Honora stands apart as a fascinating, if sometimes flawed, labour of love.

It’s a record that definitely holds rewards for the patient listener, but it’s also one that cries out for a judicious pair of editing scissors.

While his charisma and star power remain undimmed, too much of this record is – pun intended – style over substance.

Ultimately, Join Hands gives a decent impression of Congratulations’ sound, even if it becomes a bit too much over the course of an album. However, there’s enough songwriting prowess demonstrated here to hint that there may be even better things in the future from Congratulations.

The only issue with Somebody Tried To Sell Me A Bridge is that it’s so long that anyone other than the most devoted Morrison devotee will find it a bit of a slog. At 1 hour 20 minutes and 20 tracks, it could certainly do with some judicious editing.

Their debut album, Wasted On Youth is, at best, an exercise in earnest revivalism. At worst, it’s just as credible and entertaining as albums by The Ordinary Boys, Towers Of London or The Enemy.

The best moments are the shorter, punchier songs, but too often they can’t resist becoming a bit too proggy, such as on Shaunie and The Winged Boy.

It’s full of perfectly fine sunny pop songs, but few tracks really stand out.

Circa Waves do what they do very well. And ultimately both volumes of Death & Love do a decent job at documenting an undoubtably traumatic time in Circa Waves’ lives.

If there’s a fault to We Are Love, it’s probably that the immediate hooks that define The Charlatans’ best moments are missing. It’s an album more built on atmosphere and feel, and you do sometimes miss that exhilarating rush that tracks like One To Another, Love Is The Key or Weirdo had in spades.

For an artist who’s capable of making genre and generation defining records, Deadbeat just simply isn’t good enough. Too much fluff, too many unfinished ideas, too ponderous, too flabby.

The Life Of A Showgirl isn’t a particularly bad album, but given Swift’s immense back catalogue, too much of it sounds like an artist on autopilot and in need of a rest.

Ultimately, this isn’t a classic Alice Cooper record by any means; it has a few good songs here and there, but nothing canonical. But, if the point is to document a bunch of old friends getting together and doing the thing that gave their lives meaning, and sounding like they’re having a blast, then it’s mission accomplished.

The songs where Burna Boy focuses on nimble flows and minimal production, like Dem Dey and Kabiyesi, are far superior. He’s a versatile, engaging performer, and No Signs Of Weakness is at its best with no distractions.

The only issue with My First Album is that it sometimes feels a bit unfocused, and the tonal shifts the record takes can become a bit jarring.

While this never quite touches the highs that Erasure can produce, there’s enough moments on Ten Crowns to convince that Bell and Aude make a good partnership for when Vince Clarke wants a rest.

The album’s sprawl and ambition is laudable, but also its downfall, as it often feels like a bit of a chore to wade through. As an album it’s too patchy, and as a document of a man’s life, a well-researched biography is probably a better bet.

Though the duo occasionally strike gold, too many of these songs ultimately sound like pop as tabloid fodder.

The hook-filled I Seeeeee You Baby Boi plays to Carti’s more melodic instincts. .... Tracks like these are simple in the best way, complementing his loose, spontaneous rapping style, but over the course of this album’s 30 tracks the lack of vision becomes apparent and the inconsistency becomes egregious.

There’s potential across this record, but not consistent greatness.

Dear Life is a fine album that will appeal to his long-term fans – the sort of steady, consistent record that we’re used to from him by now.

There’s nothing outright bad on Bouquet, but it’s more that it’s all so insipid and safe. Love and marriage are to be celebrated of course, but on this evidence they don’t make for the world’s most exciting music.

The band’s first album in eight years, its brittle plastic funk and syrupy ballads are offset by meaty riffs and disco beats, but that makes musically for a somewhat jarring listen – especially from a band who have always been renowned for sonic cohesion.

Yet even if it does run out of steam a bit towards the end, there’s enough on Tension II to cement Kylie’s reputation as the Queen of Pop. Whether it would have worked better as an EP is debatable, but it complements its predecessor nicely without ever quite overshadowing it.

Too often on For Cryin’ Out Loud, he plays it far too safe and sounds up sounding like any other pop singer – and, as there’s a lot of competition out there, a bit more daring may be required should Finneas come out of the production/songwriting shadows next time.

It’s a fun listen the first time, and a reasonable one at the second listen, but how it does after that is anyone’s guess. Enjoy, but proceed with caution.

This is flat, formulaic and forgettable.

ten days finds him in a state of flux, running through a variety of styles, and while the results aren’t perfect it’s certainly his most interesting album yet.

The Forest Is The Path too often sounds like Snow Patrol on autopilot.

Ultimately, the sense of pastiche, and the fact that it’s a bit one-note (even at just 31 minutes running time) counts against What’s Wrong With New York?

The only problem is, that like other Charly Bliss records, it sounds better in little chunks, rather than as a fully-fledged album. There are 12 tracks on Forever, and it’s undeniable that after a while, the songs begin to sound rather the same.

The problem with To The Ghosts is, that as nice and pleasant as it all sounds, it does tend to float by without leaving much of an impression. Sometimes, it threatens to push the envelope a bit.

Overall, it’s hard not to admire a band who, a generation on from their heyday, continue to craft their undemanding but eminently listenable songs with passion and charm.

While it may not break any new ground, there’s an oddly addictive ingredient to the Cigarettes After Sex formula, which this album has in spades.

There’s a lot to love about The Art Of The Lie, but it also feels a bit like hard work at times: the pair of songs that close the album, Laura Lou and Zeitgeist are both heavy on the vocoder which you feel you’ve heard far too much of over the past hour.

While Meighan’s Liam Gallagher-like machismo may not have been to everyone’s taste, his vocals undoubtedly had much more presence than Pizzorno’s rather bland voice, which does little more than carry the songs on Happenings along, and is indicative of a broader lack of musical personality combined with a lack of truly memorable songs.

There’s no doubt that tracks like Full Back and Sweet Moon make for nice background music, but after 60 minutes of songs that sound pretty similar, they seem a bit inessential.

There’s certainly nothing as immediately compelling as his collaboration with Fiona Apple, Left Handed Kisses. However, if you’re in the mood for a Sunday morning coffee and contemplation session, this is a perfect soundtrack.

Although a tad overlong and samey after 15 tracks, occasionally drifting into wine bar background music territory, there are some immediate standouts on Room Under The Stairs.

The album is DJ-friendly, resulting in several lengthy tracks, and while this is no bad thing in itself some of these are also rather uninspired.

When it’s on form, Reasonable Woman is proof that Sia can still hit those high marks like she’s always been able to. The trouble is that there’s just not enough of those high points on this record.

Even when it doesn’t quite hit the mark, they still sound like no other band out there. They remain a curiously compelling act to listen to, who play by thier own rules – chaos remains their lifeblood, for good and for bad.

While there's no arguments with the quality of the craft on display, over the course of a 12 track album, you may find yourself nodding off sometimes. Yet there's still a warm glow to this album, and anyone who's missed the sound of Knopfler expertly working the fretboard, will find much to love on it.

There are still a few forgettable plodders on All Quiet – the likes of Baron’s Claw and Be Young seem to be a bit phoned in. Yet while the fire of 20 years ago is inevitably never going to be reignited, this new version of The Libertines seems to be settling quite nicely into a once unimaginable middle age.

There’s nothing essentially wrong with Evolution, but it just sounds like it’s mostly been written on auto-pilot. It’s always nice to have a musician of Crow’s calibre still active, but Evolution feels more like an inessential addition to her canon, rather than the glorious comeback it was no doubt intended to be.

Big Anonymous is a deliberately paced album that some may find a bit too bleak to visit often. It’s beautifully crafted, as you’d expect from Sarah Assbring, but at times that darkness can become a bit all-consuming. If you’re in the right frame of mind though, El Perro Del Mar’s world is one that’s well worth stepping into.

It’s certainly a confident step-up from Garageband Superstar and if more of Hibberd’s musical personality is allowed to shine through next time around, she could produce an even better album.

It’s another long album – if there’s one conclusion to be drawn from this record, it’s that Justin Timberlake desperately needs an editor – but it’s a return to the slinky RnB pop that made his name. The problem is that there’s not much of the sparkle that was evident about 20 years ago.

Sadly, too much of the Easy Eighth Album sounds a bit hollow and empty, the sound of a band wanting to move on, but without the energy to properly capture the old glory days.

The main problem with Gallagher-Squire is that it all sounds a bit lazy and predictable. You get the impression that they know this too.

Tangk is sadly, and far too often, a rather boring album by a band who can and should be doing much better.

The only issue is that, over the course of a 45 minute album, Masics’ style can drag a bit. When his songs lose Barlow’s influence, they can tend to lose a bit of energy, and as What Do We Do Now reaches its conclusion, you may be a bit weary of mid-paced plodders like Old Friends and Hangin’ Out. They’re not bad songs as such, there’s just not too much to distinguish them as more than filler.

It’s a pleasing finish to a rather uneven collection. People often say that the first episode of a sit-com is disappointing, and you should skip to the second, which is exactly the approach we propose for this album.

It’s not a perfect album – you get the impression that Packs as a band are still figuring out their sound, and they’re at that stage where plenty of ideas are going to be thrown around.

Pink Friday 2 is very much a grab-bag of a record, its 32-minute version sounding no more coherent than the 70-minute version that was released on streaming. But if the best songs sustain her legacy, Nicki Minaj will most likely see it as mission accomplished.

Just as André 3000 isn’t as good at singing, acting or guitar playing as he is at rapping, he also isn’t as good at playing wind instruments, going some way to justify the disappointed reaction to this record’s announcement. That being said, the fun he’s having through experimentation is undoubtedly infectious, and at various points the musical ensemble create such an otherworldly vibe that one forgets the main artist is famous for something very different.

Rockstar is, at heart, a well meaning, fun spirited album. It just pushes the joke just too far. There’s still time for her to make a great rock record, but this isn’t it.

This was undoubtably an excellent night out if you were lucky enough to be in the audience, but as an album it’s a mild diversion at best, which will probably end up directing you back to the Dylan original.

Danse Macabre becomes a career retrospective of sorts, earning credit by not going down the obvious ‘best of’ route. However, to work it needs the different elements to complement each other, and on that score its success is extremely limited.

Too often on The Darker The Shadow The Brighter The Light you find yourself reaching for the earlier albums to listen to instead. While Skinner’s hardcore fans will be pleased to see him back, much of the time this feels a lot like The Streets on autopilot.

If not all of this debut lands too firmly at times, there’s still enough evidence on Sorry I’m Late that people will soon remember Mae Muller for more than that Eurovision disappointment.

As nice as it is (and this is a very tasteful album, seemingly tailor-made to be bought for Mothers Day), Angel Face doesn’t give us much idea of who Stephen Sanchez is, apart from a seemingly nice young man with an extraordinary voice.

Flying Wig is a record that it’s probably easier to appreciate than it is to completely fall for. While this probably isn’t a record for a newcomer to Devendra Banhart, long-term fans will appreciate the change in direction.

Occasionally, songs like Like A God and the fiery Double Dare do recall the band’s old magic, but those moments are few and far between.

As it is, Hozier’s third album is a album that is simply a bit too sprawling. It’s certainly great in parts, and that voice never fails to impress, but it becomes a bit too bloated to listen to in full over time.

There’s material on this album that’s fun, from the bouncy Blondie backing vocals on Pretty Awful, to the yob jazz of Dirty Mucky Delight, but it’s hard to make a case for most of it being essential listening.

The final few tracks have an appealing sense of character to them, harnessing the potential of organic and programmed elements intertwining. The rest of Eyeroll is so abrasive that it’s hard to love, but fans of experimental electronica could certainly do worse than give it a listen.

All in all it’s a decidedly mixed bag, with producer Mark Ronson failing to make the experience even remotely coherent, though during this soundtrack’s highlights even the most committed Nolan fanboy might just get caught up in the hype.

It’s possibly an album that’s easier to admire than to enjoy, but you can’t fault his ambition.

It’s a heavy, lugubrious listen in places but is also the sound of an artist pursuing their art with integrity and investing themselves fully, showing that, while adversity can at times feel all encompassing, there are ways to overcome and find resolution.

While it’s sometimes a bit too unassuming for its own good, King Of A Land does well to remind the world of just what a legendary songwriter Yusuf/Cat Stevens is.

Anyone who wants a nostalgia rush back to the Commotions days may be disappointed with On Pain, but for everyone else this is an effective indication of an artist steadily on his own path, and doing very well out of it.

Although she’s not quite there just yet, with a more stringent editor, and a producer who could get the best out of her (Max Martin would seem a lip-smacking prospect), Maisie Peters is undoubtedly on her way to producing a truly great pop album.

It all stays just on the right side of self-indulgent, although like most albums consisting mainly of cover versions, there are peaks and troughs.

Broken By Desire To Be Heavenly Sent generally plays it safe, assuming the schtick that’s got Capaldi this far has more mileage in it, which gives the album a competent, workmanlike air.

An album which is both fascinating and hard to listen to at times. Gag Order may not go down as Kesha’s best album, but it’s certainly the album that she has to make at this present time.

The album, when taken as a whole, is simply too much. When taken as individual pieces, it works much better – and there’s simply no reason for it to be this long.

A signature sound is all well and good, but in the future the duo would benefit from indulging their inventive side more.

Although the songs on – never really rise above a mild trot, there’s still some musical variety.

Nathan Fake is technically skilled, and on tracks like Hawk his creative verve really shines, but some kinks could be ironed out on this rose-tinted trek.

The DJing skills are still there and the grooves hold together throughout, though there is rarely much of interest on top of them. ... There are also precisely eight bars in The Cards’ mid-section where the drums hit just right, before they’re replaced with yet more poorly-mixed elements. These moments are so few and far between, however, that it’s hard to justify the album’s raison d’être.

There are a couple of tracks that veer towards the forgettable, and the overall downbeat tempo of the album as a whole may test the patience of some listeners. ... Yet even on the less memorable songs, Merchant never sounds anything less than completely captivating.

This is an album full of club bangers – anyone who prefers the ballads like Love Me Like You Do and How Long Will I Love You may be disappointed. Fans of decent dance-pop anthems though will be more than satisfied.

Closing track Happy Now even dares to pick up the pace and is a reminder how good Uchis can sound when she mixes things up a bit. A few more moments like this to break the homogeneity of Uchis’ songs next time around would be most welcome.

She’s certainly an artist following her own vision: one which may sometimes grate, but is never less than intriguing.

There’s a truly startling album lurking somewhere within Moore, but she’ll need to start taking a few more risks for that to be unleashed.

Optical Delusion is messy, and it certainly doesn’t display the focus of the Hartnoll brothers’ career highlights, but you’re never more than five minutes away from a musically inspired moment.

When RAYE is self-consciously rebelling against the mainstream it results in some of My 21st Century Blues’ worst music, whereas on the best tracks we hear an artist who fully deserves this victory lap and more.

When it catches fire, as on Unholy, it sounds terrific but those moments are too few.

Mercy may have a few forgettable tracks, but an artist with John Cale’s long and varied history will always find a way to intrigue the listener.

If the album spent more time doing what it’s good at we would have a classic on the level that Stormzy seems to be aiming for.

It brings its fair share of frustration, but Christine And The Queens’ third record is undoubtedly interesting, a lateral progression if ever there was one.

The third instalment in his Actual Life series continues the concept of an artistic journal, but fails to convey the intended poignancy.

No half measures or quarters are given, and as a tribute to Pierre Henry it is a fitting piece of work indeed. Yet the lack of human feeling continues to be a problem, and the unremitting bleakness of Oxymore – though accurate for our age – makes it an album for admiration rather than love.

Coping Mechanism is full of feisty attitude, blaring guitars and rhythmically intense drumming, and sees Willow positioning herself as the edgier Olivia Rodrigo with mixed results.

Branch’s lyrical savvy and clear communication keep it well clear of the mundane, though you get the recurring impression that she is capable of taking a few more risks.

The sheer brevity of the record means that it doesn’t really feel like a ‘proper’ record as such, but it’s still a lovely listen.

Despite the classic approach of most of the songwriting here there’s no doubt that it’s a step up in quality for Nesbitt and the result is her most assured and confident collection of songs yet.