For a guy who nails the ’60s and ’90s indie pop sound so well, he didn’t do quite enough research; at least not enough to make an individual statement that’s unique and captivating for the rest of us.

There’s just not enough of that unhinged brilliance across the board unfortunately; a little more weirdness might have led to something wonderful. As it is, this is a assured debut, but lacking any real surprises.

A bit more edge would have been good to distinguish this from the wide range of comfy female songwriters out there right now.

Hold Time goes one step further by drowning the whole caboodle in a bizarre new sound that incorporates cheesy synthetic-sounding strings, a hint of Phil Spector as well as that resolutely unpretty croak.

The trio's sixth album Mr Impossible finds Black Dice at their most accessible and most aggravating.

It desperately needs some kind of visual accompaniment to, at least, add a cinematic legitimacy to the sound's sporadic mood swings. Worthwhile? Probably. But the world waits for the proper return of Bon Iver.

It's a wallflower of an album, pretty, nice, but lacking the inspiration needed to lift it beyond the mundane.

At best, he sounds like he’s going through the motions, at worst, he’s crumbling inside, slowly realising he’s sold his soul.

In essence Shapes And Shadows sounds unfinished, an album for the sake of notching "solo career" into Ottewell's bedpost, and completely inessential in the grand scheme of things.

The result is an album that is, for the most part, merely pleasant.

Fans of Tindersticks’ soundtrack albums such as Nenette et Boni may enjoy sailing in these peaceful waters, but those who still return to those two landmark mid-1990s albums will long for Staples’ darker, more unsettling side, which is all too absent on this thoughtful but somewhat lacklustre outing.

It features roughly one good tune to every two mediocre ones.

Vicissitude is such a wispy, bloodless record that it’s hard to find anything to recommend about it.

Hurts can do--and have done--better than this.

It might be damning with faint praise, but Hotel Surrender would suggest that Murphy is at his best in shallow artistic waters, and ventures further out at his peril.

Unremarkable and uninspired.

Too much of the album simply plods from dreary verse to dreary verse.

There are one or two new ventures into the unknown, but by and large, The Pigeon Detectives haven't made enough progression from Emergency.

Autobiographical, hopeful, working through different genres, one can't help but feel that if she had stretched herself while remaining focused just on quality dance-pop that the record would have been fantastic and not such a sad sunset on the legendary Summer.

Mi Plan is a mildly diverting listen that doesn't tarnish the brand and helps re-connect the artist with a core fanbase.

Even Spoon's nice sounding (albeit always obtuse) lyrics can't make up for the generally flat music here, and with Transference, Spoon's undeniable swagger has taken a considerable hit.

With this album, Worden seems intent on muscling in on the territory of innovative but hard-nosed American mavericks like St Vincent and Dirty Projectors. Ultimately though, This Is My Hand falls some way short of emulating the standards of those acts.

There are the seeds of two worthwhile projects here, but no chance of them ever uniting under the Major Lazer banner.

Overall, Galore has some fantastic moments, but remains a thoroughly uneven release with some serious thematic flaws that Thumpers will hopefully iron out by their sophomore album.

More often than not you do wish another eternity was a little less slick and had a little more of the oddness and darkness which permeated Shrines in another eternity.

It’s a credit to Hurts for stepping outside their comfort zone and aiming high, but the end product feels as though it was rather a struggle. Possibly to gain more exposure, they’ve made what they hope is a radio friendly record, but which all but obliterates that which won them fans in the first place.

From the poorly thought out lyrics to the day-glo “punk” cover and the calls to revolution that ring hollower with every listen, this is an album that flatters to deceive.

All but a handful of the tracks on Disc-Overy are quite ruined by this appalling Black Eyed Peas gloss.