By recycling the same guitar and drum effects, it comes across as a poor man’s reworking of ‘Broke Me In Two.’ That only leaves you desperately wanting to return to the gems that frontload this curiously unbalanced album.

Intimate and involving doesn’t necessarily mean that the record is engaging, however, and some tracks wash over without an impression, ultimately making this feel like little more than an indulgent side-project.

Real Lies’ debut effort instead puts forward a group who’ve clearly agonised over every detail of their early ‘90s aesthetic, and forgotten about the songs in the process.

Something that gradually becomes clear is that this is an album of uncertainty.

The results range from dazzling to disastrous.

The band has honourable aims with its vocal intent and concept, but fails to inspire with its content, nor deliver on its promises.

L.A. Divine is simply too rigid for Willett to shine. Joe Plummer, while undeniably talented, is a less subtle drummer than Matt Aveiro and locks Willett into predictable, percussive grids that give his voice a jarringly artificial, almost showtune quality.

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.

Disjointed rather than bad; there's undoubtedly a cross-section for which the not-quite-post-punk, not-quite-shoegaze combination works. Let's hope they find it.

The nods to Spiritualized and My Bloody Valentine are still there, but the world has moved on since then, and unfortunately, it feels like Maps is still stuck in 2007.

Messy, complicated, capable of star turns, it’s clearly a record Gonzalez needed to get out of his system.

What we have is quite ironically, a record lacking both direction and colour.

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

The issue with 48:13 is that it’s actually a fairly routine-sounding Kasabian record.

The album’s title suggests fight and energy but much of this album feels too polite and too pedestrian.

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

Ex Lives just sounds like a band going through the motions.

By playing it too safe, Animal Nature isn’t worth recommending. It’s just sort of fine and that won’t cut it.

Though the writing is clever and at times funny, the whininess and constant soul-searching shuts the audience out, and anyone deciding to stay is bludgeoned again and again with his relentless wet sentimentality.

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.

Glasshouse isn’t exactly groundbreaking. It could also do with being about half its mighty 17-track length.

Without any real substance to the lyrics, these soft, earnest, mild guitar songs come across like their author has grossly overestimated their depth. The album as a whole sounds like fourteen-year-old boyfriend music.

Sure, with ‘This Is Really Going To Hurt’, Flyte have successfully echoed the sounds of the past, but it’s all about as paper-thin as a yellow-hued Instagram filter.

‘Bad Things (That Make You Feel Good)’ sounds like a sped-up take on wholesome pop king Bleachers, while opener ‘Should Be Dancing’ features a half-arsed attempt at pal Alex Turner’s croon. ... A little more humour on Mini Mansions’ third, and they might’ve been able to pull it off.

Undoubtedly there’s riches to be found here but the treasure map is harder to follow than ever.

They’re an easy punchline, in fairness--perennial whipping boys, probably deserving of a break at some point--but when they continue to churn out nonsensical self-parody, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ continued stratospheric success is nothing short of baffling.

Although ‘Superstar’ certainly reaches for the stars in its slick production, her wit doesn’t sparkle as strongly, and its theme of an awkward outsider trying to chase success feels a little too close to home.

There are basically no odd turns here, no tangents into unexpected territory and certainly nothing at will make you spin your head round for a second glimpse. That being said, it fulfils its remit with consummate ease and you'd be hard pressed to say it's unenjoyable.