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.