More Transworld Sport than Chariots Of Fire.

Considering the lucid, poignant albums to come to fruition from cabin writing retreats (Bon Iver’s ‘For Emma, Forever Ago’, Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Nebraska’ etc.)--Standards is an album that is almost completely devoid of such clarity and space.

The majority of Grateful is forgettable at best.

Hurts have always been pretty unabashed about their mainstream ambitions, which is fine, but as they explore them further, it becomes easier to strip away the affectations and see them for what they truly are: a cheesy pop band.

Separation is writ large across the themes of Ghost Stories--and knowing what came next in Martin’s personal life, perhaps that was always to be expected. What’s not is just how lifeless so much of this material is, how instantly forgettable these songs are.

Low In High School feels confused, misplaced, and tedious.

There simply isn’t much to latch on to here, and certainly nothing to suggest that Still Corners aren’t completely out of ideas.

One thing is for certain: they've produced a much more pop orientated album. Clash isn't anti-pop, but we are anticheese.

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

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

A chilling example of naked ambition prioritising production style over songwriting substance.

It's identikit jangle so packed with perfectly poised personality that I find it hard to take it even vaguely seriously.

The songs are trite punk workouts without any real imagination and, whilst there's a reasonable amount of endeavour and vigour, they're unlikely to raise anything other than idle curiosity amongst the curious idle.

There are some surprising hooks amongst predominantly ugly arrangements, and its ambition is admirable, but Plowing… proves woefully lacking in coherency, and fails as its makers’ next evolution.

Feels curiously unfocussed, and lacking in purpose.

Major Lazer’s best songs have always acted as overstimulating sugar-rushes - but the formula that was once fresh and boundary-pushing for mainstream pop now sounds outdated.

The Dreaming Room is an enormously frustrating record, as Mvula clearly has it in her to be an incredible artist. But at this point in her career, she remains a orchestra in need of a conductor.

At its best, Roaring 20s is clumsy and awkward. At its worst, it’s hectoring and condescending.

[An] offensively dull record.

Enter Shikari have the tools and drive to create something potentially mind-blowing, it’s just that they fell well short of the mark on this occasion.

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.

Most of Welcome Reality is so in your face and predictable it feels like the musical equivalent of a Michael Bay movie: loud, crass, periodically fun, but ultimately forgettable.

It’s not that Nihilistic Glamour Shots is some objectively terrible record, but it’s certainly not a great one. The music isn’t minimal, it’s mundane, a songwriting stodge that seems content to play in its own filth.

The first half of the album is particularly monotonous, with the one-man band fervently spewing similar hooks that show very little dynamism and only serve a purpose to maintain a foot tapping rhythm.

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

Unfocused, inconsistent and underwhelming, The Heavy Entertainment Show is homogenised pop at its most stupefying.

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.

Moments of the Jacknife Lee-produced album are assured--Gary Lightbody over-emotes particularly well on the maudlin "Life-ning" and "The Symphony" is rightfully pompous--but the uneasy truth is that Snow Patrol are merely background dinner party music for accountants.