While ‘PANORAMA’ at times feels repetitive, there’s certainly moments that smoulder with passion, sparkling with Kiyoko’s signature charm.

Loaded with fan-focused extras, this three-disc box set comes with all the extra demos, b-sides and alternate versions you could ever need. If anything, it’s a timely reminder of just how many tunes Oasis had at their disposal. A salute, then, to great times gone by.

The vocals of singer Sarah P take At Home to an altogether more ethereal plane.

What results is an impressive set of dark dance music that plays equally well at closing time or through your headphones at night.

Stereophonics don’t have the lyrical potency of their earlier incarnation, often erring on the side of grand generalisation--as is the way when you have to appeal to enough people to fill your next arena tour. But frontman Kelly Jones has got one of the damn finest voices in rock ‘n’ roll, and that’s surely worth the price of admission in itself.

It feels as though experimentation was at the centre of this record, with digital soundbites and electronic instruments at the forefront of many of the tunes, yet still beautifully intertwined with the traditional line up.

Overall, No 6 Collaborations Project is an eclectic mix of songs, some familiar, some forgotten after the first listen and some deeply impactful.

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.

Though Emerging Adulthood does push Croll far out of his personal comfort zone to a certain extent, it does feel like he could go further with the complexity. Nevertheless his musicianship is undeniable, as each and every instrument on the record is played by himself.

'Electra heart' is an ingloriously languid statement of Marina's demise, the final stamp of disapproval on her flailing excuse of a musical career.

Dark, deluded and dangerously danceable, Paris Suit Yourself are the inspiration for wild dance floor seizures, or, at the very least, lucid gonzo dreams.

the way Technology compromises on solid songwriting in favour of material that’ll evoke carnage in a live setting is detrimental to the album as a whole.

While there’s nothing really here to ignite a flame of revolution, or indeed get fists in the air to be honest, Peace Trail sees Young doing what comes naturally, soundtracking tumultuous times with some confident and easy songwriting.

Easy to absorb musically and easy to ignore lyrically, Loud Like Love is 50 minutes of simply okay alt-rock.

The Time Is Now hangs together relatively well, and achieves what it sets out to do.

Why You So Crazy? is a mixed bag, but the scales are tipped too far towards the underwhelming. Too much is poorly executed and feels incomplete, with an air of self-indulgence.

Their commercial star has long since waned, but there is enough here to suggest that Gomez's creative light still flickers on.

The production is an expertly judged combination of radio-friendly pop and club-influenced, sparse trap beats. Iggy’s the real deal.

Whilst still channelling her pop song writing tendencies, there is a distinct sense of emotional depth at the heart of ‘Bouquet’, which feels as though it finds Gwen Stefani at the peak of her songwriting craft.

A quirky and sincere collection.

Undoubtedly this is a record which grips you, taking you on a journey and making you unwittingly invest all of your emotions just from one simple press of a button.

These 11 songs display the underrated skills of a multi-faceted musician taking a series of bold and brave steps forward – fortunately, they pay off in droves.

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

This first true-solo effort sees the man responsible for some of rock's most iconic riffery joining forces with the friends he met on the way (including The Cult's Ian Astbury, Lemmy and Iggy Pop) and is a rocking riot from the off.

Feels curiously unfocussed, and lacking in purpose.

‘How Do You Sleep At Night?’ is a solid debut, a multifaceted foundation that Teezo Touchdown is sure to spring from. The record boasts some great production and a genre-less style that for some may lack cohesion, but on a debut record like this it allows Teezo to follow any sonic path he desires in the future.

‘Iceman’ is at its most interesting when exploring these conditions and vulnerabilities, but all too often Drake relies on tropes from previous albums to get him over the line, when he should have been trying to burst through the tape.

The problem, however, is that the record suffers from a lack of variety and an overkill of nostalgia, while of a raft of identikit, if solid, guest vocalists it’s only Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor who really stands out.

MSTRKRFT themselves have quit trying to mask anything about their sound or approach, electing instead to deliver the turbo-aggressive noise record they’ve always threatened to make.

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

This awareness of his public perception seems to dominate the album, even in the tracks that don’t outright address it. As a result, the overall mood is far less authentic.

For all its best intentions, Man of the Woods often feels rushed, occasionally underproduced and at times, unfinished. Lacking the effortless polish of previous releases, it troughs more than peaks and ends up floundering in its own ambition.

Overall, Head Above Water is a collection of eclectic tracks and done well this could make for an element of surprise that keeps your ears perked in anticipation. Here, however, it makes for sonic inconsistencies that leaves you dissatisfied, wanting the bigger and better things that Avril is definitely capable of.

A record that feels both eclectic and uniquely defined, ‘WHAM’ packs huge amount of detail into its 15-track, 41-minute run. The neo-hallucinogenic production flourishes of ‘Free Promo’ show his studio control, but the roll call of features – GloRilla, Rod Wave, an electric Travis Scott – illustrate the respect Lil Baby is afforded by his peers.

In short, on Hymns there’s something close to an excellent EP in amongst some of the very worst things ever to bear the Bloc Party name.

Nathan Willett digs deep into fractured relationships for inspiration and the resultant openness, coupled with King's deft nurturing of Willett's soul-searching, has created the finest Cold War Kids album yet.

BDL Bipolar will give Narstie’s fanbase plenty to enjoy, and while the juxtaposition of staid instrumentals with subversive lyrics is jarring, he remains a gifted MC, worth hearing out.

Candy’s uncompromising approach has been a breath of fresh air when providing guest verses in the past, but a whole album of pornographic paeans will leave you feeling limp.

Granted space once more to create his own world, ‘Set The Tone’ is an enjoyable addition to one of rap’s core catalogues.

The Great Escape Artist is one-paced, bloodless, and frequently blighted by Dave Navarro's ersatz Edge-isms.

Tom Walker’s debut is a perfect representation of him--cheerful, genuine, heartfelt and talented, and as the final notes of his much-awaited record grace your ears, it definitely seems like it’s a great time to be alive.

The whole exercise seems so carefully crafted and desperately needy that any joy found within The Weight Of Your Love wears off the more you play it.

It's not completely unfair to say that Déjà Vu won't be joining the pantheon of great albums any time soon.

Heartfelt and compelling, with Jones nurturing every last drop of creative sweat, Until Spring is a romantically epic album, lovingly pieced together by a compelling band.

Surprising and satisfying, we'll even try to forgive the spoken word interlude.

Cells brings a sense of immediacy and creativity to a genre long neglected by the mainstream dubstep epidemic.

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.

The first 11 tracks are an exhilarating dip into some of J. Cole’s core tropes, a finessed exploration of where US rap is situated in 2024. .... Stylistically the production [on"7 Minute Drill"] is slightly out-of-step with the tape as a whole, but it taps into some of the project’s over-arching themes – self-worth, separating talent from hype – and feels more ingrained, really, than Kendrick’s own bars on the hit ‘n’ miss Metro Boomin and Future tape.

‘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.

[An] offensively dull record.

A very listenable experience, as no tracks outstay their welcome.

It’s all very pretty sounding on paper, but in reality lazily produced and poorly written.

Whilst it is undeniably their most experimental work, the record listens like an audio representation of Theresa May’s awkward robot-like dancing--confused, cringingly uncomfortable and desperately out of touch.

‘Faith’ succeeds by offering not ony an elegiac portrait of Pop Smoke, but also a vision of what he could have become.

On first listen, this isn’t his certified rap classic but it does signal a turning point. Now, if only Drake could could distill the best parts of his repertoire into a coherent whole.

With a 19-track span and a colossal guest cast, not everything on ‘BLOCKBUSTA’ lands. There’s a feeling sometimes that these collaborations were done separately and then spliced together, with some moments lacking cohesion, or a sense of chemistry. ‘HOMAGE’ with Kodak Black feels flat, for example, while the record’s eclecticism prevents ‘BLOCKBUSTA’ from truly coalescing. That said, there are moments of real bravery.

To account for the offensively retrospective nature of this trawl of commonplace dance-floor garbage (we're talking Coldplay, Candi Staton and Justice), I must assume, first, that they spent the last two years in a timewarp somewhere between 1993 and 2006. And secondly, that they spent this time in trashy commercial nightclubs, where glowsticks never die, dancefloors rotate and there's a price reduction for hen parties.

Partly because it's so painfully eager to please. Sonorous sermons that really should hit home--delivered in an unseasoned multilingual mishmash of tongues (Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, English)--are unflattered by the ersatz backdrop of cheesy latin pop, dire orchestral muzak and (heavens preserve us) Meat Loaf-esque '70s prog.

More Transworld Sport than Chariots Of Fire.

While there’s nothing particularly original or ground-breaking about this debut, CATB is a band that’s mastered the art of writing tunes that connect with an audience, and at a time when commercial rock is, apparently, at a particularly low ebb, that could serve them very well.

Whilst openly influenced by the past, an album that bears the capacity to pioneer into the future--eloquent and elegant.

So, whilst ‘Animal’ endangered no creative boundaries, there’s no denying that autoKratz track the footsteps of their predecessors with great panache.

‘Everything I Thought It Was’ can sometimes be forgettable across its 18-track largesse, while thematically it feels bunched around a cluster of feelings.

As his flow goes off at a regular double time that his chart-scaling peers can only dislocate their jaws for, Dizzee’s personality shrinks into a tediously shallow pool of female ogling, obeying your thirst and his latest holiday snaps.

It feels like a personal journey through the past on his part, and a genuine tribute from those who've contributed.

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.

‘Come Home The Kids Miss You’ illustrates that he’s not quite there yet, but he’s certainly Justified.

The unerringly loyal will find enough here to sate a hunger for anthemic bobbins drenched in atmospheric production, but there’s little to match the handful of magical songs for which he is known.

PJ Geissinger boosts his refinement, despite not being a slave to technicality, with no surrendering of dancefloor rawness.

It doesn’t reach the heights of ‘III’ but probably crests ‘V’. His best work in a decade? A living legend re-asserts his worth, as if any reminder were needed.

This latest offering is meandering chirpy slobber that sounds more boy band than ever.

Flimsy and unfulfilling, ‘Love Is Like’ stumbles to a halt with the crooning ‘My Love’ and insubstantial ‘California’.

Heartfelt, impassioned and sincere, Mona are reaching for the skies--and taking you with them!

Represents some of Jack’s most entrancing to date. A complete 180 from ‘Jackman.’, it feels like a true passion project, while never being indulgent.

44/876 is like a hilarious fever dream somehow brought to life. Not entirely awful.

Ultimately, for those who find Travis Scott’s work to be style over substance, ‘JackBoys 2’ isn’t going to win them over. For those in thrall to the style, however, there’s much to chew on.

Moments of quaint inspiration and insight are few and far between. In the mire of an album experience intended to present Bieber as spirited and multi-dimensional, you instead get an artist spread thin; anonymous, distant, too often bloviating across a bloated runtime.

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.

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.

The three-year hiatus has been worth the largely triumphant return.

Kodaline illustrate all the ingredients for greatness, with many a swooning chorus to invoke a thousand festival lighters held aloft.

‘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.

Part of the problem is that Diplo has never done subtlety. He’s in his element when blasting vuvuzelas onstage, working with cliff-edge drops and acres of bass frequencies. Out on the open plains of songwriting he often feels lost, resulting in some startling lyrical simplicity.

It's not truly terrible, but it does feel akin to a musical version of King Kong Vs. Godzilla, two monsters decimating everything in their path until there's nothing left, except the back catalogues.

Green is never going to be a gritty rapper--but even taken as a straight-up pop-rap record, Growing Up In Public is disappointingly tame.

A record of fireworks, but few surprises. The songs kept succinct, punchy, and direct; there’s no house production about-turns, no moments of revelation, just sheer, unadulterated Khaled. It’s like being strapped in to a rollercoaster – at points its exhilarating, at others terrifying, and by the end you’re eager for it to be over.

An often-insubstantial record, ‘Based On A True Story’ doesn’t offer much beyond surface. If Will Smith wanted to get his feelings down on tape, this album doesn’t come close; what emerges is instead a flailing, futile gesture.

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.

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.

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

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.

‘TM’ feels like a classic BROCKHAMPTON record. Immaculate production, genre shapeshifting, and some of the cleanest verses from the group in quite some time. There’s no filler on the record either – just eleven tracks of pure BH instant classics.