Strip away the fug of patchouli oil and incense and you're left with little more than a shoegazing album played by Kula Shaker.

"Black Gold" is a fine, fine record and undoubtedly the greatest thing he's ever done.

Both artists have stepped outside their regular roles to make what feels like a genuinely instinctive, love-fuelled record that zings with an enthusiasm for all spectrums of music.

It may not be his best album but it ranks as one of his most important.

Attempting such an ambitious concept in an age of diminished attention spans should no doubt be applauded, but overstretching itself in a stab at immortality, "Stadium Arcadium" marks a step backwards from 2002's "By The Way".

As enjoyable as anything this calculated can be.

An emotive, atmospheric dreamworld that sounds like an echo from history.

While going reggae was always going to be risky, it's the severe lack of conviction - whether in Burgess's mumblings or songs general vagueness - that's the biggest problem.

Unfashionable as they probably are, Pearl Jam have gone some way to regaining both their fire and their relevance with this, a record that takes equally from classic Neil Young stylings as it does raging, polemic punk.

A terrific gonzoid metal album.

The Rakes' debut is by turns profoundly unsettling and savagely funny as each song is propelled by a seething sense of purpose.

It is a qualified success, at times brilliant, at others rather vague and off target.

Most artists are well-aware of the pitfalls of the difficult third album, of course, and try to disguise their on tour / hotel room songs - but when has Mike Skinner ever been most artists?

Rambunctious and packed with a lust for life, "We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Seesions" is not only Springsteen's rowdiest set in years, it's the one that seems likely to win him a whole new audience.

The dark malevolent genius of "Windowlicker" may be lacking, but Richard D. James still walks that line between the accessible and the downright filthy.

As the title suggests, this album is - deliberately, you feel - a thwarted pleasure, any sweetness and warmth being spiked with discordance and bitterness.

There's simply not enough killer songs here to snare you in the same way that, say, The Rakes did on their debut.

So, a grown-up EODM album, hardly serious, but certainly more complete than the half-cooked sketches that used to pass for their songs.

Fans of musical experimentation, and Eno / Byrne completists, will no doubt want to add this set to their list, but for the uninitiated, you might be better off spending an hour or two browsing the World Music department of your nearest record shop than grappling with this quaintly outmoded collection.

His 12th album is so girly it should be wearing pink tights and a tiara.

"Jacket Full Of Danger" thinks it's funny but isn't - it's often pathetic.

On the surface it's an undeniably appealing package, and craftwise, there's much to admire.

The Flaming Lips' most effortless and varied exploration of their charming and profound tongue to date.

Quite honestly, he's never sounded so alive and free - or, more importantly, human.

Next time, she needs to dump the tired wild-girl shtick, unleash her lung-power and the world will fall at her feet. For now, this is just another album of production-line US pop.

As sleek and assured as anything the trio have done.

A knack for woozy melodies is one weapon at Nicholls' disposal; but here they're fatally undermined both by his petulant vocal style and by the rickety, paper-thin production.

To be fair, "The Loon" stops short of pastiche, but it is too transparently a paean to Tape 'n Tapes' heroes.