Still only 22 (!), Lykke Li has constructed one of 2008's most ambitiously grandiose statements. Madonna can shuffle off to her Live Nation millions, a new pop saviour has been found.

Earth To The Dandy Warhols is just vacuous mid-tempo babble and clatter.

For some, this and the album's unabashed opulence may prove too much to stomach. For others though, Lindstrom has created a sophisticated and lovingly crafted album that despite its dance driven pulse will resonate with music lovers of all persuasions.

Strong contender for party album of the year, anyone looking for their next fix of dancefloor heaven will say yes, yes, yes if this rehab is anything to go by.

While it's certainly refreshing to hear Oberst refrain from swaddling his emotionally-driven conceits in rock statesman's clothing, much of Conor Oberst seems too comfortably by-the-book to really leap off the page.

Girls And Weather is so cloyingly cheerful and eager to please that it might as well be "Big Brother" audition tape.

Lower your expectations a level and there's a decent enough rock album; tight, stylistically roughed-up and actually sounding much more like The Libertines than you expect.

Ultimately, 22 Dreams is, simply put, Weller's best album since "Stanley Road", and one to be remembered for years to come.

Mostly, Donkey is undone by a dearth of really memorable, infectious tunes.

On closer inspection, it's clear Cyrus is hell-bent on stepping out of that pop princess territory--but only just.

With his languid, prolific philosophising, twisting humour and consistent melodic achievements, its tempting to see Benji Hughes as a kind of cartoon successor to Stephen Merrit and The Magnetic Fields (though it's more "25 Songs About Women 'N' Stuff" than "69 Love Songs"), but either way he's just snuck in from the back of the field with one of the most endearing albums of 2008.

While eight years ago Primal Scream embraced a hard edge that blew our faces off, this limp electro-pop doesn't stand up against the likes of The Knife, who infuse their work with both an inventiveness and emotion that's sorely lacking here.

They've resurrected with this, their fourth album, the seemingly outmoded concept that with enough nurturing and faith, a band - and by extension it's audience - can grow into a beautiful thing.

Brilliantly sequenced, the album reaches a euphoric climax with the "Yes, we can change the world" hook of 'Black President,' a close cousin of Lupe Fiasco's 'Superstar.'

Modern Guilt takes that album's insecurity in the face of technology running away with us, to a tightly-written 10 songs that in part seem to focus on what, precisely, we have done to the world; and how on earth are we meant to get back in touch with it?

Not tonally consistent enough to work as an ambient record, not sufficiently solidly written to really grab your attention as a suite of songs, Leila's comeback nonetheless numbers some arresting moments worthy of your attention.

Songs that used to bounce and strut with foolhardy glee now amble, lamenting, the stench of booze and self-pity turning Romance At Short Notice into a wake.

It's a canny mix and results in Hercules And Love Affair making music for feet and heart, but also for the soul.

It's a mixed bag certainly and while nothing else here scales the heights of the single that's made his name thus far, there are plenty of moments of pop confection steered with a degree of sophistication to suggest he's more than a one trick pony.

Superficially then, White Denim might, on first listen, ape the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion but unlike garage revivalists like The Hives--whose studied revivalism has all the innovative spirit of a 19th century theme park--they've kicked all the best things about red-blooded rock into exciting new shapes.

Well, reports of the death of the old Coldplay have been much exaggerated.

Kasabian and their brass-necks have long since appropriated The Music's mantle of anthem-whoring psychedelic horsemen and there's barely a moment over the course of 12 tracks here where they contest that.

As is to be expected given Adele's tender years, thematically things are a bit monochrome.... All this, however, is forgiven with a listen to the highlights, such as the sweet acoustic guitar-led 'Daydreamer.'

This isn't a bad record, it's just a laboured and peculiarly joyless one, all those things that Supergrass were once the opposite of.

The Charlatans have cottoned on to the electro-is-back wave, but not in a cool, Spank Rock or New Young Pony Club sense, but a magpie parody, a homage.

The Canadian-American boho remains as feisty and red-blooded as ever, her hewn-from-marble voice--part-cowgirl part-Patti Smith--crooning and bawling tales of feckless lads and late night disappointments.

Evil Urges isn't a bad album by any stretch of the imagination but it still manages to fall well short of expectations when applying the benchmark set by this fine band.

The Frat pack are back with the impressive, Here We Stand, a confident, storming, guitar-driven rollercoaster of an album with more hooks than the North Sea fishing fleet, all bobbing along on a blitzkreig of overdriven, pop guitars.

A few club chants ("You jump around like you ADHD! ADHD! ADHD!") and heavy beats crop up throughout but, in the main, N*E*R*D ironically struggle to break out of their own defined anything-goes freedom on what's just a solid record.

An uncompromising work from an uncompromising artist, To Survive doesn't zip or sizzle. But yield to its gentle undulations and its hypnotic, brooding and utterly original genius becomes clear.

"The Beautiful Lie" isn't without its merits but their appearances are few and far between.

We Started Nothing sounds exuberant and chiefly concerned with pleasing itself. Which--as is always the way--only makes it more pleasing to others.

All in all, this a whimsical, unhurried and enchanting effort.

Even as the band grow tighter, their insecurity deepens. That's not prevented them from making a fine record which is loaded with instantly memorable hooks.

But the failures are the exception, and what's remarkable about Velocifero is how convincing and cohesive it is.

On this, the third eponymous Weezer record (see, they are incomparable wise-asses) and sixth in total, there are contained some of their most pronounced moments.

Ironically, though defined sartorially and sonically by this short window in history, the songs on their debut album are mostly timeless. Few better will be released in 2008.

Nelly and Akon do a reasonable job of making 'Body On Me' sound almost like a single, but it's not enough to change the fact that what could well be the best album of Ashanti's career is almost certain to be her most overlooked.

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.

Its eclecticism does make for disjointed listening though, which almost distracts from their songwriting skills. But ultimately it's all so assuredly done that The Zutons make it almost impossible to not be swept along for the ride.

So smooth nothing sticks, there's no guts, no depth and no matter how much he protests to the contrary, nothing to believe.

The lumbering, ponderous nature of both music and vocals elsewhere makes you wonder if much of Songs In A&E wasn't actually recorded in hospital.

Emergency isn't quite the great leap that was expected but does at least carry a few optimistic signs for the future.

New album No Way Down is one of the year's best so far; its title apt for vertiginous synths and strings that litter the mix like vapour trails on pure blue sky.

Scarlett Johansson has proved herself as much a rock queen as a roll queen.

Rockferry works as a very promising calling card.

For a moment one can hear Mraz's real soul, rather than a factory-assembled version. Sadly, it's too little and too late to save this queasy record.

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.

Couples is simply a successful attempt to sound both different and better.

Throughout, Southampton's own R Kelly, as silky-voiced as ever, seems determined to seize hold of his iffy image and re-establish his old school soul credentials.

It's genuinely sad to note that "Everything's The Rush" sounds a little too much like hard work.

Don't be fooled into thinking it's the big American names that are carrying this record, because her lyrical wit, seductive soul vocals and Brit charm offensive prove she is strong enough to punch above her weight.

Exquisitely detailed, you can well believe that this is an album many years in the making and one with twice those years of pain inscribed in its emotionally wracked songs.

And so it goes for a tidy ten tracks, all topped by a voice of gently boiling caramel--a style that channels the best aural qualities of Terence Trent D'Arby and Ray LaMontagne while side-stepping their cloying overearnestness.

A record to throw yourself into with the same glee Robyn clearly has.

We live in a Madonna world. And as long as she keeps releasing albums as vivid, relevant, distinctive and modern as this, we will for a some time yet.

Santogold, then, is a great 21st century cut and paste pop record: self-conscious, referential and catchy as hell. Buy it, love it...then chuck it away and buy a newer model.

'One Day Like This' rolls out an exultant, almost fulsome, bright blue-sky assurance that really, no matter how gloomy you might feel, a lovely day can put an altogether better complexion on things. If anyone else voiced such sentiments, you'd rightly want to reach into the stereo and slap them hard, but that Elbow make the affirmation ring touchingly true is a testament to their sweet sincerity and principled candour.

She's got an album which for all its sing-along moments is neither catchy nor extreme enough to be exceptional.

It's still very much a Mariah album--and a very slick and stylish one--with all the sweetness and swagger that entails.

At times here, The Kooks are far too easily confused with their peers--the Fratellis' riff on 'Stormy Weather' and Arctic Monkeys' intro to 'Down To The Market'--the band struggle to stamp their own identity on proceedings.

With its refined beats, immaculate arrangements and intelligent melodies, Spirit confirms both Lewis's international ambitions and the likelihood that she'll pull them off.

There's a rolling, free and expansive feel to the album as a whole that is not only one of its most attractive features, but is also the most difficult thing about it to pin down.

Like their three previous records, Mountain Battles is a record to return to again and again, like an old and dear friend who can still somehow surprise you.

Antidotes is frequently exhilarating, challenging but immediate, cryptic and catchy, calm then frantic, as intricate, itchy fret-webs are weaved around Afrobeat drums and far-out sonics.

Walk it Off is certainly not for everyone; but if you tire of quick fix indie and are craving something a little more cerebral to get your teeth into, it requires immediate investigation.

Though their efforts to keep the flame of rock'n'roll burning bright are to be applauded, the feeling that the real standard bearers are tuning up elsewhere is impossible to shrug off.

St Jude may be occasionally derivative, but it's also solid, confident and, musically at least, rewarding.

A savvy, shiny, slyly sophisticated set of thoroughly modern dance floor exercises, it's the record we hoped Girls Aloud might make.

Two things save Los Campesinos! from being utterly insufferable. The first is that many of these songs are such fun, hurtling from the speakers in a blur of fuzzy guitars, big shouty choruses and smart vocal jousting between singers Gareth and Alexsandra. The second saving grace is that Los Campesinos! have the brains to back up their smart arse attitude.

An intoxicating record from a re-energised Moby, for the first time in years he isn't struggling to work out how to follow "Play" and "Last Night" is all the more convincing for it.

Danger Mouse hasn't commandeered his charges' muse and forced The Black Keys to change, simply encouraged them to co-operate and collaborate for the first time. Clearly, company becomes them.

"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.

Listen to the B-52s first studio album in 16 years and within ten seconds it's like the 21st century never happened. They sound just the same. [...] And it's a delight.

Great fun to record, no doubt, and probably great live, but an annoying conceit on record.

The Heavy's biggest selling point is that they exist almost completely outside of what is currently fashionable, meaning they sound fresh despite having quite classic roots.

Time and time again, this patchy album is dragged down by obscenely flashy production, a surfeit of ideas that conspire only to sabotage the songs themselves and writ large across it all, Fyfe Dangerfield's interminable, platitudinous emoting.

While the die-hard These New Puritan fan might be annoyed that six of these tracks have been released before, there's enough to make it abundantly clear here is a band with a brilliant sense of invention.

Not only have The Kills delivered a rock'n'roll album of note, it's one that achieves the rare trick of weaving timelines and timelessness with indecent ease.

Buy into the notion that The Teenagers are in fact a satirical comment on the "Shockwaves Generation", and this is a dry, impeccably observed album, closer in spirit to Arab Strap than any of the nu-rave favourites.

The interesting theme doesn't last.

Across forty minutes, this is epic yet compact, a film noir in garish technicolour, an album made up of potential singles.

All told, it's pleasant to actually have a buzz album that lives up to expectations; long after people stop talking about them, this album will still be a surprising and compelling listen.

At 14 tracks long, The Dodos do push the point a little, but it's really a case of once you've lit the touch-paper you live with the explosions till the last spark.

At its best Ego Trippin' is intelligent, sly and full of the easy brilliance which put Snoop on the top of the pile in the first place. At its worst it makes thong-filled DVD "Snoop Dogg's Diary Of A Pimp" look like high art. He truly is his own worst enemy.

This is a lovingly crafted record which has the same misty fug and aura as The Soulsavers and Lanegan indulged in recently.

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.

Still, if not perfect, there's plenty to like on Discipline, and while none of it is exactly vintage Janet, there's enough here to keep the Jackson name on pop's A-list for a little while longer.

New Amerykah Part One: 4th World War is an insane, obscure and exciting record of the kind that very few artists have the guts or imagination to make anymore.

With Flock, their third album but only the second to get a British release, Ireland's Bell X1 have unearthed the missing musical link - and it's marvellous.

A whole album as hyperactive would be exhausting, of course, but unlike the majority of indie plodders, The Feeling have real range.

Little Death may well resemble stolen kisses behind the bike shed rather than an evening of prolonged love making with the object of your desire, but that is still preferable to a night in with just a box of Kleenex for company.

They muster compelling music that sounds like triumph in the face of adversity, building something beautiful out of the building blocks of sadness and despair.

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.

While 'Make It Go Away (Radiation Song)' lacks the subtle lyrical twist (and a decent tune) of some of the other moments on Detours, it is a sober counterpoint to the image of Crow as all hair, tan and teeth. It also contrasts with the album's stand-out, 'Love Is All There Is,' which brings us back to more familiar Crow country on an album of big themes and surprising depth.

At its heart there is a beautiful record in there for anyone with the time and patience to find it.

At various times on …Love Revolution, Lenny just doesn't cut it as a songwriter, a lead guitarist (don't even go there), a string arranger and, above all, a drummer. But the man can sing and for that much we, and he, should be grateful.

The viscous, darkly choppy, sexily fulsome and ferociously hard-driving blend of post-punk and country noir that distinguished their long-playing debut, "The Repulsion Box" is still evident, but it's matched with a bracing new breadth, dynamic diversity and myriad light/shade variations.