetry.

Hope is their third studio album and touted as their step up. In truth, it comes on in leaps and bounds as much as it trips and stumbles along the way.

It's a harrowing but beautiful end to an immense, intense album.

It may only be a stopgap before the official follow-up to Jewellery, but like all the best mixtapes, it's a telling insight into its creator's unconventional mind.

101 blends the quirky, the audacious and the touching to confident effect, emerging as a fine listen for all seasons.

At times Credo sounds like The Human League of today trying to be The Human League of the past, which makes for uncomfortable listening. That said, it's probably still better than it has any right to be, given the time between the group's hits and their missing out on chart positions nowadays.

This is at heart a fun, dirty, insincere, cheap-thrill-laden pop record, with the raunch-riffery of Band of Skulls and lyrics which could be drawled from the mouth of a Bret Easton Ellis character.

Album proper or not, there's no denying this is greatly entertaining stuff.

While much here can be summarised as more of the same, when Lennox's natural quality control operates at such an admirable standard, that's precisely why Tomboy is such a chilled-out triumph.

This is a collaboration that makes sense. Both share a taste for a rather languid tempo, that of small-town life and the more tender, bittersweet emotions; and theirs is a pairing that's complementary.

U2 producer Flood marshals the band's bulldozing energy into an altogether slicker sort of bombast, and admittedly there are moments (Dream Dream Dreaming and the seemingly endless build-up of Lots Sometimes) where the songs sound in danger of losing their way in the middle of it all.

Callahan has gifted us perhaps his most subversive set to date: an album less about apocalypse and ruin than it is upheaval of the positive variety, and one of the most contented and rewarding of his career.

There's little denying the sincerity of No Color as both tribute and experiment, but the duo's previous work was just a shade more likely to make everyone fall in love with them.

Unfortunately, over 10 tracks, the band's musical limitations become ever more obvious, with songs like Hold My Breath and Jam for Jerry rummaging through the same box of retro tricks to lessening effect.

Really, though, this is nothing more than business as usual: some killer, some filler.

It doubtlessly works better as a full performance, but as a stand-alone soundtrack has wonderful moments nonetheless.

It's a shame the band don't stretch out a little more on some of the songs. Even so, if Cotonou Club isn't quite what it might have been, fans should bear in mind that the reformed Orchestra Baobab didn't really hit their stride until their second "comeback" recording.

While there's much to marvel at, not everything convinces.

It is, essentially, a pop record to stick on and sing along to. If that was Kassidy's aim, to have fun and make people dance, they've undoubtedly succeeded. But don't come looking here for anything more profound than that.

Five swoony songs, sung beautifully, no duffers, and plenty of knotty lyrics to try and unravel. Another job well done.

More of the same from Black Joe Lewis – and this is a good thing.

Reboots Scott Walker and the androgynous end of 90s Britpop into distinctive darkwave.

At its best, album four matches the duo's darkly seductive early material.

These all-star gatherings are more fun for the artists than the listener.

Throughout the album, Lamdin's production offers a sense of clarity and understated confidence.

The less they do big dumb bravado, it seems, the more there is to love about this London bunch.

A great fifth album from the Wu-Tang rapper, but not quite another catalogue classic.

Even when tracks pass without too much of an impression left, the listener is never without a smile on their face--there's simply that much fun on show.

You Stand Uncertain isn't quite legendary, but it is exceptional in today's hurried dance scene.

The strongest tracks here stand tall, ensuring Monch remains a powerful rap force.

Although Mind Bokeh can be expected to be a wilfully eclectic pick'n'mix affair, what he's actually going to pull out the bag can still surprise.

While the other songs, intelligent pieces of art that they are, may intrigue, it's disappointing that only one song here compels us to really feel anything.

They seem to have stopped trying to subvert their pop nous and accept what they do best, and for the most part it works a treat.

What it's not, though, is a collection that confirms the arrival of a significant solo talent. It's too patchy, too hurried, the powers behind it too eager to capitalise on the artist's current chart success.