Tough going and very samey, both in sonics and lyricism. Even if you enjoy the basic template, you may well run out of steam before the end.

Marmozets are a band that thrive on angst. They deliver it through the raw nature of their sound, through their acute lyrics and pounding metalcore-slash-pop-punk. It can feel at times, though, of too much of an exhilarating ride, an endless roller coaster that doesn’t provide enough respite.

As an insight to a world within a world of black American music, Personal Space elicits interest. As a compilation, it fails to sustain it very long.

A little shallowness is fine by me, but Rocky's studied, humourless delivery is harder to swallow.

On Let’s Be Still, they sporadically do a good job of nagging at the heart, but fail to convince the head that this hasn’t been done better elsewhere, plenty of times before.

The first two singles released of the album, ‘J-Boy’ and ‘Ti Amo’, are enjoyable enough, setting the scene with shimmery ripples as you’re engulfed by the clubby rhythm, disco-balls swirling through every riff. But they also reveal the main flaws in the album: both build promisingly into grand reveals only to stall and go nowhere, like revving a car in neutral.

Disappointingly, this is a shaky collection for such a groundbreaking producer, though unlikely to impact his designs on commercial ascendancy.

An unremarkable, yet solid record.

Sun Structures is a record made with flair and skill by a band who know exactly what they’re doing--and that’s the problem. Temples are trying so hard to be something else that we lose track of who they actually are.

It’s a crushingly un-exuberant album, powered by neither anger nor joy, howls of rage nor whoops of exhilaration, not revelling in any particular aspect of the band’s music, nor kicking against any pricks. The lyrics dabble with outsiders and the odd bit of queer imagery, but there’s nothing revelatory, incendiary or revealing.

Sadly what Yours, Dreamily needs is a little bit of oomph every now and again to wake us, and the rest of the band from our collective stupors. Even compared to his debut solo album, this feels second rate.

If you want an album that is easily digested, doesn’t require much thought or attention, but still ticks all the right boxes in terms of beautiful guitar playing and vocal work, then it’s the one for you.

Just how often you'll revisit Forth after the initial flush of interest is debatable, because it hasn't really moved things anywhere for them.

Such relaxed saunters down musical memory lane have been done before, and often better.

Unfortunately, the writing and production is as saccharine as the topics covered, either gossamer thin semi-ideas of tracks padded out, or bogged down by strings and a blinding sheen of instrumentation that does nothing to appeal to anyone beyond easy-listening FM aficionados.

There's a sort of admirable purity to this approach, and it suggests that if Animal Collective decide they'd like to make brilliant albums again then probably will, but this time they're probably better off painting alone.

The Family Jewels seems to be to be symptomatic of a broader trend at the moment to demand our female artists be both credible and commercial at the expense of achieving anything great in either camp.

Unfortunately, too much of NLOTH sounds staid and uninspired, again maybe due to the changing musical landscape that was going on all around them during the making of the record.

The truth is Tranquillisers has no teeth; being neither truly reprehensible nor in the slightest bit memorable.

It’s disjointed and discomforting, and certainly easier to admire than actually enjoy.

Gargoyle is missing the emotive, musical draw that makes Langegan the tear-jerking, blues-poet that he really is.

It is hard to criticise such a well-crafted, enjoyable album that appears to have been made specifically with someone like me in mind. The thing is that in six weeks’ time it will be even harder to remember it.

The thing is I wanted a Pretenders album, not The Black Keys feat. Chrissie Hynde. Which is what this all too often feels like.

This album is grounded. Slightly lost and, sadly, all too findable.

In the cold light of day the album feels flat and utterly predictable.

The first dip into this new Jacuzzi feels pleasant, since Sucker’s sunny party anthems fizzled out halfway through--but XCX lacks the finesse to turn this into anything beyond a mindless massage.

For the most part What Did You Expect From the Vaccines? fails to muster much sense of enthusiasm for itself beyond those first and last tracks.