There’s a lot to like on Cohen’s debut, and plenty to suggest a follow-up could soar to far greater heights, but not enough to suggest a commercial breakthrough could be on the cards.

Having been dogged with comparisons to Friendly Fires since their formation, it is ironic that this record perhaps sounds like the kind of misstep that the St. Albans band made themselves with their second album 'Pala'.

The Dusk in Us was whittled down to thirteen tracks from eighteen and there remains a little bit of extraneous material, particularly towards the album’s close, and that uneven pacing suggests a touch of rust after so long away--‘All We Love We Leave Behind’ felt more tightly controlled.

Last Night On Earth is filled with guitar licks that manage to sound ferocious and friendly at the same time, marrying a slightly avant-garde persuasion and tight focused songwriting with something instantly warming.

While this collection is his slickest, most watertight LP, it does little to push his sound or songwriting forward.

Jungle have largely played it safe here; the feelgood alt-funk of ‘Heavy, California’ could sit seamlessly alongside anything from their debut, while the ominous nocturnal strut of single ‘Happy Man’ is just ‘Busy Earnin” Mk II.

Oh No doesn’t quite signal a reinvention for Lanza, but a move towards one end of her capabilities, one which consistently brings excitement, energy and openings for new paths for her to head down.

Requiem is the furthest Goat have ventured in expansiveness and length. Despite that, Requium is their most accessible moment to date.

Corridor evidently have ambitious eyes set on the grand and cinematic. The beautifully eerie closing ambient moments to ‘Goldie’, or the theatrical prettiness of ‘Milan’ convey a band of sophisticated vision, but certain reaches for the epic, such as the stodgy closer, ‘Bang’, suffer for their principals, sounding like half-baked version of Grizzly Bear. Often, it’s hard not to think that there’s something missing.

Filled with polyrhythms and squalling synths designed to get people on the dancefloor, it’s sometimes impossible to remain rooted in your seat. The drawback of this focus on the high-energy though, is that it can get a little wearing.

‘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.

Two Gallants’ rulebook may be dusty, weathered and well-worn, but there’s a familiarity to what they’re doing that can’t help but make We Are Undone a thoroughly enjoyable listen.

It’s not a bad record, but it’s not quite there.

There are a lot of words in this, their fifth album, and yes, they have always been a literate band, but here it often seems somewhat forced.

As far as debuts go, the Sydney trio have made a solid first step here. They’ve got half the job worked out in spades. Now, they just need to work on making it memorable.

While fans of the band's more lo-fi beginnings may stare, open-mouthed, bemused at the central role played by synths on Forcefield, there's every chance they'll be gaining a whole slew of newbies, should these many choruses be set loose.

Nothing within the album paves way for the future--instead, it feels like an exercise in honouring the past.

A bleak and wilfully impenetrable album.

The result is a composed collection of tracks.

There are enough fragments of warped interference to ensure this is a worthy collaboration albeit one which doesn't entirely muscle up to the canon of its individual progenitors.

Placing air guitar and hairbrush karaoke moments alongside twirling, hands-on-heart emotion, with Stiff, White Denim place all their capabilities on show.

Though a dulcet voice the lass may have, some of the songs prove all too 'big' for her.

This more paired-back approach isn’t always successful, mind: certain parts of Sex & Food--a bit like inviting whipped cream into the bedroom--seem like a really good idea at the start, but turn into a bit of a sloppy mess along the way.

It’s not the most cohesive album--it darts around from one idea to the next quicker than you can bat an eyelid--but it is without a doubt exciting and enthralling.

If there are faults with the record (aside from the mis-step of the fairground organ-esque 'Waltz), it's that while it works well as an album, it almost works too well with tracks all-too-often passing without leaving a lasting impression, with some of the shorter songs not always being given the space and time to develop as you'd perhaps expect them to.

To put it in an alcoholic analogy; their sound may be like a fine wine, maturing as it gets older. But they’re sure as hell not going to hesitate in sprinting to the nearest wood and necking the whole damn bottle.

This debut sets a nice, if mostly safe, blueprint.

While they do make for a well-structured collection of songs, individual tracks are often disappointing and the result feels like a half-hearted series of Doctor Who; its audience sustained more by thrilling trailers and the promise of fulfilment than any real substance

Whilst Teeth Dreams isn't a bad album, it feels pedestrian and ordinary compared to what The Hold Steady are capable of.

Though Bones is almost as dramatic as a standard week on Albert Square--occasionally to its detriment--it’s also impossible to fault this album’s single-minded pursuit of sheer, maxed out saturation.

It's a record that lacks the structure and order needed to make it into a cohesive unit, one that can be listened to beginning to end without skipping tracks.

hile ‘Back in Brazil’ is a tad baffling, ‘Caesar Rock’ doesn’t quite hit the right notes, and ‘People Want Peace’ feels a tad trite, even from one of the (probable) pioneers of the peace hand signal. Still, it’s hard to leave Egypt Station without a grin.

‘A Goood Sign’ never really goes anywhere and gets a bit lost in its murky pool of synths, while ‘i.v.’ doesn’t add much to the record. But overall, the falsetto of Mockasin and the electronic sounds of Dust marry perfectly into something stunningly weird; the kind of marriage where’d you wear multi-colour suits and dresses and tuck into an inflatable cake.

It's so well constructed as pop music the only thing you can really say is that there's not much diversity.

Whereas their earlier tracks were more simple, now their music is a multidimensional, multi-faceted affair, full of fragile introspection and meandering guitars.

Move in Spectrums is a deeply controlled sea of melancholic ambience, loaded front-heavy with infinitely more engaging moments than its murkier second half.

Pray For Rain is a sophisticated progression for Pure Bathing Culture. Despite brief drizzly moments, on the whole the album evokes the warmth of drying off after a torrential downpour.

There’s a gorgeous familiarity to the record, but it’s also one peppered with adventure.

Hit The Waves offers little in way of innovation, an unthreatening album to Sigur Ros and The Knife’s releases later this year, but The Mary Onettes are perfectly happy to look backwards.

There’s not much in the way of stylistic cohesion, either, and you wonder whether that’s simply because the creativity was flowing out of the almost-fully-reformed lineup or simply because Billy felt confident in following his every whim.

Where the distinctly Strokes-y melancholy of ‘Dead Air’, or the darker stalk of the Matt Helders-featuring ‘Thoughtful Distress’ succeed, others (‘Home Again’, ‘Old Man’) are throwaway jangles that feel like AHJ-by-numbers.

While not a record that’s likely to raise their star, Stuffed & Ready is one that shows a band resolutely ploughing their own furrow without compromise.

All in all, it’s a melodic, sprawling record to wig-out to; and one that means that Clear Shot hits the mark indeed.

At its best, Youngish American exists at the nexus of day-job classics ‘Giving Up the Gun’ and ‘Unbelievers’, offering glimpse of Chris’ massive potential to be an engaging solo star.

Fans of ‘Complete Surrender’’s sonic diversity, too, might find ‘Now That I’m a River’ similarly one-note to ‘One Day All of This Won’t Matter Any More’. It’s a better record, though, primarily because Charles sounds genuinely refreshed.

They've got some good ideas, but perhaps just aren't ready for a full-length release.

While in small increments ‘Sexorcism’ feels incredibly empowering and progressive, when you go 12 rounds on the trot, it fast becomes a law of diminishing returns, clumsy in its own damp puddle.

‘Hyacinth’ shows Spinning Coin are OK with dipping their toes in the water of something new, but will leave you wishing they would just jump in.

The main issue with this album is that it is not terrible and it is not brilliant. It is simply there.

The band have expanded their sound with mixed results.

Go Fly A Kite is a likeable album, but it sounds like Jet at its worst times and like an American alt-rock band past their sell by date at its best.

This is far from a bad album but it's also far from matching their best... 'This Machine' is both an attempt to recapture the glory days and a sad admission that it can't be done.

Any sense of experimentation and freedom is impossible to find. Are Dinosaur Jr trying too hard to be Dinosaur Jr? It's the way it seems.

When they strip things back and leave space for each element to breathe--as on the purely orchestral title track--Open Here can be a joy, a deeply astute pop album that’s also often brimming with fun. While pushing their boundaries as far as they can go though, it sometimes makes for a record that can feel frustratingly cluttered.

The LA quintet’s third album doesn’t quite explode as much as it hopes to, though a few songs threaten to, largely the acid-tongued, grinding ‘Roadkill’ and the vintage-sounding title track.

They’re never going to reinvent the wheel, and there are a few moments (halfway mark ‘Missing You’ springs to mind) that feel a little too much. But there is something intensely satisfying in their sugary hooks and their handle on catchy, unadulterated melodies.

The rich swells of optimism that characterised earlier cuts such as ‘Skipping Stones’ or ‘Lost Dreamers’ have been replaced with a yearning melancholy.

Full of lilting indie-pop, often swelling with trumpets, string sections and a sense of wistfulness, European Heartbreak sounds nostalgic for a dream, the realisation of which has long since passed.

What it lacks perhaps in originality, it certainly more than delivers in getting, keeping and rewarding the listener's attention.

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.

For a record titled ‘Messy’ it could ironically do with being a little less neat and tidy.

It’s a largely hit-and-miss pop record.

As every track twists and turns, building upon their previous musical accomplishments, this feels like a band who have finally truly found their stride.

His perfectly serviceable croon is not quite strong enough to carry it across 16 long tracks. If only he’d given ‘Lightning People’ to Liam Gallagher, it might well have been the soundtrack of the summer. Moments of greatness are plentiful, but ‘Fever Dreams…’ shines brightest when Marr lets his guitar do the talking.

Musically it's very much as you were, country-tinged alt-rock, a little punkier in places, a little less scared of making a racket.

Jam is all well and good, but this record is at times lacking in the bread and butter of music--songs.

2019 has a pleasing feel no doubt, there are some gems nestled in the 7-track run that are well worth a look, but it feels like a release that is there to keep the wheels turning ahead of a new album.

Blood, like ‘Woman’, is honest. It’s an endearing expression of sexuality.

Yes, at times it does drag a little and--though clever and often charming--the content isn’t particularly inspiring.

While some moments are clearly domain of a single entity, the truth is that the six-headed monster don’t always make it that easy, instead opting to blur their sensibilities into a playful, dance rock smear.

More questions than answers, more problems than solutions, but with just enough moments of sheer brilliance to justify it as a release.

It’s sharp and serious but without the navel-gazing feel that sometimes makes ‘Appalling Human’ a difficult one to truly get stuck into.

The whole thing would have sufficed as a bonus disc rather than the standalone album it is.

The results are quietly overwhelming.

Drop your expectations of freak pop from another dimension, and there’s plenty to like.

Paul’s commitment to trying new things is to be lauded, but it does mean Diagrams lacks cohesion; it feels less an album and more a collection of ideas, some thrilling, others less so.

As far as Pantha du Prince standards go, those expecting bangers will find that this is a slower paced, subtler, more meticulously detailed album than ‘Black Noise’. Yet for every dark, dreary, wintery moment, there’s more than enough of luxurious, melodic techno bliss to make up for it.

While some may argue that Ones and Sixes sounds too familiar, it could be said that the trio are simply playing to their strengths.

As such a unique style of music in their field, there is no reference point to compare Mariachi El Bronx to, but if you’ve enjoyed ‘I’ and ‘II’, or you want to hear something a bit different then Mariachi El Bronx III is well worth a listen.

She’s not quite there yet, but after a wobble that could have sunk lesser personalities, she’s found a sound that feels authentic again. And that’ll do for now.

Lenses, despite its four-to-the-floor tendencies and impeccable imagery, falls flat.

Teen Suicide’s final act is nigh-on impossible to categorise or fully digest, and its nature and length makes it at the same time a difficult listen, but one that brings rewards of all different kinds across its running length.

An album worthy of repeated listens but limited by its inability to adapt and enrapture a change of pace often just representing a drop in quality.

Much here sounds as though it could have been unearthed from the treasure trove of old demos the singer sporadically unloaded circa 2004; great for the die-hards, fairly inconsequential for everyone else.

Comparisons are all well and good, but ultimately Making Time’s strength is in asserting exactly what Woon specialises in. After so many years away, a reminder was much needed.

Five feels like an exercise in softness of touch, maybe the most reserved White Lies album to date; there’s less bite than usual in Harry McVeigh’s vocals, and where previously the guitars would be spiky and nudge towards post-punk, there’s languid, melodic riffs on the likes of ‘Finish Line’ and ‘Denial’.

Whenever debut LP neo swerves close to normality, these formula-shunners tear things to shreds.

For every moment of devastating weariness, there are several moments of chilling beauty and it is this which keeps the band from being overly oppressive in its sound.

Too True is a decent enough album and one which ends more strongly than it begins. But it isn't as good as 'Only In Dreams' and because of that, it can't help but feel a bit underwhelming.

This is a fine piece of synthpop that is a good addition to the collection of any fan of this genre.

This is clearly an album of personal and musical growth for Lykke Li--it’ll be interesting to see where she goes next.

It’s a mixed bag.

As coherent and arresting as everything is, it is true that some of the hooks are not particularly immediate. A few of the tracks seem to steam ahead but never really find an end destination, with any hooks getting lost in the mists of fuzz.

While all the elements are there it seems far too eager to drift into not only the background but also into itself, with it turning into musical wallpaper and into one, long indistinguishable track with worrying ease.

There’s a further sense of spiriting when harps show up on the tracks ‘Limbs’ and ‘Take Him In’, and ultimately this album succeeds as an ominous exercise in atmosphere.

'Magic Hour' is an album that equally frustrates and enthrals. The collection of excellent electro pop tracks show the band still know their way around a melody but the album is let down by a few too many tired and morose ballads and witless appropriations of chart successful sounds.

Torn between old habits and a limber, more flexible stance, this fifth album stands as a misty mix of downtempo vibes with sombre, often questioning lyrics - Real Estate strike out here, thriving in the art of surprise and subversion.

It dishes out moments of pure brilliance and moments of pure laziness in equal part, which is possibly the result of Blumberg being left to his own devices a little too much.