Maybe it’s the heartache documented in these songs, but there’s an oddly listless quality to some of the album. ... However, some of the charm of those early songs is replicated.

It means that while O’Donnell’s work is hopeful and evocative, and will undoubtedly calm the troubled mind – a very big plus in the current climate – it may also leave its audience wanting more by its end.

Heartbreaker Please, like much of Thompson’s output, is unshowy yet quietly effective. ... The album can sound a little too cosy, where you’re often yearning for something a bit more raw and less polished. Yet if you’re looking for some timeless, classic-sounding pop, then Thompson does a very good job.

The delights of Home Again is that Hayman sings about emotions that are easy to identify with but sometimes hard to articulate.

Epworth packs some interesting sonic tricks into this record, particularly the chaotic crescendo of interlude The Eternal Now, but overall Voyager doesn’t have the memorability or consistency to justify stepping into the limelight when semi-anonymity has served him so well.

It quickly becomes apparent that it very much deserves to be conidered equally alongside the rest of the Calexico discography and not seen as a novelty or one-off.

There was always a risk that Heart Tax may feel a bit stitched together. Fortunately, the opposite is the case – this is an album to dive into and luxuriate in.

Over the course of a full album, Potter’s vocals sometimes veer towards being a bit too mannered, and it’s true that some of the arrangements can feel a bit one-note at times. Yet, considering this is a debut album from an artist best known for a totally different medium, Pink Bikini is an often extraordinary change of direction for Sally Potter.

Swag is a perfectly decent record, albeit one that lacks lyrical flair, emotional depth or any sense of responsibility.

This is the sound of a band truly enjoying themselves in the studio, confident enough in their abilities to freely collaborate with other big names.

The Prodigy are doing a lot of shoving, but little in the way of solving the problem they’ve identified. If they want to be considered as important as The Sex Pistols, they’ll have to do rather better than this.

Musically, it's all mid-tempo indie-by-numbers, shimmery enough to accompany an scene of upbeat emotion in Dawson's Creek; yet sufficiently credible, as indie so often is, to provide the soundtrack to a montage of trailers in an advert for a new Film 4 season.

There’s little else to nitpick about this latest collection; just like artificial sweeteners, it’s a simple but dangerous addiction.

By switching voices and languages, and throwing in string quartets alongside swooning electronica, he pushes different versions of reality, and while on the whole it slips into background noise, there are moments when Excerpts packs a punch. And there's plenty to capture a more vivid and patient imagination.

In succeeding for much of Human, Brandy makes a committed and surprisingly emotive return.

Dreams Come True was never going to reach the near untouchable height of his canon, but you'd be hard pressed to map out a better first attempt to break free from that diamond-encrusted leash.

If a classic pop album is something that defines the moment, is rammed with ideas and necessarily crammed with singles, then Lady Sov's cracked it first time out.

With Other Lives, there’s always something interesting and exciting going on in their songs.

Mostly, it's gorgeous stuff.

This is a collection of instrumentals that, when fully peeled back, reveal beauty within, and are fit to grace many a chill out collection. It's just a shame that they stop frustratingly short of revealing more personality, which vocals would have achieved.

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

It could never be accused of lacking honesty, commitment or power--some achievement given the songs were not all for her--but at times you long for Sia just to take a step back, to bring a little bit of that Zero 7 calm back into the equation.

There is undeniable passion and love infused throughout these songs and, if they tick all the right boxes, they do it magnificently.

With five singles sitting and waiting, Aphrodite is the record she needed.

There is nothing here that is dramatically different to what he offered on his debut solo album, but the end result is charming and beautifully comforting nonetheless.

Too much of Memphis sounds like a pale copy of a much more impressive band, and Magic Kids really need to find their own, less cloying, voice if they're going to produce something worthwhile.

Although unlikely to ever achieve anything anywhere near their most clear points of reference, they have created a decent debut that may be the springboard to considerably greater success, should Dimou not suffer from cold feet once again.

This is a bruising, effective set, whatever the year may be, and one that really could only have come from one place.