There are a couple of fleeting moments (the chorus of ‘Wait’ is a hooky, soaring thing) that remind you of the unabashed earworms that the Kaisers can produce at their best but, for the most part, Duck is actually a bit of a turkey.

There’s no faux-earnestness here. Whether Mabel is singing about messy break ups, mental health or empowering herself to move on, High Expectations is effortlessly cool.

While never the strongest lyricist, ‘Power’ sees vocalist/guitarist Sam McTrusty roll out an unending series of lines that are overt to the point of self-suffocation. ... ‘Messiah’ and closer ‘Praise Me’ are stronger cuts, though as with much of ‘Power’, they’re unfortunately lost amongst the plethora of untidy songwriting on show.

Ultimately, ‘I Love You So F***ing Much’ is as confident, self-aware and ambitious as a record by a band who’d rocketed skyward last time around should be.

Ghost Stories is the sound of Coldplay finally coming to terms with who they are--a universally loved, often loathed, slightly cheesy outfit. Charmingly cheesy, though.

Unflinchingly honest, Wet don’t specialise in happy endings, but they’re always telling a good story.

For an album which features a list of impressive producers, it feels though one of them should have worked on the album as a whole to give Soft Control cohesion and the platform for Welsh to jump from.

Of course, as with any such unrelentingly blissful formula, if their sky-facing euphoria and sentimentality can’t be matched then the whole thing can be terribly nauseating.

It’s all too nice, too safe, and ultimately, too predictable.

It all sounds Trullie effortless and it wouldn't be surprising if she reached the same heights as her contemporaries with just as much ease.

Though the duo sometimes return to the comparative safety of moping synthetic orchestras, and soul-reflecting mirrors lying conveniently on the Camberwell Road pavement, for the most part, there’s a new sense of fun to Hurts.

Ultimately, this is either the musical equivalent of seeing your old clothes in a vintage store, or this album has been hardwired into our central nervous system.

Whilst not necessarily as endearing as their previous records, Birthmarks may in fact be better.

For those who like their light-hearted empty-headed fun to contain a certain amount of concealed depth, Dynamics certainly does the trick.

For all their goth rock exterior, My Mind Makes Noises is ultimately a pop record with substance at its core.

It's filled with cool sounds, and makes for an interesting listen, but it’s not engaging. It leaves the listener unfeeling, untouched.

By and large though they still end up falling on the sword of 'Fever''s brilliance.

Dark and light, sweet yet savvy, layered but not overproduced--Foxes has created a work that embodies all these dichotomies and walks the line between them perfectly.

While debut ‘Beams’ was a bubbling, unpredictable electronic masterpiece, second album ‘Apocalypso’ was a dancefloor smashing, out-Fischerspoonering affair, Pacifica stands as a wildly temperamental compromise between those two drunk on a peculiar addiction to mainstream action.

Where other works were distinctive and refined, These Spirits feels confused and clunky.

For the most it is a spaced-out, blissed-out trip that makes it hard to comprehend that it came from the mind behind Bangerz.

A vital, woozy summer repose, nine tracks in the perfect sequence for drifting off on a lazy, languorous May afternoon.

It’s the quarantine passion project created after too many days of 4pm drinking. It’s the existential crisis on Week 12 of drifting, structure-less furlough. It’s the desperate clutch at nostalgia that finds you trawling through your old school friends on Facebook at 2am, sobbing for A Simpler Time.

A thick as muck yet intelligent pop album.

Far from snug or welcoming, the Gang’s overpoweringly thick-sounding ninth album is as refreshingly abstract as anything they’ve done before.

A great album full of slightly haywire, unpretentious pop music.

Doubling as perhaps his most creative and experimental sound so far – swapping the more organic instrumentation of previous records for warm, electronic soundscapes - it stands an album which feels distinctly profound in both its lyrics and musicianship.

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

While this album will neither shock nor rewrite opinion, there is no denying 'Strangeland' is solid enough.

Jay-Z’s latest does little to prove that he can come up with anything that isn’t entirely predictable.

The keyboards are the same tones, the chords are similar intervals, the vocals are heartfelt without the lyrics really saying anything, and perhaps most tellingly they don't deliver the goods on a pop hit to rival 'Buck Rogers'.

With all the various guest vocals, Pick A Piper's multi-narrative structure is a little problematic.

It’s pleasant, and there are intriguing touches to be found in the Jacco Gardner-esque keys of ‘On Your Own’, but there’s an intrinsically grating quality that’s hard to shake.

Instead of its wide-eyed optimism rubbing off onto others, this album has the effect of canned laughter bouncing off the walls. It’s a hundred nutritional yoghurts being mushed into bland liquid nothingness.

This record does have its moments, though any instances of real connection are a notable rarity.

Despite the evident WTF factor, this remains a record chock-full of invention, a pursuit of the new and--most importantly--gigantic songs.

In Plain Sight is an overwhelmingly dour listen.

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.

At this point Mumford & Sons know exactly what they have to do to keep the Spotify streams rolling over, and Delta feels like an exercise in box-ticking, no more, no less.

After an ‘Our Version of Events’-worthy build, it’s crying out for something slightly off-kilter to douse the saccharine overload, but instead shoots for a bounding chorus of ‘Rather Be’-proportions, which misses in favour of something that can only be described as 90s dance clunk.

This is the sound of an artist who has allowed himself to take a break and record eleven tracks he would like to rele

It'll make you dance and sing until you sweat, and although it stutters in places and has plenty of sections that build but frustratingly never execute the finish to shatter your eardrums, it's an album that is very difficult to truly dislike.

This is a confused mess of a record, with nonsensical lyrics, trite musical clichés, and not a lot else.

While the relentless realisation of their film-ready stylings may not be to everyone's tastes, the fact they're here at all in the first place is a cause worth celebrating in itself.

The vocals, the terrible rhymes... it's business as usual then for Liam; it's just scrubbed up a bit.

It's pleasantly pristine stuff from the still relative newcomer.

While mellow and downbeat at times, the subtle happiness could have been made more evident from the inclusion of ‘Paint A Smile On Me’.

There’s a bit of filler in the form of the relatively stagnant ‘Xmas In Japan’; but pretty much all of the other tracks are just great big fun dancefloor fillers.

The epitome of indie clichés, Drowners have done nothing to break their mould, and On Desire does little to appease the want for something more.

It’s both over-produced and underwhelming.

The second album from the Phenomenal Handclap Band may not contain anything as exciting or danceable as the highlights of their debut but, despite its disappointments, there is still plenty on Form & Control for anyone who enjoyed their debut to appreciate.

In the grand scheme of things, Sequel To The Prequel is a definite step in a positive direction.

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.

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'.

There are a few duds thrown into the pack--closing pair ‘Into The Sun’ and ‘Walk Out Music’ offer little of interest and ensure the record goes out with something of a whimper--but there’s enough on With You Tonight to suggest Summer Moon might gather something of a cult following.

Flashes of the airtight songwriting that ran through ‘Scream Aim Fire’ and ‘Fever’ remain--closer ‘Pariah’ does controlled fury very well--but otherwise, it has to be case of back to the drawing board, because Bullet sound as if they’re beginning to run on fumes.

Glitterbug is a tired album that lacks invention and makes the landfill indie tag even easier to attribute.

As loud and aggressive Flats can sound it can't come close to hiding a lack of pretty much everything other than extreme volume and misplaced nothing-better-to-do-than-have-a-go-at-everyone-else small-minded aggression.

Odell may well sell a lot of records (though long term, he may not) but as far as art to engage and inspire goes, Long Way Down has precious little to recommend it.

The music is a little too polished-sounding to have ever seen actual garages, and there doesn't seem to be much of the charm of, say, contemporaries Palma Violets, pervading any of the record's twelve tracks. But it's fun, and fun is sometimes just about enough.

The beautiful part about Bad Blood is that it is both entirely predictable yet completely disarming.

In a record where there are a minor derivations on a tried and tested formula, 'Still Life' is a major curveball; a high-risk almost jazz-like number that's almost ruined by the strange whizzing noise that could easily be a kazoo teasing its wares throughout.

This is an album that suffers from having altogether too much surface and not nearly enough substance.

A laid-back album Altogether may be, it still leaves a sense of anticipation as to where the group will head next.

Cave Rave is outlandish, silly, summery and as brilliant as its title, and Crystal Fighters have somehow managed to continue in making their seemingly unattainable mix of traditional instrumentation and ideas and dubby electronics work without disaster.

Taken on its own merit Rituals is a bright and bombastic record that harbours a darker underbelly. ... And though there’s a chance it will alienate a small portion of established fanbase, it will certainly earn the band more than it loses.

Despite hiding behind the veil of electronic experimentation, Thom Sonny Green has taken a brave step forwards.

Slick production and a consistency in sound may make for easy listening but if you pay too much attention it all starts to sound a bit contrived and cheesy.

Not a lot on Spreading Rumours makes sense. It doesn't match, even in its apparent desperate attempt to sound like the bargain bin of an Urban Outfitters.

Named after a match-winning wrestling move, Coup De Grace isn’t quite going to do that, but it’ll get Miles through to the next round

'Weapons' has no shortage of big choruses, slick production and crunching riffs but is let down by tired lyrics and too many forgettable songs.

This latest effort from Australian trio Methyl Ethel is a lithe, sinewy creature, by turns weighted and buoyant, half darkness and half shimmering light.

‘Hassan Chop’ is a welcome reprieve towards the end, introducing some of the relentless punk drive of the band at their best, but it does little to revive the rebellious ethos ‘Let The Bad Times Roll’ clearly strives for. Forged from our current volatile climate this may be; an appropriately cutting and volatile response, however, it certainly is not.

Engaging and draining, Parquet Courts have once again pushed their capabilities to the max, and as ever, the results are like nothing you’ll find elsewhere.

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.

If a little more time been spent focusing on the increased R&B influence, Tranquilizers could've been the rejuvenation chillwave deserves.

So far, so great. But when the use of vocals is taken into overdrive on final track ‘Go On Without Me’, where Jacob Bannon from hardcore punks Converge offers up his jarring scream, it’s almost on the borderline of becoming too much.

Perhaps the biggest criticism about Brain Holiday is that it does become a bit of a yawn towards the end.

Medicine is an album that baffles just as much as it thrills.

For those open to more electronic sounds, this will likely be a great release and to those who are dubious of change, the band have accounted for that with a handful of numbers that more or less embody their established sound.

Too much of the album’s mid-section is plagued by Kele’s whimper, and the experimentation with guitar sounds sometimes prioritises method over melody, but there’s diamonds in the rough that shine as bright as the best of Bloc Party.

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.

With a bit more focus and a more cohesive feel running throughout it, this could've been a great record. As it is, perhaps as a result of their success to date and the expectation it undoubtedly brings, it feels almost like a missed opportunity.

'Look To The Sky' sees him returning to the spotlight with an album that only fleetingly hints at his past glories.

With new tools, they’ve taken liftoff from a proven formula when they really didn’t have to.

If you are prepared to enter into the listening experience with open ears and an open mind then you will be rewarded with an album of remarkable completeness that feels like a genuine coming of age for two musicians who are growing a little older with a significant degree of grace.

Forget the fact that even at its best moments the album still kind of sounds like a RATM reunion minus Zack de la Rocha, the biggest issue with ‘Prophets Of Rage’ is that it’s not as radical as it thinks it is. Is it competent and confident, energised and engaging? Sure. But there’s nothing new here.

Planta is the sound of a band rejuvenated, a diverse yet cohesive effort that tightens the sonic screws without losing any of the warmth and identity they’ve managed to create for themselves.

Wiped Out! is a fine wine in a sea of vodka Red Bulls, and having successfully mixed pop, rock and hip-hop together, it seems like they have finally defined their sound as a band.

It’s a great--albeit mis-matched--collection of songs.

It's in the middle where the album begins to sag, thanks to some monotonous backings and noticeably weaker hooks ('Remote Control'/'Tell the Vision') which lead the runtime to become alarmingly apparent, before strong features on 'Keep My Spirit Alive', 'Moon' and 'Pure Souls' further begin to force Kanye awkwardly into the background on his own album. He positions himself closer to the spotlight towards the final third.

A record that does the musical equivalent of wrapping its arms around your body and giving you a nice, warm hug.

Much of the album either grates or bores.

Far surpassing ‘Let Her Burn’ in scope, quality, ambition and vision, ‘SALVATION’ proves Rebecca Black’s got guts, and that it’s time she got her flowers.

There are moments on Coming Up For Air that lay claim to a genuine force, the kind who’ve earned their Chris Martin-endorsed stripes. They’re yet to truly claim their own territory, though, and any attempts to reinvent the wheel fall flat with an almighty thud

'Days Go By' doesn't catapult them back to their prime; there's a lot of issues that can be picked out, be it recognisable musicality or questionable song choices. Having said that, when The Offspring do get it right on this record, they are great.

Reptar have pieced emotions together, both euphoric and heartbreaking, to create a debut that, although perhaps too varied in places, is a great starting point for the quartet.

Unsurprisingly, this collection does sometimes border on becoming stale; 10-30 second fillers appear somewhat pointlessly bookended between certain tracks. But, more often than not, Friedberger does spice things up.