If not already a fan, what would one get out of ‘The Demise of Planet X’ that doesn’t already feature in their back catalogue, beside a few more timely references? Much like the state of the country they wax lyrical about, Sleaford Mods are stuck in a rut.

It’s a mixed bag.

Throughout the album, hidden instrumental flourishes surface with repeat plays, though some stay too buried. Elsewhere, the decadent production swallows her breathy voice (‘The Answer’, ‘Hold Fire’).

We may have seen Taylor on far better songwriting form than with ‘The Life Of A Showgirl’, but perhaps now, more than ever, she is making music for herself over anyone else.

Their fireside intimacy remains consistent throughout, despite candid storytelling, as they ask for respite in response to an intrusive sex dream on ‘Hotel TV’, and endure cyclical break-up-make-up tension on ‘The Actor’. And even in their more minimal arrangements - see ‘Moth Song’ and ‘I’ll Find A Way’ - the group transmute emotion through their harmonic unison.

While ultimately a step forward - most notably, in its introduction of greater lyrical vulnerability and richer sounds most notable - a little more cohesion wouldn’t have gone amiss.

Ultimately, ‘Ripped And Torn’ is a little disappointing - its sounds are solid, refined and rehearsed, but feel relatively misguided, with the band seemingly unable to determine exactly where they’re going.

It is a heady and often confounding listen and, for many, will be too drastic a departure from his normal territory, or too diffuse and hectic a set of ideas. What ‘Song of the Earth’ can’t be faulted for, though, is a lack of ambition.

Without the literary cues being on show, there’s somewhat of a jarring effect as the record staggers between styles; the menacing high-pitched note that pierces the rumbling bass of ‘Holy Bones’ hints at danger, but comes met with an underwhelming chorus.

Given its significant personal story - not to mention its lofty title - ‘Death & Love Pt. 1’ could have been an opportunity for the band to explore meatier topics of mortality and aging; instead, this feels like a frustratingly safe exercise in walking well-trodden paths.

It’s almost as if the record has been pieced together from three parts: first, a series of demos (which may indeed fit with the record having begun its life during the singer’s series of low-key fan-booked gigs throughout 2020); second, a handful of tracks that posit Elias as a scratchy, troubadour Mick Jagger (a look which suits him completely, pun intended); and third, a pair of gorgeously-recorded and perfectly delivered cover versions (Spacemen 3’s ‘Walking With Jesus’, retitled ‘Sound of Confusion’, and Townes van Zandt’s ‘No Place To Fall’). Unfortunately, these follow a series of tracks on which Elias tries on others’ identities a little too obviously.

‘Concrete’ goes some distance in evoking The Weeknd’s late-night drive pop, but its obvious lyrics aren’t believable. ‘Split Lip’ nods to Harry Styles in its melancholy, but fails to pack a punch in its production.

The literary heft of the record leaves slim pickings for pure listening. The familiarity of the vocal line on ‘He’ provides a satisfactory hook, ‘She’ is dreamy and melancholy, while ‘In The Green Chapel’ combines Hayden’s still-unmistakeable vocal with a softly-plucked guitar line that bears similarity to New Order’s ‘True Faith’.

In isolation, there’s a lot to enjoy among these tracks, but together, ‘Like All Before You’ requires a lot of listens and maybe a couple of aspirin to translate.

A debut with such a title as this does imply an artist still trying things on for size, and there are certainly a handful of emotionally astute, smart indie pop gems to be found among it.

Towa shows a lot of promise on ‘American Hero’, but this is a record which doesn’t quite know how best to use her strengths.

The album’s strong-enough opening does little to distract from the toil of the tail end. The end result is an album that feels far longer than its sub-40 minute runtime.

Throughout ‘I Hear You’, there’s a clear intention to create something beyond what Peggy Gou is typically renowned for, yet it doesn’t always quite hit.

Zayn’s fourth is admirable in its emotional mining, is rich in execution and soul, and indeed his brain-scratching melodic riffs will have die-hard fans blushing - but even on this, what we’re told is his ‘most vulnerable’ release, the treading of the long-trodden, stripped-back, ex-boyband desire path leaves the record wanting for just a little more Zayn sparkle.

Dylan Baldi’s vocals are presented in a somewhat hushed manner, turning what could be a bona fide rock banger (there’s a pep in this chorus, to be sure) into an also-ran. On the numbers that more closely resemble the Cloud Nothings trademark sound - see the melodic ‘Mouse Policy’, or the bright ‘The Golden Halo’ - it’s an ideal fit.

‘Blood, Hair and Eyeballs’ is a level, if somewhat uninteresting, addition to the Alkaline Trio lexicon. Fans will find pockets of the band they fell in love with, while less seasoned followers may be better served diving deeper into the back catalogue instead.

For those to whom Courtney’s songwriting is a soothing balm, there is plenty to like here - but there’s a sense of creative inertia that means it’s a difficult record to truly love.

Fans will hear echoes of his best work, but for most this is a stale, uninspired outing for the legendary figure.

For the most part, it’s instead a case of either too much, or not enough. By stripping the layers back and presenting the songs in a wholly straightforward manner - slick, with Julie’s voice centered as if she’s embarking on a perfect three-minute pop song - flaws appear where they shouldn’t exist.

Their formula is tastefully broken up by frantic drums on ‘CRACK METAL’, unsettling synths on ‘HATEFUL’ and the twisted pop of ‘ASHAMED’ that soars with the most memorable chorus on the record. Unfortunately, that chorus is an outlier on an album that can wash past with as much staying power as candyfloss in a puddle.

Weak and boring are never words we’d have ever thought apply to Poppy’s music, but alas here we are – hoping for the ‘Zag’ to come.

‘Defeat’ alone clocks up a gargantuan 22 minutes runtime. Similarly, ‘Magicians From Baltimore’ could have been a wonderfully tight piece but overstays its welcome at almost 10 minutes. Still, the blissed-out, spage age ‘Genie’s Open’ and the funky prog of ‘Gem & I’ provide at least a partial argument in favour.

‘End of the Day’ feels like a long, slow goodbye to her old life; elegant and, given the context, elegaic.