Just as Interpol always seemed like a good imitation of a great rock band (no-one in particular, just A Great Rock Band, with all its slogans and hooks, and gestures and shapes), Julian Plenti does a fairly good imitation of a solo-artist showing his sensitive side.

He's capable of weaving such a compelling mix of avant garde, classical and pop music, but this time the artist's self-indulgence has got the better of him.

Studiously crafted and meticulously executed from start to finish, if any doubts remained as to whether Fat White Family were the most important rock and roll band of their generation, this should put a lid on it once and for all. For Songs for Our Mothers is of a rare breed of record that's both of its time yet timeless in nature.

Nevermind the continual rebooting of their franchise, this should be the time to quietly lay the series to rest and focus on the box-sets. This band simply have nothing more to say.

With Glow & Behold, Yuck have shown they can be more than the grunge gropers Billy Hamilton billed them as and have survived saying goodbye to Blumberg--a situation that could yet see them become an altogether different and far more interesting band. However, it’s hard to shake the feeling we’re not back where we started.

On record Yes, It's True feels insubstantial, which is disappointing because when they don't go overboard they can still craft interesting music.

So, Fly Yellow Moon flirts with, but ultimately averts, disaster by virtue of the strengths we already know Fyfe Dangerfield to possess as Guillemots' principle songwriter: a knack for making bright pop songs on a life-affirming scale, delivered with an infectious and indefatigable enthusiasm.

The album is a sprawling, confusing, self-indulgent mess. Nonetheless, there are real glimmers of brilliance here.

Mercifully, this album shouldn’t even be a footnote – it’s no nadir, for sure, but it sure isn’t any good.

There are a few weaker offerings scattered across There Is A Way, 'Good Time' and 'Apostrophe' are the main offenders, but nothing that spoils a clearly accomplished record.

All in all, Empire is a rather decent garage rock album.

There’s nothing to break the mould here, nothing that stands out and surprises like ‘Dakota’ did.

It’s enjoyable, but it leaves me wondering if TLC could have pared-back the nostalgia kick to allow their new songs to stand out in their own right. The new songs here may not launch them back out into the commercial music stratosphere, but they definitely deserve to stay in orbit.

It’s not as good as its makers’ first, given the flatness of the overall production which falls well short of capturing the dynamism of the band’s live show.

So, after all this time is she still worth the time of day? Without a shadow of a doubt.

It isn't highbrow or ground-breaking, but it is fun and uplifting.

This album is Grubb’s most cinematic and balanced offering yet. It slowly burns through his moods, explores his Western panoramas and phantasmagorical musings.

If you like 'The Wrong Girl' or 'I'm Not Living In The Real World', you'll find plenty to enjoy here. If you tend to shuffle past the B&S that isn't pure Stuart Murdoch, you'll just find your punnery tolerance levels severely tested.

‘Ratchet’ sets a fairly hedonistic tone, only for things to immediately lock down.... It all makes for an intriguing opening, two sides of Bloc Party on display in addition to their strengths and weaknesses. How curious, then, that the Nextwave Sessions immediately switches the focus to that Sessions bit, ushering in a strangely repetitive run of glorified demos.

Nearly every track is catchy enough but for an act in the business of cheap, good time thrills, most fall too far from the bountiful tree of old.

Until Coco can hit upon this kind of refinement of her influences in a more general sense, she seems destined to be known firstly for who her father is and only secondly for her own artistic achievements.

The result is like a musical cab ride from hell, a forty-minute endurance test of half-baked cockney cod-philosophy.

As you'd likely expect, they're still as confused as ever.

On the whole, it matches Smith’s cheerier mood. A couple of abstract jam splodges aside, the album is punchier and less dirgy than last time.

For the most part, though, Candy for the Clowns is very good fun; straight-up rock and roll, with no interest in pretension.

World On Fire, while certainly not without charms, is a record that's happy to coast instead of climb.

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.