This album is nowhere near as imaginative or as interesting as its maker thinks it is.

If the "Energy Never Dies", as Black Eyed Peas' acronymically-titled fifth album has us believe, why do they continually sound like the most tired, idea-less group on the block?

Ultimately, it's not that XX Teens throw everything including the kitchen sink at it, but rather that they drink everything under the sink and wait to see what happens. Welcome To Good Island is that kind of experience.

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

One meandering ballad follows another, each one overlong and labouring under the illusion that emotional profundity is more important than a decent tune.

It's not the best thing he's ever done, but it's up there with it.

They seem afraid to risk a good old-fashioned jungle break-out, the likes of which would be genuinely invigorating.

The dominant sound is of flickering sequencers and heavy-handed synth-pomp which showcases Linkin Park's keen interest in the work of Depeche Mode, but also often leaves them sounding about as cutting-edge and dangerous as Jesus Jones.

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

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.

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.

It's not just that 'Love Sex Magic' is the highlight, it's Fantasy Ride's only saving grace.

There is a childishness about CocoRosie's sound, but rather than a tame tweeness, it's the dark perversity of a genuinely infantile imagination.

Whether they can co-exist with today's nu breed is another question entirely, but 'Beyond Good And Evil' just about overcomes its sameyness and provides enough flashes of what made them special in the first place to justify their continued existence.

Unsurprisingly, "TP3.com" is overblown and overlong with appearances from the usual suspects - The Game, Twista and the ubiquitous Snoop - and production qualities as impressive as his libido.

There are moments where the mini-pops Joy Division approach hits paydirt, notably on the relentless, single-minded surge of the single, 'Bigger Than Us'. But mostly the trio are at their best when they wriggle free from the colossal shadows they're hiding under.

There’s just nothing new here, merely a rehashing of old ideas both musically and lyrically.

The only thing wrong with this largely excellent album is knowing that will.i.am has better stuff up his sleeve.

Despite the dominance of modern technology, this is still an album that adheres to the blueprint Farrell has laid down in his previous two outfits. More importantly, it moves into new musical territory and, coupled with his brilliantly versatile voice, makes 'Song Yet To Be Sung' a triumphant return for the latter-day chameleon of rock.

They're one of those rare propositions in British Pop - A Great Idea On Paper.... Often, it works, leaping off the page and becoming something you'd actually want to slip into your state of the art entertainment hub at the end of a hard day shredding documents.

When she turns from fathoming everyone else's existence to her own, and stops frantically waving her style icon credentials, the genius of hers and Mirwais' partnership is overwhelming.

What some see as derivative, unoriginal bollocks others view as honesty, craft and a lack of pretension.

Back On My B.S. is 50 minutes of largely no-nonsense Busta, fist firmly planted in the mid-'90s. Of course, with that we get the expected ups and downs, but what Busta lacks in album length longevity, he makes up for in force.

If this is what we get - because this is what enough of us apparently want - the end of the music business cannot come soon enough.

This shiny collection of pop, folk, blues, country and rock is mostly about as emotionally engaging as watching Mr Spock watch paint dry... in the dark.

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.

Troublingly short on tunes.

Encapsulating just how far Sean has come (if you're a Cash Money CEO, that is) Lil' Jon pops up to do his incomprehensible shouty thing, so ruining, for no reason at all, the only remotely catchy thing here.