It drags a little, it meanders a touch too often, and you are left wondering if there is anyone at the helm at all.

Secret House's obvious appeal lies entirely with its musical, or rather compositional, diversity.

Where the was once teen angst, there is nowt but middle-aged resignation. And no, the lyrics to ‘Ironic’ still aren’t bloody ironic.

Much like binging on Haagen Daas ice cream when you’re depressed, a little bit of Marjorie Faire is really rather great. Too much can only make you feel bloated and regretful.

While there's a noticeable over-reliance on antiquated classic rock bravado, there's plenty of space to explore here to keep the most discerning noise-rock fan interested.

This is nourishing pop music at its most immediate best.

Easy listening this amn’t, but if you want a rollercoaster ride into deep recessions and to be thrilled by the sounds that surround you, then this could be the perfect album for you.

So euphoric are the multiple highlights here that one can overlook the occasional dalliance with silliness.

This is a faithful and staggering tribute to a state executed with passion and originality, and it's one of the finest records you'll hear this year.

It’s comparable to blending all the best bits of Led Zep and hippie rockers Grateful Dead, with a spoonful of Motown classics to help the medicine go down.

All the essential elements of greatness are here in some small form or other, but Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s time is not now.

Despite the one or two stabs at youthful exuberance evident here, this is an AOR album through and through.

Breathtaking[ly] experimental.

A work of formidable and pristine beauty.

It sounds like Corgan wanted to make a classic eighties 4AD-style shoegazing record, but instead of offering us something swirling and beautiful, we end up with an experience that is simply flat and grey.

An incredibly warm and organic sounding debut.

For all the sonic acrobatics though, it’s a record that feels like it’s missing something vital.

Sure, the Foos are excellent at what they do. It’s just unfortunate that what they do is so unavoidably mediocre.

If you have even the teensiest taste for the guilty charms of Kylie, the ‘Babes or Girls Aloud, this album is a must.

As you’d expect from a band as clockwork tight and renowned for perfectionism as Kraftwerk, the quality of sound and precision of delivery is so spot-on as to be worthy of a studio recording.

There’s not one song on here worth releasing as a single. Only two or three are even remotely listenable.

As a whole, 'Here Come The Tears' is a welcome collection of songs, even if the sentiment of it all does become a little saccharine-queasy after a while.

He's reached another career peak to match that of 1999's 'Knock Knock'.

A big stinking pile of rubbish.

For the most part, Evertything Ecsatic succeeds, but occasionally Hebden strays from the path.

A magnificent album where every verse fills you with excitement for the next chorus, where wide-scoping fields of sound work in unison to stage the perfect pop-rock riot and where every meticulously crafted melody comes back to haunt you when you least expect it.

So many names, so many influences: perhaps unsurprisingly 'Demon Days' is a dizzying, disorientating and sometimes directionless album.

Skull-crushingly heavy, but not without a heart, 'The Woods' is definitely Sleater-Kinney’s finest (and loudest) hour to date.