Crucially, it seems their ability to write a magisterially moving song such as "NYC" or "Obstacle No 1", both from their debut, seems to have abandoned them. In fairness, sonically speaking, this is their best effort yet.

Justice essentially have two modes: funky techno built with filthy overdriven synth sounds and gleefully daft disco/'80s pastiche so shiny as to be almost reflective. Both are held together with a studio rigour that makes the record bounce out of the speakers so forcefully that the moments of synthesis, where the sound coheres into its trademark elastic groove, become utterly addictive.

Expect to hear a smattering of gems from Time On Earth, more than holding their own with the band's much loved and more famous moments.

Super Taranta! is an album of such sweaty vigour, spittle-flecked passion, wide-eyed curiosity and a keen sense of the ridiculous it deserves a big fat plug on primetime telly.

With filth, loose morals, anger, frustration, big guitars and even bigger choruses at every turn, it's got all the DNA of a pure-bred rock classic.

Rowland's big problem is that she has the lungs but not the voice, at least not if we take that to mean something distinctively her own.

Uncle Dysfunktional won't compel a new generation to discover the back catalogue or question the popular depiction of the Mondays as cartoonish buffoons.

This is a pretty bog-standard Ash collection, nothing more, nothing less.

Carrying the minimum amount of filler and fat, this judiciously pruned collection conclusively proves that this is one tiger still capable of burning brightly.

What is certain is "Astronomy For Dogs" is a magic-dusted delight and that Anderson is a wizard and a true star.

"Icky Thump" is really a very odd record indeed, but then, oddness of a particularly bravura nature comes naturally to them.

Bon Jovi are at their best when delivering the country-tinged ballads.

Not content with making a diverse, punchy record brimming with those trademark riffs, Homme has written lyrics that make you think.

Why the hell is Ronson being applauded as a wunderkind for basically recycling big beat and hiring some horns?

The one-time Best Unsigned Band In The Country have come up trumps with a debut album brimming with whip-smart, post-riot-grrl attitude.

Where once Macca seduced us with great melodies, simple songs and great musicians, here the musical sledgehammer is on show too often.

It's heartening to see Smith mainly producing effortless gems in a genre that often sees men half his age struggling to do anything of interest in.

Put simply, this is B-Movie rock: from the death rattle vocals, to the clichéd riffs and hackneyed subject matter.

It is certainly Dizzee's least consistent record to date.

An album of class, depth and seriously hard grinding, it's a major transformation from pretty girl with potential to star turn.

His tenuous grasp on reality and good taste slips and he plummets into a tawdry, gratuitous and self-congratulatory flurry of misogyny, expletives and reggae.

It gathers momentum slowly, making for a brew so quietly potent and pulsating with repressed energy you're almost afraid to leave the room while it's playing in case it explodes messily all over the walls.

The Sun And The Moon", The Bravery's down-to-earth approach ought win them a second chance.

Maroon 5 are the new Police, the new U2: a wildly exciting rock band who understand how to make great pop music that works everywhere from the bedroom and the iPod to the radio and the stadium.

Herein lies the beauty of this band: geeky record collectors they may be, but they're quick to impose their feral energy and fierce individuality on proceedings.

This is so rich, so intelligent, so feeling, that most of us will throw our hands limply in the air and join voices with mum Kate McGarrigle who, according to the dedication on the back, "still whispers in my ear that I'm great".

These half-arsed stabs at nu-AOR end up pleasing no one, least of all the band itself.

We're all for experimentation, but please: Nashville?