Young Adults Against Suicide is fun but two-dimensional.

Moments of quality do intersperse these drags.

Without the filter and guidance of a strong writing partner, and without a personality able to temper his every whim, much of this album contributes to the argument that Paul’s output urgently calls for restraint.

While the instrumentals service Barnes well, when guest vocalists--once a hallmark of Leftfield’s work (John Lydon’s vocals on ‘Open Up’ still feel perfect)--the album broaches less solid ground.

It's rammed full of solid psychedelia that no one could really get annoyed at, but conversely, no one could ever fall in love with.

It is in this record’s opening salvo and in its closing stages that its aim, of reflecting the natural beauty of eastern England, where both Rogerson and Eno grew up, comes closest to being accomplished.

Just seven tracks seems an odd length for an album, especially when they are chunky (all between four minutes 40 and seven minutes, most around five-and-a-half-minutes) rather than substantial. Ultimately, it is hard to shake the feeling that My Best Human Face should have given a lot more.

This is an essential purchase for any Rancid fan.

Pattern of Excel is a difficult album. It subverts your expectations and deliberately goes against what convention would suggest in terms of direction and vibe.

It is a great record, at times. But when the elements don’t quite chime it suffers.

While Not Too Late is a shade darker than her mega-selling, Grammy-winning template, it's highly unlikely to win all that many new converts, and fans may find this album a little bit of a slog in places.

The album comes in light lapping waves of melodic song. It doesn’t wash you away, it doesn’t lure you in to your death. It’s a nice album.

There's nothing as straight-up enjoyable as 'LDN' or quite as remarkably scathing as 'Smile', but sticking with It’s Not Me, It’s You and penetrating its jarringly slick-meets-Garageband-amateur exterior is wholly advisable. Not perfect by any means, it nevertheless cements Allen’s status as a chronicler of daily existence.

Free The Universe reeks of chasing the success of Baauer’s 'Harlem Shake'--shich, incidentally, came out on Diplo’s Mad Decent label--like a rabid dog. As such, it’s just another notch on macho rave’s bedpost.

While '...Ghosts' is all very pretty and nice, there isn’t quite enough to get your teeth into.

The main flaw with Eno and Holland's collaboration is that words which, read on a page or spoken into silence, might have the space to spark a host of mental images, here frequently seem flattened by the music.

Because however cheesy, however smothered in Eighties patische, what Within Temptation have done is write a collection of killer melodies that are so strong it's almost impossible to sniff at them. I just wish they'd done it with a little more of a personal flourish.

You get twelve colourful washes of sound that work well on screen, but in terms of the band add up to not much more than a interesting EP.

Nine Black Alps clearly do 'get' what is so satisfying about the particular well of alternative they drink from, even if it hasn't really been all that alternative for 20-plus years.

As rich and enchanting as the source material undeniably is, the winding songs of Child Ballads ultimately get locked into an unfortunate paradox: the magic of the narratives require a focussed and concentrated listen, but the sparse arrangements and repetitive melodies don’t invite the ear in nearly as closely as Mitchell’s recent LPs.

In general, Voices in a Rented Room is a pleasant if undistinguished record, two old friends revelling in each other’s company and mutual talents with the occasional moment of technical or emotional aplomb interrupting the bonhomie.

After the sass and bluster of the first half, the record settles into a rather one-dimensional groove.

Sometimes an all-encompassing desire to satisfy the album’s eccentric premise causes musical havoc. Alt-J have always revelled in a penchant for vocal distortion, frenzied percussion, cinematic strings, and reverberating synths - attributes they largely abandon in lieu of offering more traditional hip-hop elements. And sometimes it just doesn't work.

Stiff is a hard record to dislike--sometimes all you need for a good time is some well produced, straightforward rawk n’ roll, a good throwback album to channel your inner guitar purist to. If that’s what you’re looking for, Stiff more than fits the bill.

It’s tempting to conflate the fact Middle Cyclone is less outre than her last couple of sets with the fact it last week cracked the US top three, but there’s nothing particularly sell out-ish about it, and certainly with her lyrical gifts and that incredible voice still firmly intact, it’s hard to even really be that disappointed.

It is all too easily consigned to background music if you stop paying attention.

Overall, this is a highly schizophrenic collection.

The dub-littered textures and conceptual frameworks are admirable in their artistic reach, but Jurado’s greatest strengths are found at his most stripped back on Brothers and Sisters of the Eternal Son. Not coincidentally, the songs which he presents with least decoration are the songs which bear the closest scrutiny.