Their best album yet.

Take the time to squeeze inside, and you'll discover a startling, significant, endlessly inspiring album.

"Crazy Itch Radio"... is the sound of an act running out of steam as it settles for the lowest common denominator with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders.

Even the lesser efforts are superior to typical chart fare.

All in, this is probably their best work.

[It] firmly places her at the cutting edge of modern pop.

"Modern Times" offers further evidence that this man remains more than capable of greatness.

This is not merely a good album, but a truly great one.

"Riot City Blues" starts fairly poorly and gets progressively worse.

Imperfect and absurdly oversized it may be, but only OutKast could have pulled off a crazy creative coup like "Idlewild".

"Damaged" is as nuanced, temperate and contemplative as its predecessor.

Here, the band do what anyone suffering from a knock to their confidence does - they revert to the safety of what they know best.

It's no pop masterpiece to rival The Beatles, Madonna or Michael Jackson's best. But then again, few things are. If however the bench marks are Aguilera and Pink, it's only fair to say that Ms Hilton or rather her album, holds its own.

Sliced in half, Kelis' fourth album would be twice as good. As an EP it would be perfect. But in it's current incarnation, it's one to cherry pick from your favourite download store.

No doubt the album of her career.

The fear was always that Dirty Pretty Things would resemble The Libertines with a vital ingredient missing, and that's surely what's transpired.

Overall, it's less chaotic and noisily rampant, the Comets' awesome creative fury now channelled into structures more obviously resembling tunes.

"Christ Illusion" for the most part consists of leaden, grinding sludge devoid of any urgency or malevolence.

It shows that respecting your roots needn't result in stagnant, bookishly reverent music, and that learning your history can be a fine way of looking forward.

Beyond the artificiality of this album's every attempt to be loved, what's most surprising is Pharrell's failure to program so much as a decent beat.

It has fire in its belly and an admirable abandon and as a whirlwind tour of rock'n'roll decadence it makes, say, Jet look like the fey, foppish tourists they are.

Essentially, it's "Lovers" part two.

It is modest, lucid and tender.

"The Looks" throws up more sure-fire dance starters than anything [we've] heard in a while.

Crucially, CSS skilfully weave references not only to our OK magazine neurosis but the last few decades of music too, with a sophisticated mash of indie, '80s pop, disco and electro.

This is the first Muse album to sound - brace yourself, outrageous melodrama fans - ordinary.

Another riotously entertaining record.

You simply have to marvel at the talents of a man who is surely amongst the most gifted and fascinating musicians of modern times, even if "The Avalanche" does feel like a vaguer retread of the absolute bravura seen on its big brother.

You must surely marvel at Thom Yorke's insistence to challenge his audience and his enemies.

With their grand orchestrations, love of idiosyncratic detail and self-consciously old-school dynamics, Guillemots sound refreshingly out of temper with the times.

This is not a 'commercial' release, at least not in the commonly construed meaning of the word. If you had to be picky, you could say that nothing has the impact of that cover of Nine Inch Nail's "Hurt" or Nick Lowe's "The Beast In Me". But that's beside the point.

"Fundamental" is the sound of the Pet Shop Boys reborn, and mindful of the important role they fill in the pop family.

This is a valuable record from a troubling and potentially vital new voice.

The most relevant reference points for "Loose" are Gwen Stefani's "Love Angel Music Baby" and Justin Timberlake's "Justified" - producer-defined albums that reinvented their performers as stand-alone solo artists with a wide, hip remit.

Despite the rousing music and the earnestness of Tom Chaplin's voice, Keane still sing passionately about not very much in particular.

Neither wholly satisfying nor wholly great.

As exhilarating as it all may seem on the surface, there's little here that we haven't heard before.

So carefully paced is this record, weighed and measured for the correct balance of what's put in and what's taken away, that it never offers emotional triggers which bypass cerebral process.

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.

Busta seems to be treading water too often.

All in, this is a terrific, life-affirming and, at times, deeply romantic album - one that proves the potentials in both rock'n'roll and the electric guitar.

It's an easier listen than its wildly imaginative predecessor.

"Puzzles Like You" may not stay the distance but there's certainly enough here to gain Mojave 3 the wider audience they deserve.

A quirky lo-fi wonder or the best album the '70s never had, "The Garden" feels like a lost gem, discovered in a box in the attic; a forgotten masterpiece full of tantalising sounds, odd voices and tingling ideas.

Relentlessly bland and bourgeois, "Twelve Stops And Home" sounds like the product of focus-group analysis.

Quite simply, "The Drift" is unlike any other record on Earth.

Its charms sink their teeth in fast and deep.

As a result of [Leithauser's] strangulated mewls and caterwauls, "A Hundred Miles Off" is at times very difficult to listen to indeed.

It's almost the perfect R&B album; cool, sexy, inventive and suitably stylish throughout. All that's missing is a couple of killer singles.

An impressively rounded, engagingly inventive record that ranges across British blues / R&B, Mod pop, psychedelia and American country rock.

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

"Black Gold" is a fine, fine record and undoubtedly the greatest thing he's ever done.

Both artists have stepped outside their regular roles to make what feels like a genuinely instinctive, love-fuelled record that zings with an enthusiasm for all spectrums of music.

It may not be his best album but it ranks as one of his most important.

Attempting such an ambitious concept in an age of diminished attention spans should no doubt be applauded, but overstretching itself in a stab at immortality, "Stadium Arcadium" marks a step backwards from 2002's "By The Way".

As enjoyable as anything this calculated can be.

An emotive, atmospheric dreamworld that sounds like an echo from history.

While going reggae was always going to be risky, it's the severe lack of conviction - whether in Burgess's mumblings or songs general vagueness - that's the biggest problem.

Unfashionable as they probably are, Pearl Jam have gone some way to regaining both their fire and their relevance with this, a record that takes equally from classic Neil Young stylings as it does raging, polemic punk.

A terrific gonzoid metal album.

The Rakes' debut is by turns profoundly unsettling and savagely funny as each song is propelled by a seething sense of purpose.

It is a qualified success, at times brilliant, at others rather vague and off target.

Most artists are well-aware of the pitfalls of the difficult third album, of course, and try to disguise their on tour / hotel room songs - but when has Mike Skinner ever been most artists?

Rambunctious and packed with a lust for life, "We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Seesions" is not only Springsteen's rowdiest set in years, it's the one that seems likely to win him a whole new audience.

The dark malevolent genius of "Windowlicker" may be lacking, but Richard D. James still walks that line between the accessible and the downright filthy.

As the title suggests, this album is - deliberately, you feel - a thwarted pleasure, any sweetness and warmth being spiked with discordance and bitterness.

There's simply not enough killer songs here to snare you in the same way that, say, The Rakes did on their debut.

So, a grown-up EODM album, hardly serious, but certainly more complete than the half-cooked sketches that used to pass for their songs.

Fans of musical experimentation, and Eno / Byrne completists, will no doubt want to add this set to their list, but for the uninitiated, you might be better off spending an hour or two browsing the World Music department of your nearest record shop than grappling with this quaintly outmoded collection.

His 12th album is so girly it should be wearing pink tights and a tiara.

"Jacket Full Of Danger" thinks it's funny but isn't - it's often pathetic.

On the surface it's an undeniably appealing package, and craftwise, there's much to admire.

The Flaming Lips' most effortless and varied exploration of their charming and profound tongue to date.

Quite honestly, he's never sounded so alive and free - or, more importantly, human.

Next time, she needs to dump the tired wild-girl shtick, unleash her lung-power and the world will fall at her feet. For now, this is just another album of production-line US pop.

As sleek and assured as anything the trio have done.

A knack for woozy melodies is one weapon at Nicholls' disposal; but here they're fatally undermined both by his petulant vocal style and by the rickety, paper-thin production.

To be fair, "The Loon" stops short of pastiche, but it is too transparently a paean to Tape 'n Tapes' heroes.

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

"Fishscale" is a purist's delight, an album seemingly crafted solely for those who've been chasing his maverick tail for the past decade.

Live, there's little doubt, these tracks will find their own groove and grow, but here they're like show dogs, primped and primed and hard to love.

"The Back Room" is, principally, a triumph.

How the mighty have truly fallen.

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

Thematically, "Born Again In The USA" is a bold album that tries hard - perhaps too hard - to bind together the inter-related twines of culture, politics, history and entertainment.

But while "3121" might suggest that, at 47, Prince isn't looking to change the face of music anymore, he's clearly still more than capable of delivering classic Prince albums.

It makes for a cool sound that might be too inoffensive at times but which grabs all the right places most of the time.

The triumphant "Star's Of CCTV" will be to guitar bands what The Street's "Original Pirate Material" was to the UK urban music: essential listening.

A cohesive and satisfying listen crammed with generous melodies.

An energised and impassioned, justly confident debut.

"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 are no huge surprises on this album - it sounds and feels exactly how you'd expect - but somehow "Mr Beast" still seems vital and forward thinking.

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.

Lighter, brighter and yes, more colourful than its predecessor.

"Making Dens" is an immensely graceful, charming record that does a flawless job of capturing the air of good-natured abandon that defines the Jets' live shows.

Their dark yet energetic, garage pop - all needling, pivot-on-a-penny riffs, eruptive noise and high tensile dynamics - borrows from Buzzcocks, Pixies and Nirvana/Foo Fighters but, for all its tautness and intensity, there's little on Nine Black Alps' debut LP likely to change the world.

A nudge in the wrong direction and this would be too saccharine for comfort.

Beyond the grooves etched in this record, what is most exciting is the ease with which Arbez brushes aside the canon of 90s giants.