Third mediocre outing in twelve months for Swedish starlet.

Good, but I can't get behind the voice.

Gifted MC loses the run of himself without Mannie Fresh.

Veteran hip hop soul princess Erykah Badu's newest creative contribution is ambitious, but lacks the smoothness and cohesive feel of her previous work.

Sprawling America travelogue stays strictly old school.

Underwhelming Third outing for nu-gaze duo.

Vampire Weekend certainly have one of the best band names I’ve heard in ages, although their music unfortunately proves less exciting than one might have hoped.

Deerhunter's latest features more pop melodies and fuzzy soundscapes, forsaking the raw, intense sound we all love.

Overwrought second album from Glaswegian indie quartet.

Despite their reputation as torch-bearers of the new post-rock prog, it lacks the outrageousness of the ‘70s version of the genre and there’s an earnest sameness to these pieces that render much of it tedious beyond belief.

Warm-hearted folk pop from New England.

Hook-laden agitprop combines with slinky beats on outing number ten from The Roots.

Steady as she goes from the indie institution.

This grand musical quest is often fruitless, and leaves this listener wondering what might have been, had the group demanded less of themselves.

Accelerate is patchy at best, with only the blaring finale, ‘I’m Gonna DJ’, really catching the attention.

Neil doesn’t do things by halves. His words and melodies are, like Roy Orbison, Cecil B De Mille scaled. That said, there are more than a few points where he misses the mark.

Anyone hoping for another "Don’t Dream It’s Over" is going to find Time On Earth a disappointment.

Emo pin-ups milk last moments of glory

Nothing Bjork does is ever less than provocative... Just don’t expect to it to force you out of your seat.

Shine is over-ripe with hokey Casio drum machines, soprano sax, and other things that nudge the tone towards easy listening.

For just under two decades, brothers Bubba and Matt Kadane have spent the majority of their time together crafting as near perfect slices of sonic Americana as they could.

Lo-fi freakster doffs cap to minimalism & screaming chipmunks.

Ultimately, this is less a fully-formed debut than the tentative first few steps of a promising artist still finding her way.

Although there are numerous pointers as to what might have been, had Mary retained greater creative focus, there is precious little to savour here.

Most of the record is--sonically-speaking, rather than in terms of quality--classic Ghostface, but only a couple of these familiar tracks match the standard set on previous records.

This slight, shrill and, ultimately, underwhelming debut album has its moments.

A definite sense of fun permeates Conor Oberst, with the singer allowing himself to indulge a few whimsical idea's.

Young Knives gamble away the ending to a solid album.

A number of tracks here follow a similar, frustrating formula. For three minutes they showcase Reznor’s worst tendencies; the boorish plod of the choruses, the hoarse moan of the vocals. On the remainder of each of these songs Reznor does what he’s good at – i.e. creating delicious layers of chaotic industrial noise.

Berlin based electro crooner ratchets up the goo factor.

Nuptial celebrations yield surreal pleasures from Odd-ball Americana Folkies.

The end result doesn’t vary that much from his usual dense, dark, cinematic ramblings but it’s good to see he’s keeping busy.

It’s not as nebulous as their last album--and it doesn’t deliver the melodic thrills of Last Splash--but Mountain Battles has personality, spirit, warmth and tenderness in abundance.

Pittsburgh gene-splicers manage to overcome three minute attention deficit barrier.

It will probably go down as their 'sell-out' record, in that it's their first for a major label.

These are early days, of course, but some worrying lapses into blustery Editors’ territory aside, Foals prove to be a tricksy, livewire prospect.

California dreaming, diminishing returns.

Upbeat comeback from the kings of coffee-table electro.

Howe’s duet with Neko Case on ‘Without A Word’ is the star of the show though, boasting a gorgeous melody that owes a lot to Gelb’s Tuscon roots.

R&B concept album about binmen turned superheroes. Yup.

Not much has changed in the futureheads world as, post their major-label career, they bounce-back with independently released third album.

Surprisingly radio-friendly System Of A Down spin-off.

Couples is by no means a terrible record, I just preferred The Long Blondes when they were young, free and single.

It’s just too ‘nice’.

Shine remains a terribly average r'n'b album that occasionally flickers with possibility, but never burns brightly enough to matter.

Inoffensively bland offering from US indie pop outfit.

Howling good fun from Lupine superstar.

Thrillingly experimental hip-hop.

A surprising afro-beat, trance-pop return from Penate.

Jazz maestro takes a turn towards the electro.

80s clubland legend Grace Jones returns with Hurricane, a patchy but fascinating comeback record.

Earthbound offering from hyped to the heavens duo.

Truly, this is music for the ringtone generation.

Perfectly natural indie music from Scottish band.

Already dated, The Raveonettes 3-D thrills are temporarily diverting, but ultimately provide only the illusion of depth.

Despite initial misgivings, our reviewer found that Little Joy's album delivers an old fashioned pop feel with a little DIY indie sound.

Michael Angelakos, aka Passion Pit, brings us a temporary electro pop classic.

Great songs played well, but...

Bragg is taking stock. He’s now doing it for himself, at his own pace. Those in search of revelation from an old punk with a new perspective will be left hanging

Men out of time, The Verve were a neo-psychedelic jam-rock outfit who got fortuitously swept up in the Britpop boom and stumbled upon a timely form of Big Music.

At times, Why Bother? is an unlistenable racket.

Ego Trippin' is a subdued comeback from this once hot rapper.

The Canadian supergroup return with super new LP.

Perennial underachievers once again fall short of the mark.

Sci-fi hi-jinks from ‘the nerdy Kraftwerk.’

Surprisingly agreeable return from the High Priestess of country kitsch.

The second in command of the good ship Broken Social Scene, for quite some time he’s been in the shadows of the band’s co-founder Kevin Drew.

Woodly prog rock for weird beards.

Although combining an assortment of sounds may seem risky, they’ve managed to produce a solid album, fusing jazz, soul, ‘60s rock ‘n’ roll and playful lyrics into a tight 10 tracks.

A million miles from thrash and punk, the twelve tracks here are an unusual mix of indie rock and country, with top class musicianship adding lots of depth and colour.

This album leaves no doubt that the former Beach Boy is now fully recovered from the 1967 nervous breakdown that effectively stalled his career for decades.

Aging punks flog a rapidly expiring horse.

Sgt Emo’s Lonely Hearts Club Band delivers a less than thrilling album.

Not as good as Beyonce.

A few decent songs can't outshine this record's over-produced stadium rock. The Las Vegas rockers' latest just doesn't have the same sparkle.

A spirited return from Beth Ditto and company--but where are the new ideas?

Return To Form from last electro band standing.

New York dreampop combo meander a bit.

After an eight-year hiatus, these hard rock legends return to the music scene with a banging album that has just a little less bite than others past.

There’s still something oddly admirable about Alice In Chains’ stubborn refusal to change.

If you pardon our French, Clinic’s fifth album is pretty fucked up--and yet it's also their best effort to date.

Mockney songbird grows up--but is she any wiser?

Sounding, for the most part, like a Stars In Their Eyes version of Cat Stevens, the album lacks variety, imagination and charisma.

Solid outing from country veteran.

The freeform mish-mash of sounds, scratches, samples, styles and lyrical themes is far too much of a mixed bag to have a wide appeal.

Ho-hum third record from brit chanteuse.

Tokyo Police Club indubitably share similarities with their more commercially successful UK counterparts, Bloc Party.

Avant-rockers make shameless play for the aging Generation X market.

Averegeness abounds from budding UK starlet.

Even though her debut album didn't go off so well with her label, Dixon's latest album gives her another chance in the music biz.

Surprisingly enjoyable party rock.

Steady as she goes on AOR eighth outing.

Though it doesn't exactly live up to its name, Legend manages to capture the optimistic sprit of Barack Obama in

Patchy covers album from alt.rock veterans.

Devon’s finest makes a Motown-laced return.

The Thrills meets The Polyphonic Spree--in a good way!

It’s too early to write Maxïmo Park off, or to turf them into the ever-growing pile of indie also-rans. But they’ll need to pull out all the stops to recover their poise after this worrying misstep.

You get the feeling that, in the long run, Diamond Hoo Ha is destined to be remembered as one of the lesser works in their canon.