The quality is unmistakable and confirmation enough that she deserves to be remembered as more than just Biggie’s widow.

"Guero" proves that the old, post-modern magic still works.

A darkly, slathering record of frustration and disillusionment, “Language. Sex. Violence. Other?" may, in time, even come to be seen as one of the true masterpieces of the noughties guitar revival.

If you’ve heard one song by The Bravery you’ve pretty much heard them all. The keyboard settings may change, as do the guitar FX pedals, but there’s a formula at work here and how much you get out of this record depends entirely on how interesting you find that formula.

“Arular”, as well as being a particularly great and brave album, could well be this year’s Portishead or Massive Attack.

What he doesn’t have, but desperately needs, is a little of bit of grit.

Many of the tracks (including "Positive Tension" and "This Modern Love") are so choppy and discontinuous as to give you the same nauseous feeling you get when you hear a Mars Volta record.

A very dull record.

For the most part, "Lullabies To Paralyze" keeps up the high musical standard set by its predecessors.

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

And if the production is not as sumptuous as a Furry’s album – although it’s by no means lo-fi – thematically it’s business as usual.

With “Human After All” the pair are running both on the spot and out of ideas. In making an album comprised of nothing but their stylistic tics – the over-used Vocoder/pitch bender, the monstrously compressed acid squelches, the crunchy, rock guitar motifs – Daft Punk are like a celebrity chef who serves up nothing but his signature dish. Soon, you’ll stop eating in his restaurant.

They develop, mutate, and swell in confidence until you’re faced with the last thing you expected - finally, a worthy successor to Blur.

Prepare to be beguiled.

“Meltdown” is a sturdy, well-written and (perpetually adolescent lyrics aside) mature addition to Ash’s enduring and near-essential canon – ample reward for ten years’ loyal support.

Mosshart still sounds like PJ Harvey’s brattish American sister, Hince still retains the ability to craft tunes from nothing and blurred sepia images of the two of them abound. But somehow, despite all the achingly hip self-mythology, The Kills are still capable of mustering up convincingly great rock'n'roll.

It's too much risk-free computation and not enough wild emotion.

A stunningly bad record.

Whilst “Some Cities” has less radio-friendly singles than “The Last Broadcast”, it is perhaps a more cohesive piece of work.

An incredibly accomplished record, a true testament to the band’s imagination, intellectual curiosity and outrageous musical talent.... Unfortunately, “Frances The Mute” is also awful.

Focused, slick and likable as “Rebirth” undeniably is in places, the fact that the Limited Edition comes with a sample of Ms Lopez’s new “Miami Glow” fragrance, confirms, that it’s still just another shameless exercise in brand extension.

Yet another endearingly eccentric document: one that will largely support his growing reputation as a talented, contrary, and mischievously erratic artiste.

What remains... is a jerky, cocksure indie group striving to be accepted as a proper grown-up Southern Rock band, without the guts, depth or tunes to carry it off.

It is one thing to not take yourself to seriously but it is quite another to go to the other extreme. For all his knowing winks, Green walks the fine line between decadency and distaste.

Built on a repetitious platform of bass, drums and guitar, what starts off as a genuinely thrilling journey tends to conclude in a cul-de-sac.

If relationships were straightforward they’d be no need for albums like this. Thank god they aren’t.

"The Others" is no masterpiece, but it offers up a warm, beating heart where its rivals offer cold, cynical eyes.

Feeder are in danger of being a schizophrenic band, unrecognisable from their once “trademark” sound and prone to style swings on a whim.