With only one true standout track, a handful of fillers, and little innovation or progress, it reeks of diminishing returns from start to finish.

Somehow, the expected drama or crescendo never quite arrives, and we are left with an overextended auditory shrug, sadly emblematic of the rest of this strangely unsatisfying album.

Battle Born is music played in the past tense.

The best parts of A Head Full Of Dreams are where the band cut loose and play around with expectations.... However, those who hate Coldplay with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns will also find plenty to grease their wheels on A Head Full Of Dreams. There’s the lyrics for a start, which are almost universally terrible.

Whereas their first album hit the mark perfectly, The Pick of Destiny swings wildly and misses.

While this means that all is not lost (or perhaps more accurately, saved), it does leave the listener with a sense that he's not sure whether he wants to embrace a new direction or not, resulting in an album that is somewhat disjointed and ultimately unfulfilling.

While it's quite pleasant and occasionally curious at first, the novelty wears off.

At times The Decemberists sail close to being an horrific hybrid of They Might Be Giants and The Coral - all arched eyebrows and accordions.

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.

This is an album of largely superfluous material, made only to exorcise some creativity.

Fragments does not outstay its welcome, but only because it isn’t distinctive enough to be consciously welcomed in the first place. Recommended for owners of trendy cafes and companies in need of hold music.

Though Natural Rebel has its moments, it all feels a bit staid and stale: not so much rock’n’roll rebellion as conventional cliché, both musical and lyrical.

The album is at its best when it explores glam influences: the campness and flamboyance nicely mirror the theatrical nature of The Decemberists’ established repertoire. But they would do well to learn that sticking some synthesiser parts behind a guitar band doesn’t automatically make them New Order.

Love Goes wallows too much in its comfort zone to be truly memorable.

For large parts of this record, perhaps for the first time since the group's inception, Animal Collective sounds like a band doing little more than going through the motions.

There are definite up moments in Dear John, but the odd mix of Svanängen's meandering melodies and melancholic vocals mixed with the bizarre samples and synths makes for a concoction that will either be adored or thrown out of a window in disgust.

Earth Grid does what it does and maybe that is the sole objective, an obtuse experiment in the metrics of engagement. Some will undoubtedly put this on headphones, stare into the middle distance and find a place that only Osborne can open for them. Many will ignore it.

There are flourishes throughout, but there are also too many pretensions and, ultimately, the album is undone by an unwelcome abundance of unresolved ideas.

Fanfarlo should still be around for a while; you only hope they can make more of an impression in the future.

Taken in its entirety, it doesn't offer enough variety or dynamics to warrant repeat listens.

The overall effect of Skeletons is akin to being poked and prodded by a bratty child for over half an hour.

Sophie Ellis-Bextor has just abandoned her electropop comfort blanket for a smothering duvet of clichés and ineffectual romanticism.

Encylopedia is an album that will be either loved or hated; there is little in-between as the narrow line separating catchiness from irritation shrinks to a hair’s width.

Too many of the songs fail to deliver the mind blowing moments that the band have been capable of in the past.

If you love the bands The Ladybug Transistor love it's worth a listen, but this won't be the album to propel them forwards.

The success of such tracks generally rides on the melody, and here Bell X1 get two out of three pretty right.

At times it feels like an album with no real purpose other than to be heard and then forgotten. Few tracks jump out as being memorable. A more driven focus upon one element of their sound could have led to a far greater album, or could have at least tested the waters in terms of what they might achieve further down the line.

Flashes here and there suggest that The Neighbourhood are capable of writing good pop music. It’s just that they miss the target far too much.

Invisible Enemy // Crescent Moon is a brave attempt from its creator to change direction, but ultimately KT Tunstall’s limitations are laid bare on a record that meanders pleasantly without ever leaving a lasting impression.

Unfortunately, it's generally downhill all the way thereafter, as it becomes rapidly apparent that Young The Giant have banged out all their best songs early on and rapidly run out of ideas.

It is a valiant, but ultimately fruitless attempt to add to the already brilliant back catalogue of the Ramones.

As a study of a man starting to slowly regain his feet after a major relationship break-up during a pandemic, Extreme Witchcraft has plenty to say. As a collection of Eels songs though, it unfortunately falls some way short of the band’s best work.

World Beyond ends up worth a listen if you happen to be someone who likes ’80s synthpop and classical music in equal measure. Whether there’s much here for anyone else is moot.

It is no necessarily a bad record, but it is seriously lacking in memorable moments, which is a crying shame considering how good Oceans still sounds.

All things considered, Hamilton needs to focus less on blending parts together, and more on growing his own food from scratch.

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.

It's sustainable, technically sound, and part of a much bigger feast that happened a couple years ago.

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

One thing this record definitely lacks is variety. With a work claiming to hold "the band's most varied songs" it's disappointing and surprising to hear so little diversity.

The skill involved in composing and producing A Paradise is not in question, but a little less cerebral meandering and bit more fun really would go a long way here.

While the band’s penchant for steadying, shimmering guitars and unexpected use of instruments certainly appears on VII, it’s not enough to overshadow this album’s lack of originality.

Those who choose to embrace and eulogise anything the great man releases will no doubt laud Fallen Angels as another triumph, but the harsh reality is this is Bob on auto-pilot.

Aside from its undertone of paranoid desperation, however, the album is a largely by-the-numbers exercise and seems almost certain to quickly fall off the public consciousness.

While their venture into psychedelia was a failed experiment, everything about Free Your Mind, from its title to its monotonous songs, is undeniably lazy.

Whilst undoubtedly, and commendably, experimental, very few tracks on Ufabulum hit their mark.

The emphasis with Generation seems to be on cramming in as many styles as possible. This gets tediously close to "look I'm a DJ, watch what I can play," rendering listening the first few times a nauseating experience.

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

It would be nice to see The Broken Family Band attempting something other than the boringly retrograde rock on display in Please And Thank You.

Nothing really jumps out, and Ian Brown’s seventh album still feels weirdly unrewarding, the artist playing a contented father rather than raging at the current state of the world. That is fair enough of course, but for an artist as established and inspirational as Ian Brown has been over the decades, we surely deserve waves rather than ripples.

It's a passable enough indie guitar album, but this is a genre that requires shaking up by a truly revolutionary record. This, unfortunately, isn't that record.

Apart from the nice flourishes and an undoubtedly authentic-sounding replication of mid- to late-'60s underground psychedelia, this album seems to have been something of a misfire, lacking a convincing emotional undertow, or sufficient clarity in its musical presentation to engage or entrance the listener.

There’s not enough quality across the whole of Evolve to convincingly make the case that Imagine Dragons actually have, or to attract an audience of new listeners. Evolve is a good idea, but in practise it turns out that it doesn’t really work.

The record is obvious and contrived; but bass is bass, a drop is a drop, and a banger is a banger – no matter how much guilt the enjoyment brings.

[A] chaotic, unwieldy mess.

While the album is described as a myriad of styles, there’s nothing to really demonstrate this: only the reggae and reggae-related genres are consistently and tiresomely reflected.

Expecting consistency from an album like this is a mug’s game. There are good tracks here, about 35 minutes’ worth.

1990s have not made a bad album, but like the decade itself Kicks never lives up to its promise and contains too many derivative and unmemorable moments.

What the Paisley born artist has come up with on Sunny Side Up is baffling.

It's not a bad album, it's not a good album, it's merely an alright album and that's the real problem.

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.

It's all surface no feeling.

He infuses Relapse with occasional sparks, but fails to transcend the same tired themes--except, of course, when he becomes Marshall Mathers, the Recovering Drug Addict.

The real highlights are the two tracks with lyrics, Roll Back with Lil Silva and the suitably nocturnal Half-Light (Night Version) with Tracey Thorn of Everything But The Girl. These songs play to Fitzgerald’s strengths. By contrast, the rest of the album feels like watching a stage with no performers on it. A well-lit stage, as Fitzgerald can create a mood well, but still fundamentally a hollow experience.

Most of these tracks would probably count as mid-tempo throbbers, and this aesthetic cloys a bit by the end of the record. In the same interview he also joked that this release exists because he “owes the label an album”, and this is evident in the filler that pads out an EP’s worth of good tracks.

Reprise offers a pleasant, even graceful but ultimately insubstantial retrospective of an artist who can be fascinating when he’s not overly focused on his pleasant, insubstantial brand.

At only 31 minutes long, there is absolute bewilderment at how varied the output on Stills can be; it’s an exhausting listen in general.

While Mvula has a great voice and is a skilled musician, she plays it far too safe on her debut LP.

Too many songs spend too much time doing precisely nothing.

Diehard fans of the genre will find that Bass Drum Of Death makes a welcome addition to their playlists, but for the rest of the music world, Rip This may only entertain for a few tracks.

The impression is that the same tale is being told on every track, just with slightly adapted words each time, and this too undoubtedly contributes to the sense of overall blandness with which this album is suffused.

Listening to Rules is a surprisingly boring experience. At several instances throughout this album you wish someone would let rip with a guitar solo, fire off a rave horn or just do something to liven up proceedings.

This feels like an unnecessary and slightly cynical afterthought, much like a lot of pop music. It isn’t necessarily all bad in terms of quality. But it is utterly dispensable.

Even if you do persevere it's likely you'll find pleasure and irritation in equal measure, but at least he always provokes a reaction - a quality never to be underestimated.

It's a perfectly satisfactory album, but save for one or two moments of brilliance, there's nothing here that will keep you coming back for more.

Ultimately though, Music is a case of too much filler, too little killer, even when divorced from its controversial origins.

Here's hoping that the pleasant-at-best Yeah Ghost is but a wispy, passing apparition, and not a haunting omen for similarly ineffective work in the future.

Although it will sound perfect in the arenas of the land this summer, for those of us who were blown away by early tracks like Budapest and Cassy O, there’s a lot on this follow-up that plays a bit too safe.

Blonde is an album for those that miss gaudy nightclubs, huge hairstyles and nostalgia, but not much more.

Share The Joy finds Vivian Girls trying to broaden their scope and missing the mark a bit. Certainly, fans of the band will find something to like.

Cosmic Egg is the kind of album you'd quite happily pop on for the first part of a road trip while you're full of enthusiasm, but it'd quickly get changed at the first toilet stop.

The Spinto Band are genuinely highly impressive musicians, they're still as creative as ever, cramming riffs and off-kilter rhythms into their songs like clothes into a brimful suitcase, but creativity isn't always synonymous with good music.

Devlin’s talents as both lyricist and rapper are never in doubt, but for all the album’s pomposity and scale, musically speaking, it feels like a big step backward.

Unless you are in the company of some helpful stimulants, it is ultimately frustrating and chaotic. You can marvel at the wondrous and wacky keyboard sounds one minute, but you'll be shaking your head at some of the strange musical harmonies and directions the next.

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.

While there is nothing here to relegate Art Department to the role of also-rans, there is nothing to get wholly excited about either, as the music consistently retreats towards the background.

The main issue that dogs this album is weak composition – few of the ideas are outright bad, but they don’t earn their runtime.

What we have is a confusing, confused and self-indulgent record that frequently sags under its own ambition, with the fleeting moments of beauty offering a chastening reminder that sometimes it’s better to simply stick to what you’re good at..99

The sense of a missed opportunity lingers.

Even for all its collaborations, bringing in Mary J Blige and R Kelly, the desperate skirting around for identity leaves this album feeling underwhelming.

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

As a whole, Painting is not a bad effort, with some nice tunes, though it’s all a bit dull and predictable: good brushwork but lacking inspiration.

Asher is manifestly talented, so perhaps Aquaria is best described as a tentative testing of the water before his next big production job. But there’s not a lot of fun to be had by the listener here.

It adds up to a disjointed, uneasy compilation of songs, with the band seemingly refusing to conform to expectation.

There are some amazing moments on this record; it's a crying shame that they're linked with the sound of a band treading water.

The production is highly polished and everything appears to be utterly disposable.

The music is plainly listenable, the progressions are often entertaining and the lyrics are intricate. For fans, the minor evolution and heavier sonic palette may whet their appetite, but for anyone in search of a new revolutionary energy in the realm of indie rock, steer clear of the throne room.

As it stands Water is a transition record, signalling a direction of travel but inconsistent and frustrating.

Former Pulp bassist Steve Mackey eventually ended up producing the record, and he gives Pierce’s various sonic wanderings space to roam, but sadly it’s an amble of a circular nature.