Ex-Verve singer teams up with the cream of modern R&B for some far-out funk soul brotherhood.

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

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.

Upbeat comeback from the kings of coffee-table electro.

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

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

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

A perfectly functional album of loud guitars, ain’t life a bitch lyrics and the odd nod to different production styles and techniques.

Twelve is a solid enough collection, but one can’t help wondering if it would’ve been better had she made like Fellini and called it 8 1/2.

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.

A rackety, sing-along sound from a band on a largely undefined mission.

At times, Why Bother? is an unlistenable racket.

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

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

The Doggfather part 10. Ho Hum. What else is on?

The Little Ones are, for the most part, pretty melodious producing indie pop fun with touches of Afro-beat, maybe, possibly!

Young Knives gamble away the ending to a solid album.

Return To Form from last electro band standing.

Great songs played well, but...

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

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

The fact that Hammond can’t actually sing that well is rendered practically obsolete on this album; his hazy drawl may not be the strongest in the world, but it suits these songs just fine.

Beyonce still proves that she's an all-around good performer even though her attempt to branch out into an alter ego fails a little.

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

This is a maddeningly inconsistent collection, with more misses than hits – though Kelly’s best moments do go some way towards atoning for his flaws.

Howling good fun from Lupine superstar.

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.

Patchy covers album from alt.rock veterans.

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

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

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.

Steady as she goes from the indie institution.

Sprawling America travelogue stays strictly old school.

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

Starry-eyed debut hits more often than misses.

Donkey is the mediocre second outing Brazilian electro rockers CSS – will it show that they have more substance beyond being a mere good-time party band?

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

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

Warm-hearted folk pop from New England.

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

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.

Raw, sparse, low-key, vocodered hip hop.

Newcomer electro-rockers produce a hyperactive, ear-decimating album that screams with heavy synth and rhythms, but dies with a lack of inspiration and creativity.

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.

Surprisingly agreeable return from the High Priestess of country kitsch.

Surprisingly enjoyable party rock.

The potency of the admirable sentiments is undermined by the lacklustre execution.

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.

R’n’B lothario sings the praises of monogamy on patchy fifth album.

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.

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

Solid outing from country veteran.

A Guide To Love, Loss & Desperation is by no means a bad album, but at the same time it’s hard to see just what all the fuss is about.

Perennial underachievers once again fall short of the mark.

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.

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

Third mediocre outing in twelve months for Swedish starlet.

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

Overwrought second album from Glaswegian indie quartet.

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

Bernard Sumner delivers decent Enough Post-New order solo platter.

Marshall Mathers tackles his most complicated subject...himself.

Millennial ‘It’ Boy gets the horn on eighth album.

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

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

Canadian firebrand loses her spark.

Solid and stolid live album from glam punker turned roots rocker.

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.

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.

Such inconsistency is forgivable on an overreaching debut, less so on a sixth album just 35 minutes in length.

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.

Perfectly natural indie music from Scottish band.

Ian Brown’s fifth solo album is about the big issues. And while he's picked all the right targets, lyrically and musically it’s still a bit disappointing.

This writer is a firm believer that every album you pick up should be a universally accessible experience. Solitude, sanctuary and silence spawn an exorcism of sorts.

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.

The Circus isn’t terrible. In fact it’s very listenable; genre-wise it falls somewhere between Beatlesy ballads and Billy Joel’s 'The Piano Man.'

Gifted MC loses the run of himself without Mannie Fresh.

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

Averegeness abounds from budding UK starlet.

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

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.

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

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.

You can slag them off all you like but it’s impossible to truly dislike their catchy, inoffensive pop-rock.

Close but no rosette for the new British diva on the block.

Ultimately, the greatest achievement of Mark Ronson’s genetically modified Version is to demonstrate the superiority of the organic source material.

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

Disappointing swansong from the King of Pop.

Devon’s finest makes a Motown-laced return.

Bad-boy rapper fails to raise his, er, game. There is something peculiarly insecure about The Game (AKA Jayceon Terrell Taylor).

The best you can offer is that it’s not a disaster – now do you want to tell Billy or should I?

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 just too ‘nice’.

Franz Ferdinand attempt to put some dub in the music and end up with (re)mixed results.

Quietly bucking the trend are The Shortwave Set, whose follow-up to 2005’s The Debt Collection confounds convention by actually being pretty good.

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.

Despite the big name producer and big time contributors, Gray has somehow achieved the not insignificant feat of delivering an altogether average record.