There are some noteworthy moments where brilliance is glimpsed, but this album seems to be maintaining the status quo rather than sparking a revolt.

A quiet, easy confidence in their abilities and a collection of productions straddling just about every dance music touch-point from the past 25 years.

While it lacks the finesse of the band's previous work, somewhere in amongst all the bluster, soul-searching, adrenaline and anger, the record carves out a space where everything seems to fit together.

Entertainment, though, sounds tame by anyone's standards; and by eschewing their seedy, sweaty origins in favour of clean-cut pop, they've dumped those elements of their act which made them unique in the first place.

Nobody is trying to do anything too contemporary here, and the slight remove these musicians bring to creating contemporary Ross music means we often get a pastiche of her earlier material. It’s effective, but the danger is that it veers tantalisingly close to sounding like an ironic tribute. And so, the album perhaps fares best in its simplest, and most sincerely constructed moments.

It's gentle enough to be background music, lively enough to be worth listening to for the sake of it, and certainly an impressive achievement for a 21-year-old's debut.

Few other modern musicians are as adept at taking such a tried and tested genre and making it utterly their own.

At 22 tracks, its formulaic and mechanistic approach begins to wear thin at times--there's just too much going on to properly digest it all--but as a compendium of chart-ready fodder, Nicki has honed in on precisely what works for her with remarkable ease.

Ultimately, it's an accomplished record that makes all the right noises (in the most literal sense), but it lacks the final wow factor to push it into true greatness.

He doesn't ever disappear too far up his backside, instead keeping an attentive ear on what his devotees might still want to hear.

Closing track The Dogs (featuring Moby himself on vocals) does stretch things out somewhat, it doesn’t spoil the notion that Innocents, while maybe not the creative renaissaince hinted at, is Moby’s best album for some time.

Fixin' The Charts comes with a lofty goal: to grind down the blemishes that mar the rock face of the popular music mythos. But to attempt to "fix" history, to paint over its wrongs with a broad, sneerish stroke, is a gross mis-step in the career of one of anti-pop's savviest purveyors.

So the songs merge into one, and the parts add up to less than the whole. And taken as a whole Future This is a bit much.

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

It sounds a bit like they're trying too hard, trying to be too clever in their pursuit of "technicolour joy".

Although long-term Dashboard fans will miss the more fragile moments, the new, big, epic sound is one that suits Carrabba.

Replete with tacky production and recycled ideas, its few merits are stretched to near breaking point.

A Joyful Noise is the sound of Gossip taking their love of dance floor pop to its natural conclusion with their most obvious and accessible album yet.

As a whole, Glassheart is listenable, with a few ups and downs in terms of the quality of the tracks, but does tend to keep to a very steady keel of mediocrity without much deviation.

Too often though these stabs at versatility end up as clichéd impersonations.

World Beyond ends up worth a listen if you happen to be someone who likes ’80s synthpop and classical music in equal measure. Whether there’s much here for anyone else is moot.

Breaking Up may sound tinny, it may grate occasionally, and vocalist Russell The Disaster's voice may well get on your nerves after a while - yet you'll be hard pressed to find another record this year with as much soul and honesty as this one.

Shifting perspectives and clever juxtapositions are all over this album, Middleton and Shrigley have created an album that on the face of it appears to be simple, but there’s untold depth here, as well as some endlessly creative swearing.

Diplo's original production work is the real joy of this compilation though, and probably the crowning gem is 'Solta O Frango,' from the sublime Bonde Do Role album.

Ultimately, there are some really strong pop moments on here, but they’re overshadowed by inane, inert, insignificant drama-queening of the highest degree.

The feisty personalities and powerhouse vocals have stayed intact, making it even more of a shame that the very essence of the group seems to be absent on London With The Lights On.

A statement for all of the limp new rave pretenders to pack up and fuck off, a return to form rarely sounded or felt so exciting.

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.