Just a little sensible pruning then and 'When I Was Cruel' would be a triumphant return to rocking form for Mr Costello.

Let's be clear about this: Head First is by no means a bad record, with its lush pop gloss and flickers of melodic loveliness. But it is a bad Goldfrapp record, their flimsiest and least adventurous yet.

So, once again UNKLE have produced another good rather than great album that sounds ahead of the curve.

Yet though the music may not win any originality awards - Sebadoh and Guided By Voices spring instantly to mind as precursors - there is a refreshing lack of pretension throughout.

If anything the songs might be less hungry than on their debut and less nimble than its follow-up, but it is sure-footed and firmly directional and they have no trouble reaching the benchmark they'd previously set themselves.

The sheer scope of 'Latin', however, is what rescues it from feeling like a box-ticking completion of a mission--as 'P.I.G.S.' races off into the distance after its lull, there's the feeling that there might still be more to see, more work to be done.

Like their debut, 'Start Something' is ultimately too long but where it occasionally flags the pace is soon picked up again.

The result is pretty much what you'd expect from an album bearing Lynne's name on the credits.

It's ironic and ill-fitting that such ditch-hopping actually embroils them in impassioned debate--and it's a credit to them that, love or hate these songs' lack of drama, you'll remember them very, very well.

Inevitably, it all starts to grow a little samey.

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

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]

It feels like a definite upgrade for her, Kate Nash deluxe, courtesy of producer Bernard Butler's expectedly lavish touches. But her standard style of outloud diary readings are not privy to the same overhaul. They prevent it from feeling like much of a progression.

In fact, on the musical front blink-182 are more reminiscent of the Beach Boys than the Sex Pistols: a very, very fast and tasteless Beach Boys, admittedly, but those massed harmonies and that glossy production are the pop perfectionist's fantasy taken to its logical conclusion.

While passages are lovely, the work as a whole struggles to hold the attention.

Carr has always wanted to create his very own sound, and for the first time we are starting to hear it here.

Overall the duo have given us a much braver and stronger album than their last, but as far as anything truly revolutionary goes it’s merely a step in the right direction.

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.

A more satisfying album intellectually than it is musically.

Hands is both exciting and inconsistent, an uncertain step in very much the right direction.

Deeper and darker takes longer to charm, which is bad for singles, but should see the album's shelf life extend to long after Mika's novelty has worn off.

This is a relentlessly exciting album--it's just that sometimes you feel it would be more rewarding to turn off the boosters, slow to a float, and take in the view with awe.

If his family and creditors truly cared about Michael Jackson's legacy, they would now let it and him rest in peace. And chimps will fly...

But though the music is as good as anything they've ever done, rarely resorting to that downbeat, drunk-in-pub-tells-his-life-story tendency they've too often made their trademark, the lyrics are way below [Aidan] Moffat's usual standard.

Furthermore, the way that 'Rulers Of Ruling Things', 'The Horn' and 'The Courage Of Others' arch effortlessly into trippier psych-rock inflected territory suggest a more expansive, weirder Midlake to come.

At times, 'Nocturama' feels like he's trying too hard. Some of the ballads suffer this way, as if Cave's straining to recapture the gravitas of 'The Boatman's Call' without excessive revelations or dramatic contrivance.

Tweet has the kind of voice that doesn't overpower her music but lets it breathe.

The quality is unmistakable and confirmation enough that she deserves to be remembered as more than just Biggie’s widow.