Devoid of a true soul or sense of honesty Lights can be a pretty hollow listen. You could argue that away from the aforementioned hype-led anticipation that this album would surprise and charm; yet without the vested interest of big wigs and shareholders Lights might simply not be here.

Make Another World finds Idlewild balancing their twin loves of volatile angst-rock and vivacious indie-pop neatly and professionally.

Though there’s a paucity of joy to be found among proceedings, other aspects of You Are The One I Pick (even the title’s a barbed double entendre!) actively compensate.

It lacks cohesion, with eerie instrumentals featuring with gentle acoustic tracks, it is a noble attempt to progress a rather formulaic, albeit excellent, musical career.

The first few tracks on Oh Inhuman Spectacle set a high bar not quite maintained throughout, but still, the record is a promising début and a perfect soundtrack for those mysterious twilight hours.

In the end, Vessels comes across as a promising guitar-driven breath of fresh air trapped in a box of squeaky-clean studio tricks; what was hopeful is now hopeless, and what seemed like an exciting rock revival is simply a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The Straight Hits! might not have the visceral punch of The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads or the openness of Last of the County Gentlemen but it has more than its fair share of moments, even if Pearson admits breaking several of the five rules, but obeys an unwritten Sixth Pillar: musical rules are made to be broken.

There's a lot here to admire: the songs are well-formed and consistently engaging.

Sex With an X exceeds all of the expectations we didn't know we had.

Jeff Bridges might not be the actor's most emotional performance - to see that you need to watch the last five minutes of Fearless - but it is a surprisingly heartfelt piece of work, packed with enough hooks and harmonies to show he's obviously a keen student of the greats.

The combination of Mercer's lyrics and indie-boy-who-can-actually-sing vocals, paired with Danger Mouse's undeniable ear for awesome pop, means it's always going to be well above average. Very good, in fact. Occasionally great. It doesn't need to be anything else.

Purists will lap this up, but ultimately, as lovingly constructed a tribute as this is, there’s an unavoidable sense that Clapton is preaching exclusively to the choir.

The Smashing Pumpkins in 2018 are an anachronism. Whether that’s an anachronism to relish, or render them irrelevant is up for debate, but Shiny and Oh So Bright sadly offers little to further their considerable legend.

While Daughter of Cloud houses a number of Barnes' most flamboyantly weird musical ideas, they're also frequently some of his hollowest.

The majority of this record meanders along like a fuel-starved express train whose driver has taken an extended lunchbreak; experimental noise follows more experimental noise.

Middleton has made a dance record for the disenfranchised, oh sure it's a cliché, but Summer of '13 is one of the most refreshing things you hear all year. Come on you miserable bastards, this here is the soundtrack to your summer of '16.

This is no groundbreaking piece of art; it's not innovative, it's unashamedly backwards looking, and it rips off the greats to high heaven. It's also bloody awful for a significant amount of its running time. However, when it does work, it's a great thing.

Wracked with doubt, contradiction and existential despair, Mama, I’m Swollen strikes out as a weighty, superbly realised endeavour which, for all its oppressive nature, is as eminently listenable and brave an album as any the band have produced.

It's just there was the expectation of more, and this has left me a bit cold.

It is hard to really know if there is a place for cricket concept albums. Certainly there's a time and a place for them and at the start of an Ashes summer is just that--it's perfect timing from Hannon and Walsh.

It’s the unmistakable sound of a band comfortable with having discovered that quiet is just in their character, and that those with the quietest voices can still cut through the squall.

In a lyrical and musical exploration of the themes of duality, Cursive have come out with a conflicted gem.

Planet Earth’ll leave you feeling decidedly short-changed.

Different Gear, Still Speeding is not a disaster: by and large it radiates the stolid competence of a band on autopilot, with a couple of flashes of likeable enthusiasm.

More a record to crush on than fall in love with, but free it from expectations and it'll take a small part of your heart.

"American Gangster" was the last time we saw the real Jay-Z--soulful, lyrically adept, his narrative streak reborn with a newfound alter ego--but here he is back to treading water.

While Transfixiation doesn't answer that question ["What have I become?"] specifically, it represents another giant step forwards in A Place To Bury Strangers' continual evolution.