CCCLX is fantastic as a momentary escape from the lights and sounds of the mad world we’re living in, but once you’ve holstered the pastel pink desert eagle and left the booth, you’re left with only a handful of killer moments that might entice you to return.

It may not even share the same ambition as ‘No Line On The Horizon’ however, it’s an undeniable improvement on their two misfiring predecessors, marking this collection as their most cohesive and heartfelt in almost 15 years.

It’ll definitely prove a little too keen on mid-1990s house beats for younger ears, but it’s a sure-footed statement of intent from a top newcomer amongst 2014’s pop crowd who, on this evidence, is going to contend for further number ones in the coming years.

It’s an exemplar of her adaptability, and in a music realm stacked with mind-numbing, homogeneous house numbers, Katy B still occupies a lane of her own.

With 'Diplo', listeners can raise their hands to the sky and sink into undulating house, dancing safely under the watchful production of a ten-time Grammy nominee.

Boy Pablo has once again crafted a concise, beach-worthy, summer bedroom rock set of songs, perfect for any indie kids’ “at the beach” playlist.

It looks to be a strong move in his transition to adulthood and proves there's far more to him than being a pretty face for schoolgirls to swoon over.

A return to a more DIY approach delivers plentiful psychedelic sounds and heady hooks, emanating joyful warmth in spite of a seething thread of cynicism amid troubling political times.

It’s difficult to see ‘Michigan Boy Boat’ winning over the doubts – sure, it’s definite progression, but it feels more like a reinforcement of core values than an attempt to reach out.

This LP is hopelessly devoid of ideas.

From the monasteric vocal and Union of Knives-esque menace of ‘The Infinites’ to the shades of Hot Chip (‘Price On Your Head’) and Ladytron (‘Boy Girl’), ‘Back To Light’ is another early marker in what’s shaping up to be a stellar year for dance music.

‘Run Me Dry’ plays a la mode with a loose dembow rhythm, but, as with the rest of the album, there are plenty of others out there who’ve not only done this already but done it more engagingly.

It has to be said that, considering how Nick Hornby is credited with writing all of the lyrics here, the usual Ben Folds key words are present and there's only so much 'bastard', 'shit' and 'fucking' I can take. Despite this concern, as well as being Folds' most musically accomplished outing since going solo, it does feature the magnificent phrase, "some guy on the net thinks I suck and he should know; he's got his own blog."

Begin may be more of a reverential piece of art than a novel creation, but there is enough substance here to surmise Lion Babe’s future promise.

Each song is different, and the wide-ranging scope is something we haven’t had from a collective since ‘Revenge Of The Dreamers III’ by Dreamville and J.Cole record label last summer.

Her history and significance is rooted in rebellion--but that’s easy to overlook with a record this diluted.

Drift see’s songwriters Mark Perro and Nick Chiericozzi reflect on a decade of relentless experimentation to produce an album that truly showcases both their versatility as musicians and the many dimensions of The Men’s musical canon.

Will Young is in fine form and, on this evidence, about 70% great.

‘All Over The Place’ swaps the focussed UK rap of his debut for something broader, balancing soulful guests and slick production in the process. While not everything here excels, it’s a bold record and cements KSI’s place as a key player in UK music.

The balance between a distilled identity and a streaming-era leviathan is difficult to find. ‘LYFESTYLE’ is a huge in scope, but that can mean it becomes repetitive – in particular, the record’s mid-arc falls flat, with songs like ‘ON 1’ feeling as though they’ve been constructed to fulfil aesthetic obligation. That said, Yeat clearly isn’t making music for critics. ‘LYFESTYLE’ is for the fans.

‘Purple Noon’ shows Greene finding some musical maturity. While the album might not be as strong as his previous releases, we’re starting to see the real Greene which far more rewarding.

A few moments of confusion and inconsistency, yet remains engulfing, evocative and mood setting.

A quality accompaniment and memorial.

For all the ballsiness and twisted subject matters, ‘Songs For Our Mothers’ does limp along with some downtempo drone numbers that would be better if their lyrics were decipherable. .... Still, Songs For Our Mothers’ impresses for all the right reasons.

Some may have written them off already, but on the strength of their best album in a decade, I'm with them.

Stranger is at its best when it steps away from the safety of cloud rap melancholy in favour of Lean embracing his outsider identity.

There is more maturity this time around, with an easier flow, such that the songs gel better as an amalgam. It's a shame then that the songs themselves lack the commercial edge to capture any sustained attention, giving the album too much anonymity.

At times her deliberate vocal style disconnects the listener, and one hopes as Green’s career progresses, she trades in the allegories for something a bit more emotionally inclusive.

Like a lot of their back catalogue, Keep The Village Alive is an enjoyable and solid, if unadventurous rock record anchored, as always, by that tremendous voice.

It’s a welcome return from the marquee indie act, who thread moments of humour, aspiration and joy across the album’s twelve tracks. Their sound is coated in a new varnish which leaves the listener feeling as rejuvenated as the band.

Album closer ‘Joy Ride’ does exactly what it says on the tin; it’s a joyous, perfectly assembled pop track. That’s not to say that the Kickstarter-funded LP is hit after hit--the bright and brash ‘It’s Sunny’ with its oddly theatrical tropes is a cheesy misstep.

The result is a slightly odd, somewhat disjointed response, and one that serves to highlight just how daunting it is to tackle a cover from the former Genesis frontman’s catalogue.

With minimal production and few moments of experimentation, the album is flawed and doesn’t add much to Zayn’s musicality, but it indicates that he’s achieved some sort of clarity on the direction he wants to take as a solo artist.

Predictably pristine, ultimately inessential.

Plods along with an overproduced pompousness that falls somewhere between boring and annoying.

Overall, it’s a hearty welcome back to one of Britain’s best-selling singers.

Drawing on a cast of helpers, most notably Madness' Suggs and Mike Barson, the album boasts their usual eclectic mash of styles, all held together under the Audio Bullys flag.

It's a microcosm for the muddled thinking that holds Ludaversal back.

The entire musical palette lacks any intrigue or seductiveness. Everything feels like it’s cranked up too loud in the mix and pasted with a synthetic and unappealing gloss. However, Raekwon himself is on solid form.

An album free from the shackles of a major label and its consequential rampant commercialism was always going to produce something that didn’t immediately pander to its keg fuelled audience. The surprise is just how well deadmau5 pulls it off.

Tracks like ‘Feeling Good, Feeling Great’, ‘High’ and ‘Guillotine’ feel soulless and lack the gusto that DZ Deathrays have shown through their live shows and previous releases. Albeit brief, there are glimmers in which the duo capture the visceral and angsty essence of their past through the tribal ‘Back _ Forth’ and closer ‘Witchcraft Pt. II’.

A record that feels very much like a side-step, ‘Me vs Myself’ contains little of the soul-searching that the title suggests.

The album is littered with so many clunky lines and cliched conspiracy talk it almost becomes laughable, but the main problem is with the narrative itself which makes next to no sense at all.... Luckily, a good sizeable chunk of this album is good enough to stand alone, stripped of the high-minded concepts.

The lyrics can spill into the realm of over-earnestness at points, but overall this is slick and dancefloor-ready.

A notable and accessible triumph.

While they felt the need to force the issue, beneath those jarring, incongruous riffs lies some rock ‘n’ roll of the purest kind.

Hard to fault but not the progress we hoped for.

It's got a sweet, easy intimacy.

Maybe he (and it will be a he) should approach ÷ with more of an open mind, because it’s packed full of tunes that have an undeniable quality and mark the point where Ed Sheeran goes truly stratospheric. It’s less ÷, more conquer.

Although this album does replicate almost everything they’ve created it has that sense of maturity about it, showing that over the sixteen years they’ve moved on from their rebellious teen stage.

Of course groups should look to change and evolve, but this is solipsism at its worst.

Dark Sky, three shape-shifting bass heads from London, have turned in a belter of a debut album.

Emerging from a phase of growing pains and fitting perfectly into the mould of an awe- inspiring frontwoman, Baron-Gracie lays bare everything from depression and darkness to clarity and optimism with her mature songwriting.

Punchy, peppy, and undeniably positive, ‘Keep On Smiling’ is an exuberant and life-affirming ambitious album that demonstrates that if in doubt, you have to choose happiness.

One for the fanatical only.

Rag ‘n’ Bone Man has returned with a fine new album that allows fans to fall in love again.

Although this is his first foray proper into the medium of electronic music, it's a masterful accomplishment.

There's still not enough testosterone on display for it to count as one of their very best, but it's not half bad.

Taking their time means the album has a thoughtfulness and maturity about it that is often missing from debuts.

An impressive debut.

The highlights on this project are the glimpses of musical experimentation, but unfortunately the album doesn’t have enough of these to really shine.

Imbued with a rupturing rave-punk sensibility.

This album might satiate the seasoned Kasabian fan, but for anyone else it just comes across as the dated output of false prophets.

This album might not carry the sub-woof weight of its predecessor but it carries the icy menace of producers at the peak of their powers. Cooler than a liquid nitrogen drip.

While this fifth album contains icier, rather Fever Ray inspired electronic soundscapes, frontman Paul Smith’s eccentric tales of nocturnal sports and deceased poets are mostly backed by the angular pop production fans of this band have come to expect.

A work of subtle progression, its evangelical appeal is dimmed by the familiarity of those colossal singles. As fuel for the continuation of Justin Bieber’s mission, however, there’s much here to reaffirm your faith.

A deeply mixed return, then, and perhaps not advisable as your first entry point to his solo work. We all know that Ian Brown can make waves; today he has chosen to make Ripples.

Admittedly it’s hardly a new approach of lyricism, but when something classic is done well it’s hard to discredit.

‘Funeral’ is a mixed bag, and feels more like 24 tracks Lil Wayne had lying around than a coherent project. It’s a shame, because there’s a very good album somewhere in the 24 tracks on offer, but it’s weighed down by a lot of filler.

It’s a functional entry in Chlöe’s already-impressive pantheon of works. Here’s hoping this release frees her up to lean more zealously into her production quirks when the next solo experiment beckons.

This sense of rejuvenation is somewhat stunted by the inclusion of some Fratellis standards. The results range from the exhilarating 'Baby Don't You Lie To Me!' to the tediously dull plod of 'Rosanna'.

[Here shows] a true progression without losing any of the magic that made their first album such a breath of fresh air. Simply superb.

It's very much a 'if it ain't broke' album and, for now, that's okay.

There are Pixies fans that would have preferred another ‘Doolittle’ instead, but Indie Cindy isn’t bad, not bad at all.

At times the new record sounds utterly sublime, particularly on a sweeping opening trio of lead single ‘Another Youth’, ‘Difference’, and the career-highlight drive of ‘Drowsy’, and though there’s the occasional hint of MOR, for the most part the group stay well clear of being ordinary.

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

One wonders if the venture should have reached out to the band's full catalogue, but it remains an adventurous extension for those who hold them dear.

The only reasonable offering on 'How Does It Feel' is the multi-layered and kaleidoscopic lead single, 'Painted'. Elsewhere, it's the kind of standard by-the-numbers electro-pop that's likely to soundtrack your next visit to the local department store.

Armed with rich, booming backdrops, live analogue beats and rising string flourishes, she works the ever-awkward business of injecting nods to the sensitive and self-referential expertly, her words coming across more contemplative than indulgently pious... A solid return.

This album unfortunately lacks the depth of both the Mediterranean and the Pacific.

At times frustrating, ‘The Last Slimeto’ is never less than entertaining. A bracing, defiant gesture, it finds NBA YoungBoy embracing freedom with both hands.

This new album, then, is the perfect piece of fan service. It’s Aubrey on the mic, 21 Savage in full flow. The roll out – which pirated a Tiny Desk session and copied a Vogue cover – was pitch perfect, two artists subverting the expectations placed on them...It’s a shame, then, that ‘Her Loss’ often feels entirely predictable. The foes that punctuate their bars are well-worn – less talented adversaries trying to gain clout; love interests who leech on their wealth and prestige – and while it’s nice to hear Drake unleashed, at times 21 Savage can feel like a passenger.

The bottom line: if you're looking for an intelligent summer record then hit download immediately.

Unlike the release of his second studio album, KIRK released last year, a major fraction of 'Blame It On Baby' lacks effort and even originality.

Love is where the album falls short of delivering--containing most of the pre-release singles and the mainstream Clean Bandit collaboration ‘Baby’--there are few moments where it feels like the signature Marina. ... The Fear half of the album is riddled with concern and confusion about life itself and the darker emotions that come with it. Opener ‘Believe In Love’ sits near the top of Marina’s most captivating songs.

At worst, it’s forgettable--at others, it’s actually annoying in its repetition.

‘Cyr’ is, of course, far too long and more pretentious than a Met Gala soiree, but the innate contradiction between the essence of The Smashing Pumpkins and the music they have decided to make does keep the listener engaged for much longer than it has any right to.

As a primer, it's pretty effective and the performances are occasionally absorbing, but it's hard to imagine anyone other than the most ardent completist getting excited about it.

On the whole Encyclopedia is a bit of a misanthropic drag.

As always the songs veer wildly from ambient interludes, funky Beta Band-esque workouts to fierce garage rockers. Looking at the material here though, they remain a band to be reckoned with. Their lo-fi, experimental psych rock is as potent as ever with Newcombe a character to be cherished.

The tricky second album phase has been completed and it’s an excellent product. The future’s bright.

It's a shame, then, that these creations occasionally meander into somewhat monotonous territories.

A blunt genre deserves a blunt assessment so, for what it's worth: in reflecting his mixtape interests, Brodinksi is well on his way to mastering one of the year's most disposable albums.

There's a great Rick Ross album in here somewhere. If only the boss had abstained from some of his extravagant habits and used his editing sheers more cuttingly.

This carefully constructed and cohesive record really is a big deal.

It’s difficult to judge the real comedic value of The Foregone Conclusion when so much of David Brent hilarity is in physical (not so) subtleties. But when you take it for what it is: an in-joke taken out of its context and out of its comfort zone, it feels pretty triumphant.

This is a musician who has simply absorbed a broad set of musical styles through a massively eclectic listening palette, and who sees no issue in crunching that together in one tidy little album. Embrace the chaos. You'll feel better for it.