Everything here sounds familiar.

G.O.A.T.' is depressingly bereft of considered content. There's nothing outrageous or offensive, just plenty of the unthinking and inarticulate sex talk that L's been spouting between the brags for years.

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.

On paper then, Finding Forever has the dubious distinction of being the equal of "Be". In practice, its jaded formula falls someway short of the genuine energy of its predecessor's finer moments.

A likeable fusion though it is, there's none of the innovation of the much groovier The XX, nor are there the soaring peaks and chilly troughs, bonkers FX or even the gauche emotion that propels most dance music.

Can she master the bustle and colour of Latin pop as easily as she mastered sweaty electro? Tristemente, no. While never less than agreeable, Mi Plan is rarely more than that.

The trouble is that while STP may have lived dangerously, they play safe musically. There's plenty here that's pleasant, but there's nothing startling, nothing challenging.

Blackout is business as usual. Courting publicity more shamelessly than that infamous kiss with Madonna, Britney writhes, moans and generally gives good pillow talk for the duration of an album where crunk, glitches, squeaks and clubbed-up beats dominate.

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.

Little more than comic book soundbites, wilting in the jagged, feverish shadow of their illustrious forefathers.

Whacking on the slap and going electro needn't have felt so dysfunctional--the songs do hold up--but a complete disjunction in styles sounds confusing and ultimately robs the album, and perhaps her comeback, of an identity.

Much of 'Amazing Grace' is the tired evidence of a man rehashing the same ideas - rather than sounds and movements - like a robotic, assembly line Andy Warhol.

There is far too much irritating hippywaffle amongst these gems.

It is hard to tell where No Doubt starts and the producers end.

There's a good album in here crying to be let out.

Essentially if you like the bands that have so clearly influenced Stellastarr* you'll like this record. But it's difficult to really love a band that haven't yet found a voice they can truly call their own.

Pretty much a repeat of an earlier 1990 compilation.

Kid Rock's sound rarely deviates from the explosive metal guitar rap synthesis he has made his trade mark...It is when Kid Rock strays from these familiar musical pastures that he gets into trouble, as in the case of 'Abortion', a rather pathetic attempt at soul...

Their strength lies in Turner's lyrical precision, his way of taking a scalpel to the minutiae of real life to make his heckling of fluorescent adolescents, weekend rock stars and scumbags seem like more than just booze-maddened ranting. Here, Turner's words aren't as direct.

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.

Brandon Flowers has a horrible, honking seal bark of a voice.... Faced with this significant disadvantage, The Killers have cannily crafted a wall-of-sound songwriting style so bombastic it almost suits Flowers' sledgehammer vocals.

The Fame is a very unusual beast: a sparkling pop album crammed with infectious melodies that you somehow never, ever want to hear again.

In their attempt to induce dreams, though, too much of Alpinisms is a laptop-gazing wash out, neglecting the intensity required for this kind of thing, and "Prince Of Peace" inhabits a disturbing world where Enya might front an electronically-enhanced baggy band.

Swift's thoughtful honesty and surprisingly articulate take on life should be commended.

The problem is, Go Hard's constantly unsure if it wants to top the charts of its own accord, dominate Radio 1 with big-name collaborations or avoid getting friendly with the mainstream at all, and so flits between the three hoping no one will notice.

Norah's most personal collection of songs to date.

The melodies are mostly jaunty and the stoner harmonies solar-powered enough to lull around your brain but there’s no disguising the fact it’s a disappointingly one-dimensional record stuffed with half-baked ideas (“The Start”) and devoid of a single original thought.

The formula here is for Frusciante to carve tunes out of loose, cyclical riffs, a few basic samples and drum programmes and his own parched voice. Sometimes, as on 'Remain', the effect is slightly uncomfortable... Tough that out, and get used to the demo quality throughout, and there are some decent songs on 'To Record Only Water,' endearing for their rawness and honesty.