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.