While there are moments that have the summer days – and daze – of ’99 flooding back, too much of this sixth long-player proper sounds disjointed and manhandled.

Holly Miranda makes nice music, sometimes really pretty, but it doesn’t say anything real or move emotions to anywhere even nearing an extreme. As a result The Magician's Private Library fails to tick that most important box: evocative.

You’d need DNA evidence to separate Free Energy from the influences they’re so clearly in thrall of, but it’s all so blusteringly fun and care-free that they make you feel like a curmudgeon for even contemplating giving a shit.

Dept. of Disappearance is a good album that makes for a pleasing listen, despite its lack of ambition.

The music frequently bludgeons the listener into wondering why the song wasn't cut dead about three minutes ago.

Despite the one or two stabs at youthful exuberance evident here, this is an AOR album through and through.

Too guarded to reveal much of Mulvey's personality. Too low key to remain long in your memory.

The album proves itself to be as an unusual cocktail of all of the band’s previous guises--Urie might have gone mad with power, his band purged to its brittle skeleton, but when it comes together, it can still occasionally be thrilling.

The lyrics ring true enough, but not forcefully enough to really resonate with any depth.

Slightly less shambolic guitar playing and overall song craft seems reasonable for two musicians now decades into their careers. Lots of lyrical double entendres are a request, but if they can’t be ribald, then witty will suffice. It’s really only at the third post that V for Vaselines falls.

For the moment, In Light is hamstrung by its creators' raw ambition.

Intriguing regardless, and almost guaranteed to capture your attention for a short time at least, even if it isn’t as engaging as it perhaps should be.

This album is full of emotive and nuanced performances, the aches of her heart resonating powerfully. However, the sheen and the bombast of much of the production reeks not just of a kind of entitlement, but of desperation.

Despite Angry Cyclist’s shortcomings, the peaks are high enough to earn its place in the band’s long, lustrous discography.

Jake One may not be the "perfect beat-maker" he proclaims to be, but on the occasions when he finds the right connection, he can be tough to beat.

Despite many excellent tunes, a continual emphasis on effects makes the album slightly grating in parts, feeling a bit like a Wire and Frampton Come Alive! recurring super group nightmare, in which the best and worst aspects of Seventies rock music are forced to combine to beat the Russians.

If you got concussed during the first Pearl Jam tour and have only just come out of your coma, boy, have we got a great new sound for you.

Beautiful Thing can be marked down as an interesting experiment but not a great record. It may end up being loved by hardcore fans of his song-writing but there won’t be a lot here for casual fans to come back to.

Though Way is at his most engaged in years, there's no major reinvention here. If anything, his first solitary missive registers as much as a tribute to influences as it does a focused reboot.

Disquiet, the group’s fourteenth album, is their most direct and to the point release in some time.

This is the sound of a well established, accomplished singer and production crew that have earned their right to do what they want to a high standard.

Some might sneer at its twee nature--especially in light of the extraordinariness of the recently departed, but Spilt Milk captures an ageing songwriter catching a second wind and reflecting with wit, charm and humility.

It requires TLC, and some listeners–-and I count myself among them–-are just too heavy-handed to stay in its company long.

It's hard to get excited about a record that rarely moves from its musical comfort blanket. But there are still moments.

As it meanders towards its conclusion, the LP melds into a uniform mesh of pleasantly forgettable ditties.

There is an amiable and glowing exterior to Warm Blanket that does offers some occasional sustenance--just don't expect anything to really get your teeth in to.

There are some great moments on this record, but by the end they’re lost under swathes of synths and looking for a sense of purpose.

As the record progresses, however, it’s hard not to feel that the band are using the same tricks over and over again. This not only makes the second half of the record intrinsically less vibrant on first listen than the first but also undermines earlier tracks on repeat listens.