If there’s a central problem with War Stories, it’s that at times it strays too close to rock orthodoxy and loses the offbeat stylistic flourishes that made Unkle such an exciting proposition to begin with.

If not entirely out of gas, Green certainly seems to be having trouble shifting gear.

There is more than nostalgia at work here. Lyrically at least, the cocaine cowboys of yore strive to engage with the modern world’s ills and idiosyncrasies.

Certain artists are blessed with the ability to say something poignant and meaningful with their music. On the evidence of this eopnymous record, Gavin DeGraw is not one of them.

Ringo solo album... Come back! It’s not that bad!

The rave revival starts here!

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

Would be blockbuster from the Jack Johnson it’s really not okay to like.

Dismal offering from would-be R&B Lothario, this 14-song supposed sexual odyssey is more like a soundtrack to a day in the life of Mr Bean than Hugh Hefner.

Wayward offering from hip hop legend with distinct lack of finesse.

Detroit punk rockers come out swinging on feisty third album.

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

STP singer on the solo comeback trail.

Brummie Rockers offer electro-led punch in the nose.

Many of the ditties on Unfamiliar Faces bring us right back to the golden age of singer-songwriters.

If it ain't broke, don't fix it! Seal re-visits some soul classics, but dresses them up in a way that turns pure gold into something of a different color.

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.

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

Never a dull moment then, but a little consistency would go a long way for The Used.

Nouveau synth-pop and shoegazer drones mightn’t seem like the wisest bedding for Tom Waits’s compositions, but Scarlett and Sitek know exactly what they’re doing.

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.

Assuming they haven’t all grown up by now, Manson fans will adore every dark, juvenile flourish. For the rest of us, The High End Of Low serves as a cautionary tale of artistic regression.

Shooting people, no-strings-attached sex and being a millionaire has never sounded so boring.

Maybe Carl was the talented one after all.

Overall this is a major letdown

Please, please, please ignore this album. Uncle Dysfunktional is a wretched experience. Ryder bellows his way through it all, banging on about drugs and low-life in a voice that can barely muster a tune.

The Boy With No Name has a handful of absolute crackers, proving that Travis are still capable of penning a tune that wraps its tendrils around your ears and won’t let go until at least four minutes have passed.

RATM guitarist and hardcore troubadour participates in dodgy agit rap/rock experiment.