It starts with impressive gusto but meanders towards the end, drifting into slow, forgettable balladry.

For those exhausted by a modern landscape, where playing a game of spot the musical reference is de rigueur when approaching every new release, Everything That Happens Will Happen Today is certainly a welcome relief.

Really, what you’re left with is an accomplished album, delivered with passion and feeling, that’s easy to acknowledge as pretty good--to admire, even--but hard to be seriously moved by.

White Wilderness feels like a record that could have become a compelling collection of wonky strum-along pop songs with imaginative and colourful instrumentation, but ultimately it's indebted to an over-complication of ideas in a collaboration that struggles to flourish the way it should do on paper.

This is a very well-made album; heads will nod and feet will tap. But it doesn't capture that molten energy that the Icarus Line have been capable of in the past, and as such falls short of greatness

Too often, Scott and his band are guilty of lily gilding.

Inventive and playful, their songs play out like animated thought processes, you're invited to figure things out with them as they try to make sense of the world around.

Live uses Simian Mobile Disco’s past to signpost their future--resulting in a record which is occasionally frustrating and even underwhelming, but one which is also a demonstration of confident execution, and a promising forecast of mature dance music to come.

The Wave Pictures have embraced DIY ethic and shown that less is more and will hopefully inspire more people to make a record this way.

Minor Victories is a thoughtful and regal opening bow, but you’ll want for a little more teeth when Act Two comes into play.

The tenderness, and longing in her songs are inescapable; it’s subtle and affectionateness are feelings long sought after in today’s landscape. We should long for more Khouri.

They’ve lost a little bit of the magic of their debut. The lyrics feel a tiny bit less wistful, while the bass is a little less heavy--that strange but heady mix from the likes of ‘Hey Mami’ just isn’t jumping out from any of the tracks on What Now.

You can argue that it doesn’t break new musical ground, and you can keep your noses upturned if you like, but with consummate poise Alkaline Trio have cemented their reputation as this genre’s premier songwriters. It’s not too late to get a heart-skull tattoo.

If you’re a Dinosaur Jr fan and you can live without a couple of Lou Barlow tracks per album then it would be well worth checking out Elastic Days and hearing J do what he does best in a slightly different setting.

From a listening perspective Drifters is an engaging, and often intriguing concoction. Slightly less appetising is the drawn out and mostly instrumental ambience of Love is the Devil.

A modest release, Tribute To will obviously be of most interest to My Morning Jacket and George Harrison admirers, but the quality of the covers deserves a wider audience.

Latin doesn't have a weak moment, and while LP's higher energy levels may indeed play better with that lucrative Top Shop demographic, it would seem remarkable if any right thinking fan of the band didn't think Latin at least its equal.

Its conceptual limits are conspicuously narrow.

They’re still an incredibly likeable band, unashamed of being rabble-rousing without ever resorting to lowest common denominator tactics, but The Cribs have toned down the things that made them great.

There may be less outsider allure now that he’s opened his heart, but his fourth consistently good LP in a row casts his authenticity in emotional honesty for the first time while expanding his musical palette beyond all expectations.

It’s a CD stuffed to the gill with great tunes, but little else. There's nothing to hang your heart on, as much as there's a huge amount to move your head and feet to.

In the end, perhaps In Search... is just so inbred it’s capable of little more than frenzied tail wagging on a podium - its maniac tongue lolling --all eager and expectant that someone will pin a rosette to it just for having a nice shiny coat.

The North Borders is as ambitious a record as its predecessor, and it’s just as successful.

It's an album sufficiently laced with despair to render the not-committed listener uncomfortable; delve deeper, though, to where the darkness makes way for an eerie underworld glow, and the record's beauty emerges.

Four-and-a-half decades on from the original band’s formation, Lynne’s voice is as warm and comforting as ever, his ear for a hook still sharp and his production is as shiny and gorgeous as a celebrity model’s hair from a shampoo advert. But still, there’s something missing.

On this record, Yellowcard cover all the same territory as those latter bands, with vague stories of broken friendships, frustrated romances and perfect summers that they'll never get back. Because… you know… growing up, like… sucks. The lack of detail is the problem here.

This is a blissful, radiant, rewarding listen; one recommended without hesitation.

Kudos doesn't so much follow on from the ragged density of songs like 'Mt. Kill' and 'Dickshakers Union' off their debut EP, but actually illustrates a band who've developed both a sound and identity all of their own in the process