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.

It adds up to Folds' finest record yet, and while nobody would dare suggest that Nick Hornby would give up his day job, a sequel to this fascinating collaboration would be more than welcome.

There's a confidence obvious throughout that suggests Sparro will build on what is a strutting debut, even if at the moment he's a big voice with too many small songs to sing.

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

The music here is, at times, superb--it’s just hard to imagine anything (except maybe Rose On Top Of The World or Killed Someone) finding a place in your permanent playlist. And a lot of it is just average, which is probably the worst thing you could say about a band as mercurial as this.

It’s About Time has joyous, feel-good highlights and low points that could have been worse.

Perhaps the global impact of the massive Call Me Maybe is what makes the album as a whole feel like a damp squib, but with or without US Marine parody videos, the rest of the album fizzles out into synth-pop oblivion.

It’s by no means perfect and it does feel slightly one-paced, but the layers of Heritage are undoubtedly worth unravelling.

When certain songs occasionally come within touching reach of greatness, it’s most often through their distinct resemblance to other acts.

It’s become a rather saturated market and, with the ability to craft stunningly effective vocal harmonies and melodies still intact from their early guise, Hegarty’s music is so much more.

For all its ’80s and ’90s pop influence, nothing here sounds dated.

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

Yesterday Was Forever provides plenty of evidence that she can still hit top form when she wants to.

Musically it turns out to be blissful business as usual for Ernest Greene on his fourth album under the Washed Out moniker. The bittersweet sentiments remain but they are beautifully expressed and wrapped up in classy production, with a notable tension that hangs on every song.

Whilst there are occasional high points, it’s best to cherry-pick the highlights from Didn’t It Rain and leave the rest.

The duo have set themselves up nicely in a burgeoning genre and whilst their likeness for monochrome isn’t exactly bright, their future surely is.

Overall, Veronica Electronica justifies the hype, bringing us an artist at her peak seen through the lens of well-chosen remixers. It is the ideal companion to Ray Of Light, her alter ego emerging from the darkness of the club to a moody but ultimately uplifting soundtrack.

Where RMX works, it is outstanding, but it is let down by too much flabby excess that for all its artfulness, weighs the album down like a millstone round the neck.

Version is destined to become one of the great party albums of the summer - just playing it once is guaranteed to cheer you up.

When Wildflower works, it works beautifully.

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.

The Fat Whites’ second album is, then, something of a mixed bag, but the most offensive thing about it is not the lyrical content, it’s the fact that the band doesn’t seem to have the courage of its convictions and say what it means in an intelligible manner. Their edge has been knocked off in a cloud of reverb.

Klinghoffer wisely makes no attempt to mimic Frusciante; the new boy on the block's musical talent is obvious in its own right here, and the musical partnership that has formed between the older members of the band and Klinghoffer is evident. Red Hot Chili Peppers are not quite ready to slope off yet.

Glow And Behold has its ups and downs and isn’t quite the coherent, self assured package that its predecessor was; instead it’s the sound of a band reconfiguring, trying to work out which way to go and what to do next.

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.

For their entire career, The Polyphonic Spree have succeeded not necessarily when they’ve sounded big, but when they’ve been the leader of the pack of the weird. Many of the tracks on Yes, It’s True suggest that the band is thankfully moving back in that direction.

Whilst this is an album that will draw comparisons to the band that made her name, it is a fine, if long overdue, solo effort.