If they've kept the good stuff back in the hope of better times, the decision was misguided; but if this is the best they can manage, the portents are, in the original sense of the word, ill.

If you didn't like the casual misogyny, glorification of crack dealing and unapologetic thuggery of the debut then stop reading now, because "Hell Hath No Fury" makes it sound like "Meat Is Murder" by The Smiths.

This is far from being a bad album - Jay has never made one of those, nor given the impression he is capable of doing so - but it rarely rises to the levels he has consistently reached.

The most genuinely interesting addition to The Beatles' canon in years, it actually makes you want to dig out the originals and fall in love with the music all over again.

"Orphans" is that rarity of an album: one that will satisfy hardcore fans as well as the uninitiated.

"Tha Blue Carpet Treatment" is quite the mesmerising sonic experience.

"Songs For Christmas" is a(nother) labour of love, gently glowing with hope and humanity and is thus guaranteed to prize cynicism's barnacles from the heart of even the most dedicated Scrooge.

Pretty much a repeat of an earlier 1990 compilation.

In a bid to make a startling epic work, she's concentrated on the form and neglected the content.

"So Divided" sees …Trail Of Dead leaving their footprints in some intriguingly unlikely places. Whether the faithful choose to follow them or not, they deserve respect for that alone.

An album that will satisfy everyone who enjoyed his debut.

"9" picks up where the ubiquitous and two-million selling "O" left off. Hoarse howling to acoustic guitar strumming; folksy plucking to bleeding heart mutterings; Radiohead-a-like moments pull of portentous, look-at-me pauses and full band crescendos.

"The Pick Of Destiny" is likely to be among the finest cock rock albums about magical plectrums released this year.

This is an album rich in feminine delicacy and woodsy magic, but ultimately Campbell will remain far too fey for many.

She undoubtedly has a great record or two in her. This, sadly, isn't one of them.

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

Frequently staggering.

"The Black Parade" is a big, fat, obnoxious, difficult, overbaked concept record and it's all the more exciting for it.

Undoubtedly one of the year's strangest releases.

He's spitting distance from a brilliant concept album about love and suburbia, but he keeps pulling back.

It's when Diddy adopts the role he's really good at, the executive producer - bringing together and overseeing the real talent - for the closing stages, that "Press Play" moves from being another chaotic and bloated stab at a rap career to being something approaching a great album.

A short, sharp blast of snotty fun that suggests the party is not over yet.

Greater things may well be in the pipeline for The Kooks, but this is sadly lacking in anything to fall - or indeed remain - in love with.

He's turned his gaze back on himself and created a record that brilliantly summarises and even critiques his own past.

An album considerably richer than "Hot Fuss" and far more worthy of mainstream hugeness.

Not since Springsteen's "Greetings From Ashbury Park, NJ" has an album carved poetry so successfully from the dirty streets of America's greatest cities, or has a lyricist dealt so skilfully with the themes of addiction, failure and snatching redemption a split second before passing out.

The Dears stamp enough of their own personality to make this one of the best and most vital alternative US albums of 2006.

When you don't have the fun of playing spot-the-steal, all you're left with are wishy washy pastiches and a sense of growing fatigue.