With shades of Tool and Aereogramme, but mainly its own beast, Polaris is pure confidence converted into sound.

If all the album achieves is to serve as a playful reminder of the ramshackle brilliance of Stinson’s old band, so be it. But it deserves better. It’s joyous. And Paul Westerberg is nowhere to be seen.

Randolph's evocative pedal steel soars reliably as his assured vocal attains new peaks of emotive character. [Sep 2019, p.87]

High Water II isn't The Southern Harmony And Musical Companion, but it might just be By Your Side. In the absence of anything else, we'll take it. [Nov 2019, p.85]

Kasabian's USP has always been a cocky straddling of indie rock and rave. It's a shame they pretty much discard it here. [Aug 2022, p.68]

This album will leave you so wobbly and weak-kneed, you might have to take a few days off work to recover. Headphone melter of the year so far, for sure.

Where Is The Water twists and meanders hazily before shifting into gear with a riff from the Jack White school of thud, while opener Needles is excitable garage rock with a stiff, post-punk edge. And over in the kaleidoscopic corner, Wheels Within Wheels flips merrily from one psychedelic landscape to the next and includes a wriggling organ solo that sounds as if it's being squeezed from a tube. All in all, it's quite the adventure. [Dec 2022, p.75]

Sounding refreshed and revitalised. [Jul 2024, p.78]

From Hell I Rise is more than just a retread of past glories. Part of the credit goes to Death Angel singer Mark Osegueda, whose vicious performance consciously avoids referencing Slayer's Tom Araya on the title track and the anti-war Trophies Of The Tyrant. [Jul 2024, p.78]

When Marshall calls himself Madman Butterfly and sings The Presence Of Haman and The End, you’ll wonder why he doesn’t do it more. He may have allowed himself to be overshadowed by his guests, but Marshall is the star here. [Oct 2024, p.77]

Borrell tiptoes his trademark line between the wry and the ridiculous. U Can Call Me is a slice of Bowie-esque sass pop about how much he hates cocaine, Empire Service a slab of buzzsaw rock that argues with itself about what is and is not the ocean. [Nov 2024, p.76]

Merciless - their eighth - doubles down on that solid breakneck thrash metal/hardcore [heard on 2020's Carnivore]. [Dec 2024, p.76]

This baffling mixture of the anarchy and the ecstasy takes some pulling off but the quartet has perfected the alchemical reaction. [Nov 2014, p.96]

Wild, erratic and out for adventure, your mother warned you not to hang out with albums like this.

Opener Finally Free is the instant crowd pleaser, but slow-burners Diamond Girl and Pink Snow find them in ambitious new album rock territory. [Jun 2015, p.89]

There are many less rewarding experiences than hearing Springsteen thirstily sing his favourite songs, but there’s a sense here that all concerned hope it would catch fire and amount to something more. [Dec 2022, p.76]

Nothing here is as good as their Sweet Jane, but it'll do. [May 2022, p.87]

His love for the music shines throughout. [Apr 2023, p.75]

This white-hot furnace of a black-rock milestone shows Living Colour more scathingly relevant (and desperately needed) than ever.

It’s a bold, bombastic rock album that really chimes with our troubled times. Alter Bridge got issues, and that’s a good thing.

There's enough here that's new to renew your love of Hendrix. Yes, there's blood in the stone yet. [Apr 2013, p.94]

For all the vein-bulging intensity--which reaches heroic levels on standout The River--you're left with the sense that Gallagher remains a great singer short on top notch material. [Nov 2019, p.81]

While there's nothing here that will alienate fans or frighten the horses, there's no denying the power of songs like the crashing "Brave This Storm" or the rattling "Strife." [Nov 2013, p.93]

Watford's finest are still very much the real deal. [May 2015, p.103]

Avenged Sevenfold have lost any previous limitations and inhibitions, and they’ve crafted a landmark metal album.

The woman's on fire. [Jun 2025, p.70]

Some reasonably good live music (Elephant’s Memory bring to Lennon’s music a bluesy heaviness that sometimes suits it and sometimes doesn’t), some intriguing demos (arguably the best material here, whether it be rare Lennon originals or decent rock’n’roll covers) and most of Some Time In New York City, an album that suffers from: a) being terrible, especially The Luck Of The Irish, a song that makes Ed Sheeran’s Galway Girl sound like The Chieftains), and b) the omission of its one great song, whose title means it has been excised from the album. One for the history buffs. [Nov 2025, p.84]

Their 1997 self-titled release marked their effective rebirth, signalling the end of that period when they used outside writers and became themselves again. But no album since has had quite the consistency and urgency of this, their 17th studio record. Bang Zoom Crazy... Hello.