The Dears stamp enough of their own personality to make this one of the best and most vital alternative US albums of 2006.

An emotive, often sorrowful work that features his most personal lyrics to date.

He can't seem to decide whether he wants to make a straightforward hip-hop remix of Jay-Z's tunes, quirky sampladelia like DJ Steinski or Coldcut, or an avant-garde project in the vein of plunderphonic composers John Oswald and Negativland. A lot of the time, he falls awkwardly between the three camps.

Despite the almost universal hyperbole that has greeted 'All That You Can't Leave Behind', this is no masterpiece. Certainly not by U2's stratospheric standards.

While its thoughtfulness prevents it from getting carried away with itself--he's not exactly doing the can-can here--there is a definite sense of optimism and personal brightness radiating from all four corners of this record. It will be a difficult one to top.

There is a feeling of carefully constructed, mellow folk simplicity running through all these songs.

What makes 'No More...' Cave's best album since 'Henry's Dream' (which it most clearly resembles), is a return to melodrama (or rather the juxtaposition of melodrama with the album's ballads) where Cave crafts a deliciously potent mix of the visionary, the bizarre and the everyday...

The change is clear from the outset with 'In The Mode' sounding like an album made by an act that no longer feels the need to pamper its audience. Gone are the gently loping double bass grooves and feathery vocals, replaced by a feverishly paced percussive assault that challenges both vocalists and live instruments alike to keep up.

It's Shaffer's writing, rather than Ne-Yo's singing (and the distinction between the personas is one he's made himself), which elevates this collection beyond those of his peers.

For now, it's way more than a stop-gap but sadly not the second coming you might have been hoping for.

There is far too much irritating hippywaffle amongst these gems.

Nas's insight, erudition and poetic intensity override all other concerns.

It's that time of year when critics are desperate to anoint the first "great" record of the year. Distortion is too tricksy and knowing to be that, but it's a thoroughly entertaining also-ran nonetheless.

The pair have opted for unfiltered analogue over cleaned-up digital, too, achieving a lush density with loops and textures and a warm wooziness overall that's a million miles removed from their last effort, 2002's dark and almost mathematically complex "Geogaddi".

While A Place To Bury Strangers are obviously still in awe of the original shoegaze crowd, Exploding Head is a step towards sounding unique.

While one could be forgiven for dismissing American VI as the scrapings of a barrel, the truth is that five of its ten tracks are worthy additions to the Cash canon; no more, no less.

Strip away the fug of patchouli oil and incense and you're left with little more than a shoegazing album played by Kula Shaker.

Okay, so it suffers from repetition in places and the last pair of songs are arguably disposable, but this collection shines and sparkles as an impressive debut.

'Youth and Young Manhood' is nothing more than a great rock'n'roll album.

You may need to spend a little more time getting to know the Fanclub these days, but without any clutter you get closer, deeper, right to the very heart of it all - emotionally and musically.

Perfectly lovely to listen to, undoubtedly, but curiously difficult to digest. [combined review of both discs]

The interesting theme doesn't last.

Through the course of "Drums Not Dead", you'll endure an unsettling, slightly terrifying experience, the likes of which is rarely committed to record.

It's flawed, but applause for adding vulnerability to their game plan, at the very least.

What he doesn’t have, but desperately needs, is a little of bit of grit.

If Lungs fails to make as much impact as those other debuts, it may be because Welch puts a little too much emphasis on singer and not enough on songwriter.

In terms of wide-ranging savvy, fizzing enthusiasm and the sheer brilliance of its dance-pop tunes, "The Warning" is shaping-up to be the "Demon Days" of 2006.

This is what she does, really: talk clever, talk dirty, talk funny and, with Timbaland's dedicated assistance, annually expand the possibilities of what pop music can sound like.

It's an album that feels like a watershed somehow, a significant step onwards.

An elemental tour-de-force, "The Reminder" could be her Eureka record - an album where almost everything turns to gold.

Just knowing Shakira is still in the world and capable of making albums as inspired and assured as "Fijacion Oral Vol 1" is like finding out ABBA are reforming or that the real Michael Jackson was kidnapped and replaced with an evil imposter shortly after making "Thriller".

"The Black Parade" is a big, fat, obnoxious, difficult, overbaked concept record and it's all the more exciting for it.

"Supernature" is the rarest of records - one which arrives late in the life span of a genre but defines it so completely and perfectly that a full stop can be placed right there.

There's every sense that Wild Beasts are happy embracing their own ridiculousness and there's enough cheeky humour here, "chocs away!" shagging scenarios and references to old boys and institutions to suggest that whilst there's serious musical craft at foot, the whole lark's just a jolly good old wheeze and "Limbo, Panto" is all the more fun for it.

Mostly this is U2 trying too hard, caring too much, being too insufferably genuine without having anything to be particularly genuine about.

Taken in three-minute doses, 'D-D-Don't Stop The Beat' sounds fantastic. Taken all at once, it's proof that too much fun can be hard to bear.

Furious techno stomps and mellow streamlined electronica clash head on with Karl Hyde's often nonsensical vocal style, pushing the group forward yet sticking close to their original blueprint.

A perfectly contemporary hip-hop release rescued from the ashes of independent hip-hop cliche.

It's truly intriguing in the way PJ albums haven't been since the commanding "To Bring You My Love" back in 1995.

It's well-built, yes, but almost too well built, many parts sounding like they've been lifted directly from SY's vast back catalogue and slotted into place, like a jigsaw that needed completing, rather than the sprawling documents of noise and confusion this band's name is built upon.

'Is A Woman' is a deep, rewarding, frustrating, baffling, engaging experience then, an album that drifts away from you just when you're getting hold of it.

With Truelove's Gutter, Hawley stands at the other side of his beloved city's bridge, leading the charge for the welcome return of pop that demands your full attention to get the best out of it.

What will draw fans old and new to this record, however, is the melancholia of Tindersticks frontman Stuart Staples' vocals, which become especially poignant on the forlorn 'Other Side Of The World.'

With each offering clocking in around the two minute mark, 'I Will Be' is over almost as soon as it's begun - leaving behind a smouldering trail of hazy mysticism and filthy bass lines. It's short and sweet, but there's a definite sting in the tail.

By narrowing their range and increasing their focus, and by wearing their hearts on their sleeves and not smirks on their faces, they may just have released their first, confidently Hot Chip record. And that turns out to be something rather wonderful.

Steele's self-conscious attempts to create a legend for himself only distract from what is actually a very good album.

"Wincing The Night Away" shows The Shins as fleet-footed and supremely confident, their slightly off-beat sensibility happily uncompromised by its (newly) gleaming production and overall panoramic bigness.

The question is whether Years Of Refusal finds Morrissey still opening his musical horizons and legs, or reverting to sour type. Predictably for a man whose solo career often seems to be a sadistic exercise in frustration, the answer lies between the two.

The album lacks the flab of previous efforts and, where he's been guilty of hiding behind guests before, the contributions are (perhaps inadvisably in retrospect) kept to a minimum. Sadly though, the grandstanding and chest beating take their toll on both Graduation's aesthetic and the listener's patience.

This album's reduced sonic density is both refreshing and slightly disappointing, since the confounding head-rush of their tunes was always a large part of their appeal.

It's a rich, bright, clever and engaging album that should trash those lame prejudices against Belle & Sebastian once and for all.

While Popular Songs may contain few surprises for long-term admirers, it is nonetheless a contrary beast in that it demands to be heard in a single, complete sitting.

If you're not a fan of their weighty retro riffs, Into The Future is not going to sway you; but those who loved their self-titled debut will thrill to the darker, more convincing sounds of former single 'Stormy High' with its Plantish wails and solid Sabbathy riffs.

Not only does it contain Green Day’s finest songs (and choruses) to date... but it also scratches at the surface of political dissatisfaction with nails sharp enough to leave a nasty scar.

Appallingly tasteful.

Weller fans can once again breathe a sigh of relief, for the man's still got it.

Imagine an album programmed by a focus group of John Peel fanatics.

The brothers keep it tight though, allowing themselves room to manoeuvre and muck about with time signatures and effects, but within the confines of songs that rarely exceed four minutes.

The need for rock'n'roll bands to declare war on clichés has been evident for ages. But who'd have thought a band in tight jeans and sunglasses would wind up leading the charge?

"Accelerate" pushes along with urgency but a lack of bite - like background music to a bar scene in an indie thriller. "Horse To Water", however, has the machine-gun fast delivery of "It's The End Of The World…" and a cart-wheeling chorus redolent of old times.

Neither Callahan's trademark poetic gloom nor his even-keel misanthropy have been ditched in time for 'Supper', but it does see him breathing deeper than before and moving with a surprising spring in his step away from the claustrophobic intensity of his previous work.

This is rock with a big fat drunken grin scrawled over its face in lurid red lipstick.

Definitely in the hat for album of the year.

All We Could Do Was Sing does exactly what it say on the tin - an astonishing album, rich in storytelling and fables; woven with 11 brilliant songs by a band apparently driven by nothing more than the sheer love of performing.

Recent devotees may be left wondering why there's nothing for them to sing-along to.

Live shows have shown that they have an even more cutting, vital album waiting to be recorded. If they can harness that live edge with this recorded willingness to experiment, their next album will be a monster.

So while this isn't "The Desert Sessions" - sadly, Isobel Campbell is no Polly Harvey - "Ballad Of The Broken Seas" remains an engaging curio whilst we wait to see what both artists do next.

What Seventh Tree actually does - successfully - is tap into a very English spirit of eccentricity, taking the mellow floatiness of Goldfrapp's earliest work and imbuing it with a dash of Hammer horror and the aroma of country meadows.

Soulsavers shove the mic in Mark Lanegan's hand and tell him to growl as loud as he can. He brings his friends, they all join in, and they make a lot of sense.

What niggles is that many of the songs aren’t whole enough or, if we’re honest (and it’s hard because he’s just so darn loveable and charming), good enough for an album. Even superior compositions like “Art Teacher” suffer under this record’s careless construction.

We'll take it any day over the bloated, self-important MOR of the Big Rap Stars (stand-up Nas) but hipster rap still has a way to go if it's to prove more than a passing fad.

It is certainly Dizzee's least consistent record to date.

As ever though, Liars emerge with their own sonic identity intact - you can 'hear' LA in the chaos, disquiet and vast, starving spaces of these songs, but they remain a band that don't surrender easily to their surroundings.

As a whole, 'Total Life Forever' may feel too self-consciously clever to really convince but Foals evidently have a brilliant career ahead of them and this could be its crucial cornerstone.

This is a contemporary collection of eclectic modern folk songs by a bold woman who has more in common with an interesting raft of contemporaries than her mentor.

It's tumultuous. It's breathtaking. It's expressive without the barest hint of Radiomuse indulgence.

Breathlessly exciting and enormously sexy, "The Witching Hour" is just the soundtrack for your next S&M session.

Amid such hi-octane dancefloor tracks such as this, current single 'Ready For The Floor' is, in context, pedestrian--its uncomfortable resemblance to Russ Abbot's 'Atmosphere' becoming more apparent with every listen.

Is it possible to have too many ideas? Quite possibly. Deerhoof is the sound of imagination overdrive.

It’s pretty much all fantastic.

The trouble is, the grandiose sounds he carves often sounds more polystyrene than pompous, no matter how many coats he applies.

Veirs here is at the peak of her game, and as refreshing as a lungful of oxygen.

Hence we get an album which, musically at least, veers all over the place, from chamber pop to glam to, God help them, hotel lobby jazz. In other hands, this would be a terrible mess, but in each instance you feel like the group are inching ever closer to that perfect pop moment.

"Guero" proves that the old, post-modern magic still works.

Reliably odd, then, but unexpectedly moving, too: the best Tom Waits album, all told, since 1992’s “Bone Machine”.

It's just not quite as great as some of us dared to hope.

'What Sound' could easily place Lamb alongside Dido and Zero 7 on this year's coffee tables, but also sets them apart as a unique, ever challenging outfit who'll be worth following long after we've come out of corporate chillout coma.

Renegades' is a formidable parting shot. A Rick Rubin-produced collection of 12 cover versions selected to show the breadth of Rage's influences, it's an object lesson in being both inspired by musical history and remoulding it in your own shape.

It is only when he tries to really rock-out that goldilocks falters a little.

It sounds as if the band's batteries are steadily running out. Confidence ebbs, emotions run flat, the songs become more and more inconsequential.

System Of A Down's music is highly layered and complex, but never succumbs to self-indulgence. Every track is tightly-coiled and urgent because, even while they're trying to broaden your horizons, SOAD are aware of the need to rock hard.

Sounds surprisingly vital.

For the most part, "Lullabies To Paralyze" keeps up the high musical standard set by its predecessors.

While "Dressed Up For The Letdown" is a classy, clever record, it is not one you can imagine yourself revisiting that often.

Musically, too, there's a definite sense of progression. These tracks have a richer and warmer sound than anything the band have previously released, and rather than standalone expressions of emotional dysfunction, they feel very much connected, bound together by their complex arrangements and sumptuous yet subtle production.

Heartfelt, honest and compelling, "Cassadaga" is garnished with melodies so lush that Bright Eyes' ascent to the next level of recognition is absolutely assured.

Although 'Love Is Hell' comes with the assumption that it's more honest than 'Rock'n'Roll', the influences here - albeit different - are just as distracting. [Review applicable to both Part 1 and Part 2]

While there's no doubting Tjinder's undeniably good taste, the sheer profusion of ideas on offer is probably Cornershop's biggest shortcoming.