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.