The end result is a record that frustrates more often than it thrills. In other words, it is essentially the same again.

Despite Kiss Land being The Weeknd’s major label debut release, what was once a breath of fresh air now sounds rather played out.

The pedigree of the singles can't be disputed, and they both hit the bullseye--the trouble being that the nine tracks that follow are too often found on the outer reaches of the board.

None of it stops you longing after the energy and charm of their debut.

Push And Shove is a decent, solid pop album, but it lacks the sense of occasion and excitement that you'd expect from a band's first album in 12 years.

They have made a patchy record that’s very much intended for loyal followers who have completely bought into their long established aesthetic.

Their third outing has ironed out the kooks and cracks that made them so endearing.

Newcomers to Justice will find A Cross the Universe only an occasionally endorphin-boosting experience, with most of the rest of the record a polished, if soulless recording of a group nearing the height of its powers.

There’s nothing essentially wrong with Evolution, but it just sounds like it’s mostly been written on auto-pilot. It’s always nice to have a musician of Crow’s calibre still active, but Evolution feels more like an inessential addition to her canon, rather than the glorious comeback it was no doubt intended to be.

Trouble is, the arrangements on Head Up High are low-key to the point of nothingness.

Some thrills and spills, then--like West Ham--and the first fifteen minutes are as good as you could hope for from a band coming back to life after an extended period on the sidelines.

Silent Treatment is an album that is certainly bursting with ambition, but that ambition seems at this point in time to be to the detriment of the songs.

Musically there is little to remember, lyrically some of this is challenging to forget. For a 19-year wait, this is a mild payoff indeed.

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.

One can't escape the feeling that, for a writer and performer of Banhart's undoubted talents, this album sees him rather treading water, and failing to match the originality of his persona with correspondingly original or engaging material.

There are too many tracks on here that seem unfinished in a way, content to noodle around for far too long without making too much of an impression.

A Hundred Million Suns isn't a bad album - in fact, in parts, it's rather good. It's just that to find those good parts, you have to wade through acres of very average filler.

Burial is the most important influence across Civic Jams, but while his productions, his songwriting, his structures carry a real emotional heft, Darkstar sound for the most part as if they’re playing for time.

There are numerous disparate elements at play, reflecting the different backgrounds of the contributors, and while sometimes it all comes together beautifully, at others it feels either strangely flat or rather a chaotic, over-egged mess, with the clash of influences jarring rather than blooming.

Fortunately, there are a handful of songs here to be able to do that [listen and enjoy], if only fleetingly and not particularly in the original Hurricane #1 mould; for most of us though, we’re just happy to still have him around.

A record which stares back at you with the appeal of an ex you'd rather not have bumped into.

Moonfire is a perfectly nice album, one that would provide a suitable soundtrack to a warm, summer evening. However, if you're looking for something to captivate and engage you, then look elsewhere.

On record it's just a little flat because it's all about energy and despite occasional flourishes, the songs are a bit underwhelming.

What is surely one of the year’s most frustrating releases.

A missed opportunity, then, but also perhaps the beginnings of a creative resurgence.

As a complete album [it] lacks any depth or cogency.

Though it's commendable to stick with one set of producers to give a sense of cohesion, Memoirs could have done with some variation.

Unshowy, slowly revealing its pleasures, this is subtle, and clever, but rather too downplayed for its own good.