That every track here reinforces that memory of him makes it an unexpectedly fitting tribute.

There are no surprises or unexpected turns and the overall dearth of spontaneity ensures an empty and shallow experience.

For the most part Fields are lazily picking their own way between the disparate pastures of folk, pop, post rock and shoegaze on a deliciously sun-dappled day.

"Send Away The Tigers" is not only the most enjoyable Manics record in years, it's the most consistent.

Even at his laziest, Wolf sounds vastly more intelligent, committed and interesting than his supposed rivals, and "The Magic Position" is full of heart, warmth and beauty.

This "Baby…" is bloated and bursting from its nappies - and that goes for the songs as well as duration.

An elemental tour-de-force, "The Reminder" could be her Eureka record - an album where almost everything turns to gold.

It's a case of too many beats failing to earn their keep.

How does such a rich soup of chromosomes and hired help come together? In a tinkly, whispery trinket that deserves a place on the stereo of every right-thinking beatnik.

Callahan's trademark cold brittle voice - part Lou Reed, part Droopy - remains intact, but musically and lyrically he's a lamb in springtime.

At every turn this record astonishes with its accomplishment.

For the most part "No Need To Be Downhearted" is a gorgeous record - big music full of small touches.

Thee More Shallows' pop fans might yearn for more mellifluous melodies - their hip hop heads for more doctored beats - but in this "Book Of Bad Breaks", they're clearly on the same page.

This is pretty fluffy stuff.

Everything here sounds familiar.

Ultimately, Grinderman is just a way for Cave to release more music.

Heartfelt, honest and compelling, "Cassadaga" is garnished with melodies so lush that Bright Eyes' ascent to the next level of recognition is absolutely assured.

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

"Jarvis" is a collection of 13 individual songs, rather than an album with cohesive impact.

There's little not to love.

The need for rock'n'roll bands to declare war on clichés has been evident for ages. But who'd have thought a band in tight jeans and sunglasses would wind up leading the charge?

This lumpen, bloated, boring album is as much of a let-down as any of Timbaland's other "solo" works.

For a band that formed little over a year ago, the energy and intent of this record is thrilling and the music rarely fails their undoubtedly grand ambitions.

Tender and loving it might not be, but one of the albums of the year? Definitely.

The melodies feel functional at best, surprisingly charmless affairs that push all the right buttons with little passion or joy, while the lyrics are that depressing rock cliche: woe-is-me deliberations on the pressures of fame.

A supreme return to form.

Veirs here is at the peak of her game, and as refreshing as a lungful of oxygen.

The suspicion that Mika might have major talent under the plagiarism and cynicism is what makes "Life In Cartoon Motion" so remarkably unlovely.