Over the course of the LP... the toe-tapping comfortably outweighs the head-scratching.

Korn have succeeded in bringing mainstream producers to inject freshness into their songs, without entering into a Faustian bargain and compromising their music.

I defy you not to enjoy this album.

Against all odds, the completed Mezmerize/Hypnotize project is actually greater than the sum of its parts - in fact it quickly becomes impossible to think of it as anything else than one epic piece of work.

The real glory of this record resides in the way in which Lekman blends his bottled sunshine melodies with droll and romantic word play.

Like all ambitious double albums, [Aerial] is not without its flaws, but even Bush's moments of failure are much more interesting than those of her contemporaries.

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.

To say Lookaftering takes up where Just Another Diamond Day left off is an understatement. It feels like no time has elapsed at all since 1970, neither in her own life nor the outside world.

It's Robbie The Rogue's least immediate album and needs several listens to get to grips with, but Intensive Care feels like Robbie has allowed himself freedom of expression, even if he doesn't always know how best to use it.

Working best with eyes closed and a fertile imagination, Feels plays like a dreamscape of interconnected happenings, some coincidental, some intended, that's as dense as it is languid.

[A] supreme collection of future-perfect broken nostalgia.

Some may say it doesn't move Depeche Mode forward a great deal; I say I don't give a damn, it's a real treat and I'll have some more, please.

This is an album of varied pleasures: it doesn't grab you by the scruff of the neck but it pulls insistently at your arm until you have to take notice.

Black Acetate is in equal measures, serious and mocking, threatening and comforting, ambient and rowdy.

As Is Now sees Weller revisiting various points of his varied career and updating them. So there's the brittle guitar pop of Come On/Let's Go which recalls The Jam, the pastoral, laid back vibe of Wild Wood in All On A Misty Morning and even the ghost of the Style Council is resurrected in Bring Back The Funk.

That they can create such a heavy sound with just two people is nothing short of genius.

An album of gentle, if sporadically confusing, beauty.

It is, quite simply, one of the essential albums of the year.

Nothing quite prepares you for the sheer beauty of The Magic Numbers' music.

A fine record.

Cerebral listening.

Their first album was one of the strongest debuts in recent memory and this is an equally impressive follow-up.

One of the best albums in North America last year and surely one of the best of 2006 for us; Live It Out is sinister, intelligent music for sinister, intelligent people.

There is much to admire here, and much to cherish.

When Wildflower works, it works beautifully.

It all adds up to the sound of a band developing and maturing nicely, without ever losing sight of what made them so great in the first place.

The pedal steel guitar playing on the whole record is breathtaking.

Easily HIM's most accessible album to date.

Broadcast have produced arguably their finest moment.

A welcome return of Jamiroquai's trademark blend of '80s funk and pop sensibilities - familiar, yet refreshingly different to so much of their current competition.

There's little familiarity, too little to relate to on Certified.

A '60s psychedelic, experimental hippie-folk throwback, an invocation of lost, childish innocence delicately constructed with a deft musical touch.

Weird and wonderful in roughly equal measure.

Chapman is an eloquent lyricist with a strong social conscience, but she's also a superb songwriter and musician and Where You Live contains several instances of low key beauty.

An album that playfully veers all over the place and leaves you feeling as heady and confused as a first time stoner.

Compelling to some, maddening to others, it should be said that at least Gray's voice is tuneful.

The songs on Once Upon a Little Time bloom as slowly as lotus blossom, their graceful colours and subtle variations revealing themselves gradually.

Souls Alike is what Bonnie Raitt does best - superb bluesy rock, with Raitt on top form, both vocals-wise and on her beloved slide guitar.

Takk does what Agaetis Byrjun did by burrowing into the consciousness and snuggling down to bed there, purring. Each listen brings out another mood, another thought. It's gorgeous.

Love Kraft is the greatest realisation of the Super Furry vision to date.

Gold and Green finds its mark far more consistently than Kila, despite being a far more expansive and rambling album.

The album's highlights far outweigh the more average moments, and there are enough signs here that The Like are going to be around for some time to come.

An album of gorgeous, lush songs.

Though [A Bigger Bang] doesn't dare to place itself in the same hallowed halls as that Jimmy Miller-produced quartet of records between 1968 and 1972, it jostles justly and fairly with the best since.

What really makes The Invisible Invasion excellent, better even than that oft-feted debut, is what they achieve when they go a little bit crazy.

This is certainly an album of progression that is likely to win the band plenty of new fans, but it shouldn't alienate their fanbase either.

In short, this is another very good album.

It's a cleverly and thoughtfully composed album, bereft of filler and loaded with style and substance.

It isn't their best record, but as an acknowledgement that slabs of feedback-laden noise weren't going to take them much further, and change was needed for an attempt at a long-term career, it's promising.

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

It's a career best for T.Raumschmiere and another proud moment in the history of hard-rocking electronica.

Many of these songs are a delight to listen to; most could easily be a single.

When the music peaks this is an enchanting listen, but it's unlikely to win the band any new converts.

It's a mightily impressive achievement.

If you can cope with the intensity, there are rewards aplenty to be found here - Sons And Daughters are the perfect group to fill the hole that The Delgados left when they split up last year.

Overall there's just too much bland corporate sludge rock here to make any geniune lasting impression.

While this may not be the best place to start investigating the man, it's still another reliably wonderful chapter in the life of one of the country's best songwriters.

It's shallow but sweet, light-hearted pop indulgence, like the love child of Elton John and Jamiroquai auditioning for Simon Cowell.

No one around sounds quite like Clor at the moment.

It will surely be remembered as perhaps the greatest Frank Black LP (to date, at least) and perhaps even as the record that made it cool to like country again.

The overall effect is one of cloying, claustrophobic one-paced idolatry that needs a bit of fresh air and a good night out.

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

His is a rare talent, demanding to be heard.

For a debut album, this is remarkable stuff and hints at even better things to come.

Home Sweet Home is refreshing and genuinely breathtaking.

If you like Billy Corgan for his knack of writing a radio-friendly song with a heavy dose of angst, then you may not enjoy TheFutureEmbrace. Yet give the man credit for moving on and signalling a clear break with his past.

Despite reservations, Angel Milk can be recommended as a good after hours album.

It's a sometimes bleak record, but one that shows that Armstrong and his cohorts are not satisfied by taking the easy route.

Though it might not be as rewarding a listening experience as Cooder's Cuban albums, this is still a set that demands repeated hearing, and I doubt there'll be another record as lovingly crafted as this all year.

It is clean, polished rock with a vaguely punk edge that stays within a clear set of boundaries but in doing so manages to appeal to indie-kids and metal-lovers alike.

Out Of Nothing is a wonderfully affecting album that is the band's best to date.

This is the debut record of the year so far, which has effectively raised the bar by which other bands will be judged in the future.

X&Y is far from experimental, but it nonetheless showcases a band demonstrating distinctive signs of evolution.

So put aside your disappointment at the lack of squealing guitar solos and take Get Behind Me Satan for what it is - another massive step forward in the evolution of a truly great band.

The overall feel of JackInABox is summery and light, and the album flows quickly and smoothly from song to song.

Here Come The Tears sounds like the best album that Suede never made, full of romantic, smouldering pop songs with a soaring depth to them.

Better than the first two? Course not. Better than the last three? Definitely.

An album of considerable depths, beauties and terrifying contrasts.

It remains an awfully good first effort, and the boys clearly have some exciting ideas - not enough to fill the entire disc, but exciting nonetheless.

Demon Days as a whole is a thing of considerable depth and melancholia and offers rather more soul than the cartoon gimmick would suggest.

There's no reason why this can't nestle snugly alongside Norah Jones in record collections around the world, and it certainly deserves to.

Pig Lib Part Two? Maybe so, but there are enough subtle evolutions here to keep any SM follower listening intently until the cows come home.

Sometimes their creativity leads them astray into territory that should best be kept in the art room, but otherwise Axes is a delicious listen.

Adam Pierce has concocted a cogitative brew, a fountain of trills 'n' thrills, that has the noisy echo of '80s New York noise bands, glimpses of the Fusion and Latin flair that transfixes the likes of Fila Brasilia and Jimpster, and the gossamery drift of Scandinavian techno-pop.

What makes this charged debut such a powerful statement is its impeccable flow. From the moment Devil In Me swaggers in like a Molotov cocktail, you know this is going to rock - hard.

Let There Be Morning may be all too familiar to some, but with its driving guitars, catchy choruses and infectious melodies, this solid effort ensures that the band is set to become a household name.

It's not all bad, but there's no getting away from the fact the main problem with this lifeless debut is Elkington's voice.

Another fine release.

There's little in the way of fire or grit here.

An unknown quantity to me before the first listen, by the third play I was already plotting which of my friends I would be lending it to and reprimanding myself for not having come across them sooner.

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