There’s just very so little of merit here--glazed pop-rock staggers into itself as the whole album washes past without you realising.

A Joyful Noise is a femme-power event album too shallow to achieve the import its creators intended.

In combination it’s not adding much--except that little something in the twang of Bell’s voice which is completely unique and compelling--a little something almost completely drowned out by obvious platitudes maintained for a bit too long and with a few too many strings in the background.

The happy-go-lucky, Casio-plated sheen surrounding their elegantly crafted pop songs disguises what are, by and large, tales of bitterness, regret and longing for things that are impossibly out of reach.

Blink-182 aficionados will find plenty to enjoy here, but for those who grew wearisome of the stale pop-punk formula years ago, +44’s debut album is an unnecessary purchase.

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

The sledgehammer approach makes sense, in a way, but only if the satire is sharp and coherent. Too often on Sheezus, it’s not.

Ephemeral, blissful, ambient.... It’s also a mess. But it chooses to be a mess. It tries to be a mess that’s smoothed over and therein genius should reside. But it hasn’t done that. Instead all that is presented is two overlong tracks of snippets of stuff.

A majority of IMD is destined to end up splattered across car adverts and in film soundtracks where the scene is of a pulsing, throbbing, energetic nature. Sadly, that won't lend it any more substance.

For all its comparative brave departures and originality, The Third Hand just isn’t particularly engaging.

The Little Ones however have produced a record that naively ignores all the elements that make reality real, and therefore it doesn’t make much sense. It’s happy and lively to the point of vulgarity.

Does this mean Inherit is one for the better-luck-next-time pile? No, because while we’re right to expect more from these three women, their middle of the road still stands heads above much produced by the younger generation of noiseniks.

Red’s a grandiose statement of intent, crammed with aspirational symphonies that run the gambit of popular culture over the past 40 years without ever succumbing to grating pastiche.

Strangeland feels just a bit by the numbers.

An unexpected treat.

What really let’s this collection down is not the quality of the songs – everything about their tunes is well considered and slickly executed – but the production.

The record doesn’t successfully break new ground as much as it reassuringly treads familiar paths

In truth, Animal Collective didn’t really need to depend on the visual accompaniment to Tangerine Reef as the record does extremely well to capture the essence of the life aquatic on its own.

Essential only for Alexis Taylor's fanbase? Yes, but an intriguing and easily loveable record for many more.

This is CocoRosie's best long-player yet, and a sure contender for album of the year.

They’ve merely decided to exchange one set of quite transparent influences for another, less-effective set.

It's far from a poor record - the sole problem is that a number of songs do blur together, forming more of an aural whitewash than the technicolour trip some had predicted.

Along with the deliciously slick 'My Enemy' and recent single 'We Can't Fly' they serve as an exasperating reminder of just how good this album might have been. Instead these tracks merely serve as Aeroplane's black-box, sole survivors pulled from the flaming wreckage.

So after the outré highs and lows of Grey Oceans have played their last syllable, it's hard to know what to think of it, apart from being slightly underwhelmed for the most part.

Ultimately it is telling that the best song present here is a re-imagining of a previous smash. But leveling criticisms of unoriginality or lack of innovation and evolution at bands like BMFV is almost redundant. They're judged on the size of their hooks and in that department Temper Temper largely delivers.

While the songs aren't exactly good per se, they're certainly not hateful. You'd dance to them. Maybe you'd have to be drunk. Maybe you'd have to be in Reflex. But you'd dance to them.

Magna Carta... Holy Grail isn't a total bust, but neither is it anywhere close to Jay-Z's finest moments. Instead it's a strange and anodyne record, that speaks of a king, nay a god, who may not have lost his crown, but would benefit from leaving his lofty boardroom once in a while.

From the outset, No Mundane Options drifts by without asserting itself.