Nearly twenty years on from Suede's debut and he sounds pretty much unchanged.

Aside from a few big hitters, Wonderful Wonderful has too many middle-of-the-road moments. ‘Life Itself’, ‘The Rut’, and ‘Have All The Songs Been Written’ are barely distinguishable, and instantly forgettable.

In these trying times, it’d benefit from being a whole lot more confrontational.

The dirges are ditched, yet the previous elements they made their name with are overdone.

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

RJD2 has made a bold statement with Dame Fortune but sadly one lacking in much resonance.

The plethora of guest vocalists (J'Danna, BIXBY, Okmalumkoolkat, Heavy D. & the Boyz) means things stay relatively fresh, but more often than not, it's not enough.

EX will neither enliven classicists nor win new fans. We need challenged by this artist, who normally thrives on doing exactly that.

The act of combining musical stylings that range from African tribal beats through to Talking Heads inspired synth pop, with lyrics that seek to overcome a divisive social culture is an intention nothing short of universal. It’s just in the execution where he falls short, leaving little to the imagination of the listeners on an album that strikes a rather predictable tone.

Continual evolutions has pushed them away from their roots, feeling less like a band and more like a committee, marking out different strategies without truly owning one themselves.

While it has it moments, Sheezus is largely devoid of Allen’s pragmatic charm of 10 years ago.

With Polar Bear being fully paid-up jazzers, there's more of an understanding and utilisation of dynamics, which add to the pervading mood, yet the overall feeling is one of ennui.

Meteorites is the sound of a once-great band bursting into flames on re-entry.

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.

It’s a dispiriting affair--a mishmash of glam rock, lad rock and heavier indie rock that fails to ignite.

‘7 Piano Sketches’ feels slight – a bookmark, rather than a tome.

It's all pleasant enough, but is clearly trying to be something it isn't, coming off rather shallow and lightweight as a result.

Eight songs, many of which feel too long; recorded in eight cities that don’t really leave their unique mark on the sonic side of the experience; each with a guest who is, at best, an apparition dancing in the shadows of the spot-lit stars; yielding eight largely forgettable arrangements that won’t make a dent on any fan’s all-time top 10.

A brash dose of colour for a drab post-Millennial pop scene, she was the bulldozer through the critics doors. On ‘143’ however, there’s a feeling that the world has moved on – with Chappell Roan’s tour sparking Beatlemania-esque scenes of adoration and Sabrina Carpenter maintaining a stranglehold on the charts, you struggle to see where this playful yet unsatisfying record fits into pop’s firmament.

On first listen, ‘$ome $sexy $ongs 4 U’ isn’t terrible, but it equally isn’t a vintage release for either artist. PartyNextDoor has undoubtedly released stronger material, and the pair’s regular duets have reached loftier peaks than these.

‘42.26’ - unmasked as the previously released ‘Feels Like Summer’ - and ‘47.48’ (which features his son Legend Glover) are the only other enjoyable tracks on the project. The other songs seem to fade and ultimately becomes background noise with no proper substance compared to Donald Glover’s other projects. Lacking the strong narrative thrust so apparent on his past albums, the project is incredibly disappointing.

It all feels a little weary and, whilst there's clear commitment and execution, the material suddenly sounds oh so dated.

At best a fiery evocation of the electronic elements that team thrive on, ‘Paradise Again’ isn’t hell-on-Earth, but it doesn’t leave you enraptured.

Hemmed in by their own ambitions, ‘The Battle At Heaven’s Gate’ is an oddly contradictory experience, one that finds Greta Van Fleet truckin’ on up a one way street.

Move Through The Dawn is an album sadly bereft of impact, from its lacklustre cover onwards.

Every Now And Then takes the form of a transcendental equivalent of the longest summer. Wavelengths stretch leaving you feeling worked over, fatigued and ready for a taste of something new.

Aside from spotty traces of Parker’s genius, at no point does the album elicit any passion since there’s really nothing on there that makes you want to own a copy of it on vinyl or witness the tracklist live.

As a whole the LP’s similar tempos and approach cause the whole thing to float by like a long-lost memory, nice when you’ve clasped on to it but soon it’ll be running through your fingers and out of sight.

Lighting Matches isn’t a bad album, but sadly it doesn't excel either.

For all its crystallised pop production, ’Ricky Music’, can’t help but feel flat. More concerned with evoking a feeling and mood rather than say anything explicit about the sadness, confusion and joy that Maine has experienced in the creation of the record beyond broad stereotypes of sadness.

At times pretty, at others curiously appealing, ‘AIR’ is more-often-than-not simply boring, ca selection of mood music that fills up space without every truly saying anything.

Additions such as Kash Doll and Juicy J are perfect on paper, but beyond justifying their individual presence in the rap realm, do little to save a project which unfortunately suffers from the sophomore slump.

With a low-fi high-five feel, The Black Keys appear to gentrify the rock’n’roll rodeo with an album of carefully poised tunes adhering to the rock-pop formula they spent their golden years trying to avoid.

This is cheap theatrics masquerading as inspired art.

O’Connell colours firmly between the lines. His ideas do not stray beyond the conventions you’d expect for each singer-songwriter outfit he puts on from song to song.

His camp fire ramblings and angry rants soon become tiresome with much of Turner's fourth album feeling like material he has trod before.

Kaiser Chiefs fall further into the abyss of bands that have little new to offer in a current musical climate where progression is more closely measured than ever.

In their bid to capture the essence of their bluesy, garage rock, Cage the Elephant have effectively managed to lose the quirky personality they once had, and whilst Tell Me I'm Pretty is far from a homogeneous record, the tracks do have a tendency to bleed into one another, particularly on repeat listens.

Tracks like ‘Overflow’ and ‘Stained’ are the album’s most impressive. They fuse electronica and rock with genuine elegance, in a way that feels contemporary and, to a certain degree, even cutting-edge. .... Few other tracks catch fire in the same manner, however.

Ultimately ‘Fighting Demons’ works almost as a tribute record, gathering fragments of his undoubted genius. Whether it’s a true Juice WRLD album, though, is another matter.

In aping the sounds that made early rave great--hardcore, breaks and hard house--Vibert has sucked the soul from the genre leaving just a smattering of style. If this is an ode to rave, then it is a hollow one.

Over-produced but under-written, the combined cast of co-writers and producers have failed to knit together a cohesive whole. Plenty of these songs are pleasant enough, but there’s very little to mark an artist in their prime.

‘Music Of The Spheres’ is never less than listenable, but rarely raises the pulse.

The spark of unpredictability that defined his previous records is sadly lacking.

World Of Joy, ultimately, is impounded by its own musical influences.

This album captures an occasionally combustible but largely uncomfortable sound of a previously fearless and pioneering band caught in a crisis of confidence, overriding their own musical instincts to pursue an idealised version of themselves they picture in their own heads.

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.

Even an all-star cast can't save Caracal from its restrained atmosphere and overly polished production

Too much of Neontwang feels slight, as if the band is still beset by identity issues, still confused by the prospect of what they could be. The transition, then, is still under way. When it works, Neontwang is a worthy return, the sound of a band taking risks in ways their detractors could never fathom.

We really want to like Lantern for its originality; its bravery and its attempt to grasp a genuine uninhibited euphoria that isn't easy pull off. Sadly it just misses the mark way too often and leaves you with fleeting glimpses of what could have been a very exciting album.

In general Sirens is listenable and catchy, only it plays to an unexciting scene that is largely turning (like the victims of a Gorgon themselves) stagnant.

The brazen flows of Dagenham spitter, Devlin, shown on this outing don’t quite translate to the forced templates they lay on, meaning that the formula needs working.

Neither one thing or another, the lack of definition on the project results in something quietly rebellious, but curiously unsatisfying.

The main problem with ‘Changes’ is that it isn’t exciting or dynamic and suffers from dragging in places. Part of this is down to the lack of variation on the album.

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.

It’s a fairly middle-of-the-road indie record. It could do with a little more depth, a little more humanity.

It’s the ninth studio album to bear the Pumpkins brand, and probably the seventh that wouldn’t find a single track making most fans’ side-of-a-C90 best-of. But it delivers what it promises: songs by Billy Corgan that sound enough like the ones you recall loving as a teenager.

If anything, however, new album ‘Faith In The Future’ is simply too nice. The songwriting is sturdy and well-formed, leaning on his indie roots – you can hear ghosts of the Gallaghers, whispers of Chris Martin – without ever truly channelling something dangerous, or edgy. ... It just doesn’t raise the pulse, or quicken the blood-flow in a way you might long for.

9 Dead Alive demonstrates amazing talent, then--but the ideas and theme, as a whole, are a bit samey.

The darker, lilting tones of Oreja De Arena work better, but this album still sounds confused. As a result, its overall impact is diminished.

Serious though he may intend to be, through the combination of Williamson’s Mr. Angry rants and Andrew Fearn’s tinny keyboards, Sleaford Mods do have a tendency to sound like a bit of a novelty.

‘Under My Influence’ is a bold undertaking, but, at times, it feels unfinished. While many singles and supplementary songs showcase the band’s talent, much of the record weighs in as forgettable filler sounds that take some time in getting accustomed to.

Although the material demonstrates Vek’s undoubted talent, Luck can’t quite match our hopes--or, indeed, the quality of its predecessors.

What's frustrating is that it's too damn enjoyable and not quite derivative enough to actively hate.

The outer edges of this album are impressive, but why couldn’t they penetrate the main parts of these songs and this album more? Instead, they are eye-opening but ultimately useless ideas that must make way for the dry 808 beats we’re all too familiar with.

‘What Happened To The Streets?’ provides more questions than answers, and beneath the brash moments leaves you wondering about the rapper’s longevity.

It's a record which feels like a grower but never manages to click.

Other than final track ‘A Certain Spirit’, the clearest crossover of irked techno and David Byrne-d, samba deconstruction, the melting pot (remember those aforementioned ingredients) that has gestated for five years ends up being served cold as gazpacho.

The punchy ‘Drink N Dance’ utilises ominous 80s synths, while ‘This Sunday’ is potent, and atmospheric. ‘Gracious’ is carefully finessed, more evidence of the duo’s world-building techniques. That said, though, there’s a huge amount here that simply passes you by. ‘Always Be My Fault’ is meandering, lacking structure, while songs like ‘Luv Bad Bitches’ and ‘Mile High Memories’ lack substance.

While ‘Eternal Atake 2’ may be content to live in 2020, the rest of the rap world has moved on. Although far from terrible, ‘Eternal Atake 2’ seems to exhibit more signs of the Lil Uzi Vert tail-off – the quality control has dimmed, and the sense of direction exhibited on their early work has waned.

Whilst for the most part this jam-session approach results in captivating instrumentals and intriguing points of sonic experimentation, at times it can become rather muddled, confusing and drawn-out.

The mask of the brooding troubadour doesn’t quite fit: the LP is marred by below-par, uninspired vocals and rudimentary lyrics.

Most of the tracks’ narratives are undecipherable and consistently scatterbrained. Not to mention that the panoramic mixing of the guitars, while being a band trademark, make it difficult to focus on more than one aspect of a song at a time.

Even if the laid-back and relaxed atmospherics are endearing, there’s plenty of room to push the musical perimeters which the London duo fail to take advantage of.

It's nice to start off with but swiftly becoming a tad wet and ultimately a touch cloying.

While it does knock out some definite singalongs, sprinkling in some fun hooks and catchy structures, there is something missing beneath the veneer of theatricality. This is an album that hints at complexity, but it is inevitably overshadowed by Urie’s one-man-show.

This record sounds like every catchy guitar song you've ever heard.

With its sharply defined highs and curiously odd misses, there’s more than enough here for dedicated fans to sift through, to extrapolate new shades of Springsteen from. For the rest of us, though, there isn’t quite enough to hold our attention.

Lyrics like “I’ll stay young to be saved” (‘Be A Kid’) come across as self-indulgent and frontman Sam McTrusty’s reedy vocals get lost in menacing tracks like ‘I Am An Animal’.

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.

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.

The moments of nu-disco are superb, yet are weighed down by the sometimes-cringey segments of auto-crooning.

An album that is often slight, and occasionally cartoonish. There’s a lingering feeling that not only can UK rap do a lot better, but so can Aitch.

‘ADL’ feels samey at times. .... A rich seam for fans to explore, but ultimately this is a widescreen blockbuster that is big on stunning vistas, and short on plot.

While elements of ‘Every Shade of Blue’ may struggle to cut through its over-ambitious production value, the album is bound to translate well on the big stage regardless.

Sadly, this lack of innovation seriously dampens those moments of electronic beauty.

Darlings is a concrete mixer full of ideas, although it’s tricky to pinpoint if Drew’s actually laid the foundations of a decent record.

Some moments are impressive, like the eight-minute epic of a title track ‘Take Me Back To Eden’, which sprawls and writhes between textures and knows just when to spotlight frontman Vessel’s holy outpourings. ... But the issue is, this opus comes over an hour into the album, and follows a number of lengthy tracks that seem to be trying to do the same thing, but less successfully.

The over-riding impression is that this is a tired, conservative and weirdly insular album.

Foreverland embraces the clichés and largely follows a formula. Certain subject matter and song titles perpetuate a particular illusion and the middle of the road radio play has trickled in according to plan.

Longevity is often characterised by reinvention in music, yet The Ride stalls in its attempted inventiveness, instead finding success in its most pared down and familiar moments.

[Patience] boasts several colourless, uninspired tracks.

On occasion, the record feels quite lazy in its lyrical direction and yet too direct, falling into moments of cringe rather than what could have been perceived as powerful and fun.

It's not always pleasant, but in a funny way, it's quite compelling.

These 10 tracks continually buckle under the weight of Flowers' torrid lyrics, mind-numbing cliches, and woefully derivative song structures.

‘The Death Of Slim Shady (Coup de Grace)’ doesn’t quite feel like an ending, but neither does it feel like a continuation. A mixed, often muddled album, it features some of Eminem’s best rapping in a decade – those fast, skippy-yet-intricate flows will never fail to thrill – but his pen is often blunted. It’s at once an effective piece of fan service, while also being a record that disappoints.

It’s obviously understandable to attempt to capitalise upon the success of your best-known hit but on This Is Acting, Sia loses sight of what made her such an interesting artist in the first place.

There are sludgy, down-tuned power chords, there are whiny lyrics about how life is constantly unfair (reminder: Korn frontman Jonathan Davis is 45 years old), there is even that vocal tic where Davis sort of cackles like a disturbed demon.