A good first try for an album, but it's just not quite there yet.

An album that could have built on the promise of the last, and instead dilutes it in an almost certainly vain pitch for chart success.

Maybe it's familiarity, maybe it's contempt, maybe it's something to do with both, but there's nothing on True which marks itself out distinctly enough for it to warrant more than a passing glance.

As infectious and riotous as If You're Young might well be, the inescapable reality is that the mass middle isn't walking over hot coals to buy this sort of music at the moment.

This then is an album that doesn't quite work, being as it is constantly in a state of conflict.

The record drags when it should soar.

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

As much as everybody appreciates a good reunion, 10 isn’t really worth getting excited about unless you’re a diehard fan.

For a guy who nails the ’60s and ’90s indie pop sound so well, he didn’t do quite enough research; at least not enough to make an individual statement that’s unique and captivating for the rest of us.

There’s just not enough of that unhinged brilliance across the board unfortunately; a little more weirdness might have led to something wonderful. As it is, this is a assured debut, but lacking any real surprises.

A bit more edge would have been good to distinguish this from the wide range of comfy female songwriters out there right now.

Hold Time goes one step further by drowning the whole caboodle in a bizarre new sound that incorporates cheesy synthetic-sounding strings, a hint of Phil Spector as well as that resolutely unpretty croak.

The trio's sixth album Mr Impossible finds Black Dice at their most accessible and most aggravating.

It desperately needs some kind of visual accompaniment to, at least, add a cinematic legitimacy to the sound's sporadic mood swings. Worthwhile? Probably. But the world waits for the proper return of Bon Iver.

It's a wallflower of an album, pretty, nice, but lacking the inspiration needed to lift it beyond the mundane.

At best, he sounds like he’s going through the motions, at worst, he’s crumbling inside, slowly realising he’s sold his soul.

In essence Shapes And Shadows sounds unfinished, an album for the sake of notching "solo career" into Ottewell's bedpost, and completely inessential in the grand scheme of things.

The result is an album that is, for the most part, merely pleasant.

Fans of Tindersticks’ soundtrack albums such as Nenette et Boni may enjoy sailing in these peaceful waters, but those who still return to those two landmark mid-1990s albums will long for Staples’ darker, more unsettling side, which is all too absent on this thoughtful but somewhat lacklustre outing.

It features roughly one good tune to every two mediocre ones.

Vicissitude is such a wispy, bloodless record that it’s hard to find anything to recommend about it.

Hurts can do--and have done--better than this.

It might be damning with faint praise, but Hotel Surrender would suggest that Murphy is at his best in shallow artistic waters, and ventures further out at his peril.

Unremarkable and uninspired.

Too much of the album simply plods from dreary verse to dreary verse.

There are one or two new ventures into the unknown, but by and large, The Pigeon Detectives haven't made enough progression from Emergency.

Autobiographical, hopeful, working through different genres, one can't help but feel that if she had stretched herself while remaining focused just on quality dance-pop that the record would have been fantastic and not such a sad sunset on the legendary Summer.

Mi Plan is a mildly diverting listen that doesn't tarnish the brand and helps re-connect the artist with a core fanbase.

Even Spoon's nice sounding (albeit always obtuse) lyrics can't make up for the generally flat music here, and with Transference, Spoon's undeniable swagger has taken a considerable hit.

With this album, Worden seems intent on muscling in on the territory of innovative but hard-nosed American mavericks like St Vincent and Dirty Projectors. Ultimately though, This Is My Hand falls some way short of emulating the standards of those acts.

There are the seeds of two worthwhile projects here, but no chance of them ever uniting under the Major Lazer banner.

Overall, Galore has some fantastic moments, but remains a thoroughly uneven release with some serious thematic flaws that Thumpers will hopefully iron out by their sophomore album.

More often than not you do wish another eternity was a little less slick and had a little more of the oddness and darkness which permeated Shrines in another eternity.

It’s a credit to Hurts for stepping outside their comfort zone and aiming high, but the end product feels as though it was rather a struggle. Possibly to gain more exposure, they’ve made what they hope is a radio friendly record, but which all but obliterates that which won them fans in the first place.

From the poorly thought out lyrics to the day-glo “punk” cover and the calls to revolution that ring hollower with every listen, this is an album that flatters to deceive.

All but a handful of the tracks on Disc-Overy are quite ruined by this appalling Black Eyed Peas gloss.

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.

Go Hard is worth a listen, if only to laugh at all the bravado.

Even the very best double albums--London Calling, The White Album, Tusk – have their lulls, but this record has too many.

This is an album which feels like it was made quickly, not because of artists reaching a terminal velocity of creativity, but to take maximum advantage of an audience who may not be there this time next year.

Erratic songwriting is evident from start to finish on the record.

This is an LP that promised much but ultimately it's a puzzling affair.

So far, so deliriously cheesy. Unfortunately, the remainder of The Beat Is... lacks any sparkle or panache, with the band falling foul of a very current musical disease; the Auto-Tune obsession.

There simply isn’t enough variation, with the overwhelming presence of Righton’s one dimensional vocals lacking allure after a few tracks and the invariable electronica also doing little to excite or surprise.

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.

The Melodic’s busy, busy style just doesn’t work with non-dynamic mixing. And the album can hurt the ears to the point of irritation.

His verses mostly feel redundant, hastily thrown together to validate the presence of these songs on his project, and while the album has been described as introspective this very brief release only allows for skindeep thoughts on any one topic. The Kanye West show has already rolled on, but some of the magic of yesteryear has been left behind.

They may have been away for a while, but ADULT. remain as frustratingly unloveable as ever.

Rihanna's latest collection Loud is another sure fire assault on the charts and airwaves. It highlights exactly the best and worst of today's pop aesthetic.

Be that as it may, it is the band's recent failure to effectively collaborate, and for these 11 tracks to properly mesh, that has fostered the mediocrity inherent in A New Tide.

The standard of the songs never rises above the mildly pleasant, and occasionally - as on the self-consciously 'widescreen' title track or the wetter-than-a-fish's-wet-bits Mother Nature Goes To Heaven - it's pat and drab.

Most of the other tracks on the LP aren’t nearly as exciting to hear as the first two singles.

There’s talent here, although it’s often buried deep beneath generic beats and lyrical self-obsession that eventually becomes a bit exhausting to listen to.

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.

Save Rock And Roll is not only Fall Out Boy’s softest album yet, it is also their least memorable.

This is very much a fans only album, much like Missy's other efforts.

As such, the experimentations, and their hit-and-miss nature, doesn't make for an album you want to play over and over again; in fact, a fair amount of tunes are rather forgettable and don't really offer much.

Much of, if not all of What Did You Expect From The Vaccines? suffers from a complete lack of intelligence, candidness or originality: elements that help make guitar-based music interesting.

As good as it occasionally gets on I Hear You, the continuously tuneless wail of the vocals are likely to be where the record either succeeds or fails, depending on how much emphasis the listener puts on the vocal element and whether or not they can see past the often painful experience. If only Mr Birdsong had been given lead vocal duties instead.

There are a number of misfires, and no amount of positivity can hide them.

At 46 minutes, Recurring Dream isn’t an especially long album. But on the wrong day, at the wrong time and in the wrong frame of mind, it can feel like the longest 46 minutes in the history of all time.

Hobba’s songwriting is simply not up to par: melody, lyric, and arrangement come off like caricatures of their desired styles; it seems often that in an attempt to replicate the feel of a classic rock song, all of the fun is lost.

Tom DeLonge does have talent, and maybe one day he'll make an album that deserves all his self-proclaimed hype. This, however, isn't it.

Plodding rhythms predominate and there's a prevalent sense of nostalgia that sometimes threatens to become a little syrupy, not least because of the numerous cliches about highways or the open road.

Most of the time, it's run-of-the mill soft rock.

It’s atmospheric, after a fashion, but it feels overproduced and it’s often physically difficult to listen to.

By the end of it, the creative highs have balanced out the tepid lows and all that's left is a plain old simple straight line.

As the album progresses, it becomes harder and harder to distinguish between one song and the next.

While the melodies are stodgy and predictable, the lyrics don't help a great deal.

Oh, inverted world, you’re not as much as fun or as interesting as we hoped.

This is music that originates from the soul, but it is delivered in an entirely soulless fashion.

Throughout ARTPOP signifier upon signifier is piled on top of sometimes brilliant melodies, creating enough room for breathless readings of Gaga’s ‘art’ certainly, but failing on the more basic level as engaging pop music.

At the moment, though, it appears as though this is one twee-pop album that simply doesn't pop.

The album is somewhat redeemed by a duo of commercially viable singles [Broken Brights, Wooden Chair]... As for the remainder of the album, there's little to recommend.

There's no personality here, nothing to cling on to and love.

There’s little going on beneath the skin here and it’s an unfortunate if sadly inevitable fact that other significantly more talented musicians from Iceland will never attain Of Monsters And Men’s levels of popularity.

There’s obviously still an audience for Muse, given by the size of the venues they still sell out, and this will definitely please the die-hards, but most of Simulation Theory simply fizzles out without leaving much of an impression.

Yet another unimpressive, tedious release.

Partly cartoon, part Sesame Street, and with a healthy dose of consequence-free childish threats and violence, A Cold Freezin' Night is a welcome distraction to the meandering electro-drone that populates the rest of the album. But from here on in, it's a case of the law of diminishing returns.

This is basically the sound of 2003 with the addition of up-to-date electronics. There’s nothing you won’t have heard before, which is a big part of the problem with Collapse.

It's a moment to rejoice on an album that just feels flaccid in comparison to the youthful debut.

Sadly, expert guitar playing cannot carry an album. Moreover, it is too sterile and obsessively arranged, and the majority of the vocals lack that rock fierceness. Everyone is playing it too safe, with the production geared towards something mainstream and pop-oriented rather than experimentation and reinterpretation.

The reality is that Glitterbug just doesn’t excite or leave any lasting impression.

With the beginnings of what could be a cult following over the pond after enviable live support slots that've received much praise, it is a shame that such positivity could not transfer to this recording.

[Jet] are making a career out of sounding like a Small Faces tribute band covering The Beatles in the style of Oasis.

It’s not that it’s terrible--and credit should go to them for being so adventurous--but this might just be a makeover too far.

It will no doubt be the soundtrack of the summer for many people, but the lack of originality, warmth and soul may well leave some feeling rather underwhelmed.

While it's admirable that they're supporting indie label Bright Antenna, their songs run like sold-out singles with all the real hooks replaced with lesser ones. The annoying screaming that Lopez completely misuses comes off manufactured and whiny.

While there are resemblances Spiritualized, what should be a slow burning record, white hot in its intensity, is laid to rest sounding rather limp and uninspired.

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 songs often seem underdeveloped, two brief verses buried between more noteworthy hooks.

Fink stays close to the sonic templates of both Now It's Overhead and Azure Ray, but has less impact than either.

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.

With its insipid, limp first half this is most certainly not the record to do it. The listening experience is made all the more irritating and frustrating given the sudden improvement in the final third of the record, but no part of it will ever be described as life changing or world-shattering.

To be blunt, much of Smoke + Mirrors is horrible to listen to. And yet, one can’t help but admire the band’s ambition and, on occasions, their apparent lunacy.

there are occasions on Girl Talk when we get glimpses of what another, better Kate Nash indie rock album would have sounded like.... Unfortunately, moments such as these are the exception, not the rule, on Girl Talk.

While not offensive, it’s watery childlike-ness is like a kid’s paddling pool--no deep end and replete with a drop or two of unwanted warm yellow liquid.

There are gospel singers, there are elements of Zepplin'y mysticism, and there are swampy Cajun tinged bits, but nothing hides the fact that it's too little too late.