In the US they're pitching this as Diamond's revelatory masterpiece, which is a bit rich considering he's performed covers often before, and his own best songs were as strong as anything here.

Throughout, there are unexpected melodic twists and turns, and the whole thing feels like a bid for commercial acceptance, if indeed the market for this classy music even exists anymore.

What first seemed like an impenetrable puzzle will prove endlessly engrossing.

She places faith in unremitting earnestness. It's often affecting, and draws you in at times, but somewhat smothering in its unrelenting glumness. There's also a paucity of fresh melodies here. This profoundly personal album is unlikely to woo passers-by, but loyal, long-time admirers will adore it.

The Deserters, given a chance, will completely negate any such journalistic silliness with just one listen, because it is a jolt of psychedelic, oozing instrumental wonder and songwriting magnificence.

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.

Talk About Body is a long, long way from the oblique post-shoegaze blur of chillwave, witch house, ill-bient and experimental dubstep at the cutting edge of the alternative.

Mylo Xyloto may have an oblique title but it's a triumph because the music is anything but.

On the whole, this is an interesting experiment in the creative process, as well as the values of musicianship and friendship.

They've also striven to make their soiree as all-are-welcome as possible. If the latest serving of salad days for indie has to start somewhere, it could do a whole lot worse than here.

When Melua reveals this sensitive side she's amongst the best artists in her easy-on-the-ear field, and she could yet surpass several of her own idols. But The House contains enough forgettable filler to suggest she's some way off delivering a career-defining canon classic.

It all adds up to a record for those who want thrills but don't want them dumb.

They're too bland, too safe and too boring.

While Court Yard Hounds is a well-packaged and produced collection, its songs seem rather ordinary compared to Chicks material

Good news: Lights is an expectations-passing collection that should see fans of the singer's material to date elevating her to superstar status.

While it lacks focus and cohesive identity, the album Paul Banks named after himself does demonstrate that there's more to this artist than previous form suggests

While it might not find itself a massive audience, fans of earthy, charismatic Americana might do well to seek it out for themselves.

Such dark lyrical tropes have served him well in the past, and even the blokey-but-sensitive shtick of his lovably clunky, WTF rhymes are part of a well-honed musical formula. But credit where it's due--he provides something for everyone.

A welcome return, then – let's hope they stick around for a bit longer this time.

It's safe, something of a retreat from past endeavours to a sound more suited to commercial returns in the present.

The lack of a cutting edge doesn't itself mean that such songs aren't lacking in charm, and each one of the 12 compositions that makes up Speed of Darkness does feature a tune that the listener can whistle.

These 10 songs often appear to be just elaborate jams, whipped up in the studio, with a few scribbled-down choruses added along the way.

The songs here are less oikish, more nimble and nuanced, than a lot of Oasis' ponderous later music.

It comprises 11 tracks that sound like intros in search of songs. It is bland of lyric and tinny of sound. The rhythms plod alarmingly.

It layers on the schmaltz but stops short of choking the listener with sentimentality by revealing a wickedly singular wit and some snappy expectations-eschewing cuts.

She doesn't seek to graft herself onto these songs; instead, and with considerable skill, she draws out from them new layers of wit, tenderness and melancholia.

While The Cast of Cheers are shameless rip-off merchants on more than some occasions here, there's evidently ability at work, and a decent ear for a catchy chorus or two.

If there is a fault with this record however, it isn't Faithfull's but her band's, as the playing is perhaps just too polite and polished.

Anxiety is as tight and catchy as a baseball mitt.

Dense yet accessible, fleeting but full of memorable moments, Tricky's done here what he always does at his best: let the listener share the soundtrack of his involving, nomadic, outsider spirit.

Inevitably, this turns Here I Am into a bit of a grab-bag in its latter stages, but it's a grab-bag that only Tulisa Contostavlos could claim not to find some pleasure in.

The sterility and cleanliness of [the album's engineering and production] affords these 12 songs all the warmth and personality of a motorway hotel's car park.

It's definitely a subtle magic TOPS weave here, and like all the best records, Tender Opposites rewards repeated spins.

The album's better songs – of which a towering Black and the inventive if not precisely brilliantly titled Capsize the Sea are just two – even hark back to the time when their creators sounded fresh and exciting.

Battle Born is a belter, an album made for bedrooms, stadiums and old-school denim jacket patches alike.

Albarn has done his research but this is no dry slice of worthy academia; the way the spirit of each style interlocks is brilliant, and he continues to pull memorable melodies out of his (Elizabethan) hat.

It’s experimental but aimed at embracing an audience first and furthering its makers' out-there adventures second. As such, it’s the most instantly rewarding Pit Er Pat album yet, and deserves to take the duo to a new level of recognition.

Sadly though, the prevalence of mid-tempo, Des'ree-lite ballads and inconsistent quality make this is an exhausting listen over 90 minutes.

Always building and beautiful, their sparse, even minimal, approach lends Penny Sparkle a complexity that's both rich and rewarding in both its inspiration and execution.

It’s a mixed manifestation of electronic pop.

It is an album that gives up its charms slowly, but its painstaking attention to detail, dark shadows and languid depths will see it become an essential companion for many sombre souls in 2011 and beyond.

It is beautiful and bereft and hard to listen to with easy joy--as are much of the best of these essential recordings.

With the bare minimum of innovation on show and nothing approaching the pure pop elation of Sex on Fire, Come Around Sundown will go down as KoL's classic consolidation album.

It's got its faults, but MDNA isn't just a good pop album, it's a good Madonna album too.

Confirms that Tennant and Lowe have always been songwriters first and pop stars second.

RIITIIR is a complex, schizophrenic work, verging on the overly sensorial at points, leaving the listener feeling as if they've been repeatedly bashed over the head with a really clever hammer.

Whether or not the addition of Burrows is solely responsible for the improvement in consistency on this fourth album isn't clear, but Barbara is their best work by far. Current fans will be glad and new ones may be easier to come by.

The mid-section lets him down, slumping into the bad habits of his debut solo album.

[Welcome to the Fishbowl] is aimed squarely at the mainstream. These songs are genetically engineered to be both supremely catchy and intensely wet.

Portamento is simplicity redux, to the point of composing songs that sound too alike, and too like the last album.

Whether for its bounty of warm guitar textures or for its still-rare insight into a distinctly female perspective on young love, Lights Out is surprising, sincere and, above all, a success.

If you're drawn to Battles' nimble melodic turmoil and general musical messiness, you may find some of these electro excursions to be hard work.

Not one for the casual fans, but more than enough to remember the good times.

Like Simple Minds, it's not too late for OMD to stride all the way back to greatness. But this album isn't even a stumble in the right direction, and the clock, as always, is ticking.

From its start to the jazzy electro shuffle of You're Out that rounds it off, Ultraísta is consistently involving, even if it sags in the middle with Our Song. It's set to be a cult favourite rather than sell millions of copies, but this is because it contains fascinating ideas you won't hear on most pop records.

This is as good a debut album from a British metal band as you're likely to hear in 2011.

Graffiti on the Train is clearly the work of a man and an outfit that's done the rock'n'roll thing and is now easing into the next step. This is a solid enough start.

If this isn't one of the albums of 2010, then it is certainly the album of their career.

It’s a genre experiment that might encourage more sceptical listeners to err on the side of caution, but if you’re willing to let yourself be swept away, then the rewards are worthwhile.

Familiar tropes surface in the lyrical content (sexy times being the core focus), and musically it's a smorgasbord of European dance trends and contemporary RnB production, showy but soulless.

It attempts to create a context of isolation from all that, an aquarium-like zone of contemplation, in which audiovisual detail can be savoured, in stillness and without fear of missing out for a few seconds on the relentless info-stream of modern life.

Here, they deliver a sequel as successor, less a follow-up and more an outright usurper from the underworld.

This raucous collection of three-minute knee-tremblers, however, is as close as it gets [to a live show]. Swilling whiskey and spitting gravel, over-driven and over here, this is aural Prozac for the 21st century.

Vultures isn't an album we'll be talking about 20 years from now, but for thrills, spills and hair-raising heaviness, it gets the job done in style.

For a listener who's only been aware of Mraz by reputation, this is no instant-fix point of entry. It relies on past experiences, knowledge of what the artist is capable of rather than anything he delivers with consistency across these 12 songs.

Just because it is not music that shouts about itself, that dazzles with pyrotechnics or showboating guitar solos, its profundity and emotional heft is nevertheless, and perhaps even all the more, striking.

This is an affecting and intelligent record: neither Folds nor Hornby should be shy about suggesting a sequel.

For all its battalions of writers and producers, Right Place Right Time is a surprisingly coherent affair.

There are no excursions into dubstep, no guest rappers and no raunchiness, just good clean wholesome party (as in jelly and ice-cream) fun.

The rude guitar sleaze of Hands All Over, or the cocky glam-stomp in Stutter's verses show a band who are really at their best when they play pop music like the sleazy rockers they clearly are. In Adam Levine's mind, at least.

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's an album that largely triumphs with a black snake moan and the revitalised, tempestuous twin snarl of Peter Hayes and Robert Levon Been.

This impressive debut belies Harvieu's tender years.

I'm With You is a solid, decent enough 10th album, but it's far from vital.

This album doesn’t bristle with the sonic daring of Dangerfield’s usual work; instead, it offers love songs, largely unadorned with stylistic quirks or brash arrangements, a document of a life pulling into focus.

A wide array of producers means that Recovery isn't as consistent as Eminem's best albums--his second and third--but there are significantly more highlights here than on either of his previous two.

The major achievement of this record--produced by Slipknot desk-jockey Ross Robinson--is the broadening of Dananananaykroyd's sound, prising it clear of the numerous shouty young bands to have followed their lead.

Her songs fall easily on the ear, her rhyming schemes are adroit and she writes intelligently on serious subjects.

Immersion takes Pendulum further still from their roots. It offers more rock and more dance, but most importantly more fun. And when it's good, it's very good indeed.

There's plenty to raise a smile over these 12 songs, and that's no doubt exactly what She & Him intended from them.

There's nothing radical here, but revolution isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Despite the lyrics failing to improve upon previous efforts, elsewhere Fever represents a significant step forward, and practically guarantees that BFMV will fulfil the expectations preceding its release.

Isles ends up an easy pleasure--nothing too weighty, but substantial in its way.

Despite occasional lapses into overproduced mess, the surprise here is their enthusiasm.

There's little crowd-pleasing electro or fashionable dubstep on Higher Than the Eiffel, but Audio Bullys have made a welcome, well-produced and lively returning album that delivers the goods far more often than even fans could have expected.

Steadman's vocal stands out--its tremulous quality may be a hangover from, as the story goes, embarrassment at being overheard singing as a kid, but it heightens the sense of an authentically troubled spirit exorcising his demons in the quietly devastating manner of a Nick Drake.

These are strong, conventional songs full of clever flicks and feints, deliciously produced by Ed (Suede, Pulp, White Lies) Buller.

But when he's in his element – ruling over frenetic beats with rhymes that cut right to the bone – it's clear that Yelawolf's star is sure to shine for the foreseeable.

[Beacon] is the mark of a band who know their sound, have a newfound confidence, and are well-equipped to do some serious damage to the chart this time around.

Remind[s] you just what a good singer the rocking knight can be. And after years of personal and professional earnestness, he sounds like he's having fun.

It's actually quite hard to decide whether Complete Me is a dreadful pile of over-processed, overloaded frippery, or if it's a work of genius. It could purely come down to whether you've got the stomach for it.

Anyone who vividly remembers the fire in the band's collective belly around the time of their scintillating debut will be disappointed with this comparatively uninspired set.

Though its combative title suggests Khaled cares little for anybody's approval, Kiss the Ring ends up more of a formulaic slugging match than any collection of genuine rap prize-fighters really should.

There’s no real ‘wow factor’ to Talé despite its star guests. But it’s a loveable enough effort.

Language is a sturdy and well-produced collection which, given the right exposure, sounds like the sort of thing that could be very large indeed.

Seemingly, emo is no longer a moody sub-culture, as one can't help but smile when a record is this brilliantly bombastic.

It's like these songs have had their windows cleaned, a few crows' feet ironed out.

This is an intriguing diversion for the veteran filmmaker--not quite good enough to make us want him to give up cinema for keeps, but certainly a new strand to his unique, ineffable vision.