The descriptive we’re looking for here is ‘shallow pastiche.’

Imperial Wax Solvent is another remarkable batch of brilliantly deranged tales no whiskey-breathed war veteran across the bar could trump.

This isn't a character assassination (honest), more an explanation why an album that's actually pretty accomplished, musically, should, in the end, prove so forgettable. Even though guitarist Robbie Stern's classical training has been put to good use with some of these arrangements, all too rarely are other band members allowed to shine.

The achievement of The Seldom Seen Kid is that Elbow manage to be both incredibly consistent and perpetually improving.

On the whole Mr Love & Justice is an album that sounds like it was made for the sake of it rather than to cascade any real statement of intent.

Elephant Shell finds the ambiguity created by this choice absolutely harrowing, however, and proceeds to run back to that basement with its eyes closed, one hand over its mouth and the other clutching its Bloc Party tapes.

There’re dudes out there (Google them) who will try and tell you this album has some relevance, that it represents pop, that it’s important. That it’s good. They’re wrong.

Atmosphere play an autobiographical angle affectingly well. It’s an approach that’ll lead some to conclude When Life… is a little on the dull side, but with six albums under their belt seems the duo’s formula is not about to let them down just yet.

It is a ‘safe’ record, one that plays to its makers’ long-established strengths without really stretching them--but fans of all the aforementioned predecessors are certain to find much to love across these 13 tracks.

With a little more pace and drama to offset this off-whitest of visions, El Perro Del Mar could be an interesting prospect indeed.

Fans of Jesu will enjoy the boisterousness of some arrangements here, the incessant crushing of the listener’s resistance.

Best advice for approaching Worldwide? Stick to moderation. Small doses are a thrill, but consume too much and you’ll find yourself in need of a dark quiet room and a cold wet towel draped across your forehead.

They’re not inventing any new wheels at this stage of their career, but dEUS are delivering the goods at a level where established fans will immediately click their subtle steps forward and newcomers can get a grasp of what to expect from prior long-players should they decide to delve into the catalogue.

Predictably there’s a slide towards more abstracted material toward the latter half, and parts of Saturdays=Youth are all hairspray and no body, but the whole thing sweeps along with such an irrepressible mix of youthful invincibility (‘We Own The Sky’) and flouncing fatalism (‘Too Late’, ‘Graveyard Girl’) it sucks the wind right out of your cheeks before you’ve had chance to huff.

These odd moments aside, it’s tempting to suggest that never before have a band--and a band who, let us remember, this writer awarded a generous 8/10 for their summery, tuneful debut--managed to nail mediocrity so definitely between its tired eyes.

A shame, really, since there are couple of songs here displaying a melodic facility far in excess of the record’s dumbed-down intent.

As pastiche, this all makes for a fragmented and cumbersome back-to-back listening experience - utterly dominated by wild mood swings. But with so many independently functioning songs on offer, certain suites of two or three become hands down irresistible.

While there are inevitable parallels what with one album following the last so soon, this fourteenth LP from the fluctuating-of-membership Bad Seeds is a bolder creation that its predecessor.

As it is, it’s just satisfying. It’s ironic, then, that the record comes with such a momentous title, because really, it’s a gentle personal triumph.

Promise delivered, divided by expectations frenzied, multiplied by still-evident potential for future releases… equals a Pitchfork-style 8.6.

There are enough sturdy ideas in Walk It Off’s first half – just about--to ensure Tapes ‘N Tapes’ good ship stays afloat for a third bout, and it’s definitely a record that’ll reward repeated plays, but with the twilit otherness of "The Loon" largely evaporated here, it’ll need a change of tack to put the wind back in their sails and set the blogosphere to reeling once more.

Do It is simply a case of Clinic once again doing what they do best; but with a new-found vigour that rediscovers the confident swagger of earlier releases while building upon realms explored on later excursions.

A pleasantly surprising album then that will hopefully earn its creator his fair share of deserved recognition.

From start to finish this is an unexpected adventure through the crossover, leaving the door of the VIP bunker open for us all to sneak in.

Too often, though, this record slips into a comfort zone that, while making it impossible to generally dislike, renders it hard to get excited about.

There really isn’t anything wrong with this album. It’s just the most amazing sugar rush you’re going to have this year, and is what, at this point in time, sounds strongly like the best debut album by a British indie band since Tigermilk.

Last Night is sensible, clean, pleasant. But it lacks that essential injection of endeavour and emotion.

In the end we’re left with a solid, sympathetically-performed record that only intermittently comes to life, which is either a subtle victory or a hollow triumph of taste over gutbucket soul, depending on which way you look at it.