The lack of bang, where a band like The Whip for instance might do a good job with a similar collection of tracks, is well and truly compensated by its overall arc and atmosphere, its leisurely strides into a lazer-filled sunset proving climax enough without gimmicky drops and pandering.

It’s a decent, yet unspectacular debut album from a band who do occasionally have the knack for a good tune, even though it might not sound like it is completely theirs.

There's plenty of promise to find within Arbor Labor Union's sanguine psych, but there's still a little further to go before the pinecones become trees with any real weight about them.

Granted, there’s a dropped line or two (see the Katy Perry reference in the frankly appallingly saccharine ‘I’m Good’ and the misjudged Jamaican patois of ‘There Was A Murder’) but this remains an album with few weak points, and plenty of strong ones.

It seems it will take a third record for it to be fully realised, meaning that 'promising' once again seems like the right word, but on Where The Messengers Meet the Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band do a good deal of delivering too.

Carrying almost nothing in the way of flab, Blood Red Shoes is the band standing entirely on their own four feet--a rare occurrence in modern music. They've not reinvented the musical wheel, but their strength as a unit, and as musicians, cannot be doubted.

On casual listen it’s a perfectly pleasant electro-classical record. But despite the considerable technical talents of its creator, it could be by just about anyone.

Kanye’s eighth, deeply egotistical, candidly self-aware, frequently cringe-inducing, captivatingly produced and infuriatingly compelling record.

Simulation Theory largely sounds like the work of band who have the pressure off and are just going with it--definitely not a bad thing.

They just seems to be writing the music they enjoy, about the things they care about, and it’s done them a world of good.

Whilst back then they bounced along with cheekiness and zeal, now they seem to be trying to continue the reggae-meets-Brit-suburbia Nutty blueprint but end up falling flat in too many places.

Some Loud Thunder is a partial success. When it shines, it shines brightly and showcases a skill at crafting - when they have the balls to carry their ideas through - insanely catchy left-of-centre quirk pop a la Talking Heads.

It’s a talent for smallness in spite of showy surroundings, an Englishness that’s as convincing as anything Jamie T, Mike Skinner or Lily Allen has produced, infiltrating the upper echelons of the American music establishment.

What makes a person charming--songwriter or not--is that adaptability to a situation. It’s the sort of malleability we lose as age hardens us or we simply get stuck in our ways. But Eugene McGuinness hasn’t lost it yet.

Overall, this'll be way more easily digested by trad-minded hard rock consumers.

Even though it’s not overlong at only 55 minutes, it still feels bloated and unnecessary.

‘Emoh’ is revealing at all times, but utterly dignified throughout, and it’s a wonderful solo record.

Mellifluous, yet unenticing.

The State Of Things will no doubt be a big hit. But if anyone ever takes the time to give it a good proper listen they will find that it’s a wafer thin album of posturing and poor word play.

Blending careful harmonies with insidious melodies and woeful lyrics with clever vocals, AAF stick a couple of Hispanic influences and some string quartets in as well.

Musically, she leaves things deliberately underwritten, rooted in bass or scratchy guitar as opposed to the shiny-shiny production of her earlier work. It lets the songs speak for themselves, though it does occasionally expose their flaws as well.

This is the sound of a band fired-up and focused, and the result is a Darkness album to be proud of.

California sounds like the work of a band filled with the joy of existence, giving in to every pop indulgence or production trick that could stuff in one more hook before the end.

As good as he evidently is as an arranger for the modern pop market (props, too, for song-penning collaborators Paul Epworth and Anthony 'Eg' White)--lacks lyrical consistency: for every neat tongue twist guaranteed to have you mouthing the words back in the shower the next day, there's some truly atrocious couplet that's best forgotten before it's heard.

Fortunately Grellier includes enough moments of excitement to keep Heritage less of a soundtrack album and more a French disco LP stripped of vocals.

Galapagos will definitely keep the party going, though it might not do much more than that.

Rattle’s greatest accomplishment isn’t to just write music for drums, but to write songs that capture AND transcend this modern era we live in.

Nash hasn't just tried to continue her legacy as one of the UK's most iconic, honest and innovative pop sensations… she has completely rewritten it.