For those late to the party, the album offers an opportunity to catch up and at least not miss out on a fine batch of Beck songs which might have otherwise evaded the mainstream. For those with more time and the urge to explore, though, just get yourself down to songreader.net where the real spirit of the project still awaits you.

Like its companion album, it’s wildly inconsistent but when Prince hits form, it’s difficult to argue with the man’s genius.

As it is, Mountain Echo is a debut that is unlikely to offend, but it's unlikely to provoke repeated listens.

It would enjoyably help to while away an hour's driving, but those seeking a little more punch will have to look elsewhere.

This isn't really an album to analyse in any great depth, more to nod to endlessly, ideally with a drink in hand and a clutch of friends arrayed around, in staunch defiance of our grey-skied British reality.

The album really comes into its own when soft and subtle songs.

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.

Sometimes Simon suffers from a sort of elder statesman's churlishness or cynicism (like a musical version of Grumpy Old Men), which is not entirely appealing, and some of the songs seem a little under-developed. There is, however, enough here to suggests that new Paul Simon albums should be bigger events.

What we all need is a great new rock band that draws on a forgotten corner of the music of yore, and The Orielles definitely could be that band – but there’s nothing here that will make you put away your old records just yet.

The album is brief, almost EP length, and doesn’t end nearly as well as it begins, but Spell My Name still features some great tunes and is proof that Toni Braxton’s smooth alto can grace a trap instrumental just as well as a Darkchild production or a slow jam.

While there's nothing particularly wrong with looking to the past for influences, Yucca struggles at times beneath the weight of those it seeks to emulate.

It’s the sound of a band dabbling in other areas whilst still maintaining something of their roots, and as long as they don’t stray too far from the path that they have clearly mastered then they’re a band worth sticking with as they make their sonic explorations.

A pretty decent record if by no means a great one. Shiny And So Bright, Vol 1 / LP: No Past. No Future. No Sun. neither offers the chance to dent Corgan’s ego or inflate it in any significant way.

y may want that you are always happy, but, while there's much for the listener to enjoy here, they will need to be more concise to achieve their obvious potential.

So it isn’t better than Swift’s album, as that would be a pretty hard album to improve on. What Adams has done though is to look at it through another prism, and created a pure break-up album.

This won’t go down as one of his classic recordings, but nevertheless The Traveller is an enjoyable journey that shows its narrator still has plenty to say.

It also feels like they've become a little too cosy in their favourite slippers, so that while Dive Deep is a pleasant album, it swims in familiar and safe waters.

In essence Superabundance falls short of being either super or abundant.

Skit I Allt is another commendably audacious example of Dungen's commitment and musicality. Yet for all their skill with both melody and with improvisation, Dungen risk ending up being too esoteric to be a pop band and too dreamy and light textured to excite committed psych listeners.

At its best, June 2009 feels like a fuzzy, readymade memory. Yet, problematically, there's the paradox that whilst proceedings are worthy, they're too anaemic for wider public consumption - over half of the songs are under three minutes, most well under.

At times, he runs out of ideas, but that shouldn’t detract from the fact that he is clearly going somewhere--even if that might be more often than not the past.

There may not be enough to lift them above the rather crowded market of similar sounding contemporaries on Weird Sister, but it does hint at a solid enough future.

Ray sounds rather like a lot of other people, but nothing really makes her stand out.

Adulkt Life prove middle aged doesn’t mean middle of the road.

Notably the first half of the album, it cements Nature Noir’s reputation as a genuinely rollicking take on psychedelic garage rock of a bygone era. When it doesn’t work, as on the second half of the album (minus the title track), it begs the question about whether the Stilts should have abandoned their visceral rock in the first place.

What 85% Proof is, above all, is comfortable, with all the pros and cons that entails.

Ultimately, it's an accomplished record that makes all the right noises (in the most literal sense), but it lacks the final wow factor to push it into true greatness.

Legacy+ shows two sides of the Kuti coin that, while inevitably reflecting and respecting the history of Fela, also show his restless quest for the future and what that holds carries on with subsequent generations.

As an exercise in not-so-subtle re-positioning the album is never less than effective and its high-points are more interesting and persuasive than most of JLS' peers.

There are certainly things to enjoy here, but too often Steeple is searching for its soul. It's a soul that will probably forever be caught in a bygone time.

Electra Heart showcases glimpses of a clever, ballsy pop star.

It delivers what you'd expect, but ambition is unfulfilled and the constant pursuit of seemingly random stylistic tangents reveals a lack of focus.

Yuck, however, sadly comes off after several listens as a little flat, the low points seeming all the more so for resting, as they do, in the shadows of the occasional peaks.

The album is far from a lost cause. Sometimes, Two Lucky Magpies, Over And Out and the Bibio-esque titular instrumental are all lovely. But The Boombox Ballads annoys almost as much as it entertains.

So-so is, sadly, exactly the problem with a lot of the rest of the album, which veers from ho-hum to shoulder-shrugging acceptance without any real sense of originality or development.

While his debut album sounded wonderfully effortless, this one feels effortful in the worst possible way.

Wild Divine finds Diane attempting new approaches to production and arrangement and should perhaps be seen as a transitional album. At the moment, the performances from within her comfort zone remain the most effective.

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.

It may not have the instant appeal of To Lose A Life, but the combination of the running narrative and a host of memorable hooks make it their most consistent record to date.

It is a hodgepodge of tracks, seemingly made with little thought to how they will all sound in sequence, and because of this it doesn’t have much more consistency than an eclectic music collection on shuffle. Which is a shame, because there are good ideas here.

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

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.

Where it hits the mark, One Of The Boys is sparky and accomplished--though entirely disposable--pop.

Maximum Entropy is the somewhat frustrating work of a band with potential in need of some fine tuning.

Maybe not a wholly successful album then, but at its best, The Truth About Love proves that Pink can still credibly compete with the pop stars she helped to inspire.

Cornell's voice might not be as tight as it was back in 1994, but it remains a formidable instrument - and lifts this collection well above that of an average live album. It's the lack of variety that stops it from becoming truly great.

They make the point that Condon has the talent to move in any direction that he pleases, but the reliance on smart ideas means that they only occasionally create a similar emotional impact to the work that got us so excited about Beirut in the first place.

In among these sporadic highlights, however, are numerous slices of tossed-off nonsense.

The music here is a weird mish-mash of FM rock, folky ballads, and funky, poppy dance tracks. It makes for a diverting, interesting listen - but not a totally successful one.

The fondness for schmaltz gets a bit overwhelming, and the album is only great in patches.

However, this album feels like it marks the beginning of a return of form, and it's great to hear his voice again on tunes that don't make you work to the point of sufferance to get any enjoyment out of.

The album is very cleanly produced, though at times it has an unfortunate tendency to become ignorable rather than interesting, Guidance and La Force De Melodie with LouLou Ghelichkhani being the chief offenders. However, the beat switch-up in the middle of Music To Make You Stagger--which turns it from a chilled dubby number to something approaching drum and bass--is very enjoyable, as are the chilly textures of Water Under The Bridge with frequent collaborator Natalia Clavier.

If you can get past the vocal onslaught and the occasional uneventful passage, it could prove more broadly rewarding over time.

Mostly No [is] an album with good intentions but one that's flawed in its execution.

Gardot's wistful, breathy voice belies her youth and the unobtrusive competence of this album effortlessly belies the difficulties she has striven to overcome.

Working Girl isn’t an album that will stretch boundaries or break new ground--the best tracks are ones that can’t easily be compared to other artists, such as Taste It and Help Too.

The second half of the album is less special than the first with just Drinking Song and the excellent two-note undulations of I Warned You perhaps worthy of a higher placing amongst the band’s fully loaded cannon.

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

Notwithstanding the occasional background music tendencies, The Bird And The Bee is a solid debut which will undoubtedly attract most connoisseurs of intelligent pop.

Winterval is intermittently graceful yet often slight and inconsequential: an enigmatic album that is unlikely to linger in the memory for long.

There's no doubting that sounds are placed together, weaved and treated expertly and Small Craft On A Milk Sea can, save its more aggressive moments, flow over and around you therapeutically.

If they only had slightly better tunes, the temptation to highlight the supposedly novel elements of their act might prove easier to resist.

In its best moments, Right On! is a dark, bewitching début that is bound to appeal to fans of Warpaint. Too often, though, its formulas are repeated and sketches left uncoloured to cumulatively less engaging effect.

Welcome Oblivion might have worked with some edits, but ultimately fails as an LP.

Despite the solid highs, there’s nothing truly spectacular and the end result is rather uneven in terms of quality.

Much of the experimentation is on the surface, and there does not seem to be a great deal of further depth or sophistication. Often, it is all too bright and too relentlessly ecstatic to feel truly meaningful or substantial.

Angst is very well in small doses, but over an entire album it can start to grate.

As ever with Diamandis, there’s some decent pop music here, but it seems like we’re still waiting for her to produce that genuine killer album, Diamonds or no Diamonds.

While you may know what you're getting with a Chemical Brothers album, they remain damn good at what they do.... You get the impression that their next album may have to be a bit more adventurous if they're to survive.

Compared to some of Primal Scream’s bold ventures in the past, it may be a bit lightweight, but it’s full of effervescent appeal.

Heavy Love is a fine, if ultimately inessential, summation of what Garwood does best.

Even if the strut is more tentative and the recollections come with a twinge of regret, Cause I Sez So is certainly one for the ages.

'With Every Heartbeat' is evidence enough that this man has talent. He just needs to use that Rolodex a bit more.

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.

Right at the end, they redeem themselves with a romantic little pop ditty that strays into Colourfield territory, with Clarke's scowling, angry young man tones wrapping themselves as well as they can around gentler, less confrontational sentiments. It's the most interesting thing on the album and if they can harness this flexibility a bit more in the future, they might just find themselves lasting the course.

The State Between Us has some brilliant moments, but those moments are too stretched out: many of the tracks could have been half their length and been equally effective, and some could have been cut altogether for not holding together as pieces of music. However, even at its lowest ebbs it retains some intrigue from its novelty, and the sheer ambition of the album is not to be faulted.

The Orb’s lazy beats count too much on Perry’s meaningless, abstract ruminations, or Perryisms, to add some sort of absurdist (anti-) meaning to a (mostly) boring collection of songs.

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.

It may be unpalatable and difficult but it is a debut album that should at least be commended for its dark, experimental ambition.

The softness of Helen Marnie's voice against the rocky, stark landscape of Velocifero gives Ladytron its edge (something that doesn't work as well with the two tracks sung by Miro Aroyo in her Bulgarian tongue), but overall, it's never really enough.

It means that the album’s instantly accessible and familiar to anyone who’s ever smoked a cigarette, flipped the bird to The Man or nailed the pastor’s daughter in the churchyard; but is subject to the law of diminishing returns which kicks in every time the fuck-you teen persona is reincarnated.

For the most part Marshall gets it spot on, but when she doesn't she only serves to highlight the quality of the originals.

Open-mindedness and a change of approach is often laudable but, in this case, it has resulted in an album that, whilst entirely pleasant and enjoyable, is far less adventurous.

The lasting sense left is of an unexplored potential which, if this is it for The Civil Wars, could be in its own messy way an appropriate swansong.

While not as flawed and over-ambitious as London Undersound or Human, the feeling persists that this is an artist who would benefit from calling a halt to all the grand projects for a while and going back to basics.

Part of the problem is that faced with a performer as low-fi and minimal as Conor Oberst in the first place, many of the unfinished demos presented here, such as I Will Be Grateful This Day and Seashell Tale, sound much, much too thin.

All in all, The Hidden Cameras are typical of the avant garde, slightly off-kilter art rock we've come to expect from Canada, not a million miles away from what's being offered by fellow countrymen The Decemberists or Broken Social Scene.

Malachai have made some good listening choice even if this has not translated into a wholly successful listening experience.

Their sonic departure won't be radical enough to put off fans, but the ultimate feel is familiar enough not to persuade any detractors. They may have taken a step forward, but they're still on the same street.

The feisty personalities and powerhouse vocals have stayed intact, making it even more of a shame that the very essence of the group seems to be absent on London With The Lights On.

With the lightweight numbers up front and the centrepiece dominating the lacklustre cast around it, the album is surely one of the most uneven and unsatisfying in recent memory from Callahan.

The one big drawback of Gold Dust is the danger it may provoke a 'so what' reaction, simply because for all of its polish, it doesn't really take the listener anywhere that interesting.

The results of The Place We Ran From are ultimately pretty mixed. To start with the positives, it is a lot of better than expected and there are some genuinely decent pieces of songwriting. However, to enjoy those you have to wade through a thick fog of filler that either doesn't really go anywhere or just doesn't connect.

If it’s not especially the place to come to look for surprises, it’s still heartening to see that, at an age when most people have happily settled into their Saga Magazine subscription, this sonic surfer has still got the blues.

Though The Duke Spirit lack the Tex Avery mania of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs or the eye-bulging strutting confidence of Polly Harvey, they do have an easy way with structured reverberative grooves.

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.

This is a collection of solid, excellently-produced and sporadically brilliant alternative songs, and nothing more.

No one really shakes things up. Still, there are numerous moments of real beauty here.