The problem with Tides End as a whole is that it all sounds a bit like a blander, toned-down version of every electro-rock album released in the late Noughties, and unfortunately for Minks, five years isn’t long enough for people to get nostalgic about a certain sound.

A few good ideas emerge, but are then repeated endlessly to the point of sheer boredom.

A few of the tracks have a moment, usually a chorus, that you might want to play back a few times. But like Editors, taken as an album there's nothing unique, rewarding, or even merely engaging enough to be worthy of another spin.

Unfortunately Night Visions is so safe and middle of the road that it leaves you with the same hollow feeling that Las Vegas can, without the dizzying high and sensual assault that got you there in the first place.

Considered as a whole, or even as two self-serving parts, Saturday Nights And Sunday Mornings is so generic and unenlightening that you will probably not remember hearing it within an hour or so.

If New Glow is anything to go by, the creative well seems to be starting to run dry.

The problem with Colors is that where once he innovated, Beck now seems to be imitating the slew of fizzing faceless pop clogging the airwaves buried under a mesh of corporate production.

Tom McRae is so desperately trying to convince us that he's still a curmudgeon and angst continues to fill his soul, but it sounds unconvincingly flat.

This rather bloated record should be regarded as a disappointment - an interesting one, but a disappointment none the less.

This record is essentially a minor curiosity, akin to the publication of the band members' childhood drawings--occasionally interesting within context but unsatisfactory and fruitless in itself.

It’s not the worst album in the world, but it certainly doesn’t live up to the acres of hype that have led up to it. It’s just rather average.

The DJing skills are still there and the grooves hold together throughout, though there is rarely much of interest on top of them. ... There are also precisely eight bars in The Cards’ mid-section where the drums hit just right, before they’re replaced with yet more poorly-mixed elements. These moments are so few and far between, however, that it’s hard to justify the album’s raison d’être.

(ONe) is decidedly safe and anything but experimental.

The band's way with a catchy hook and a summery, laid back vibe may yet see them overtake Maroon 5, but that's where their lofty thoughts should settle for now.

It would be easy to look at the words and assume that this was a band on the brink of a split, were it not for the fact that their first album featured a very similar outlook and identikit themes. Essentially, it is hard to see where the band might go from here.

The curious would do best to avoid, and die-hard Robbins fans better advised to watch one of his multitude of films.

Sure, nostalgia abounds (albeit with a bit more modern sheen), but The Bishops have, in a terrible way, outdone themselves in their songwriting, and have given new meaning to the term 'autopilot'.

The album is a 60 minute blur, and while there are brief moments of clarity there's just nothing special about Blood Money.

There's little familiarity, too little to relate to on Certified.

In the end, Keep Calm And Carry On is a forgettable, throwaway stopgap, a dog-eared blast of mediocrity in the career of a mainstay band.

It's an album that is perfectly inoffensive, but in the end, there is nothing here that hasn't been done before--and done much better.

While Leto's vocals remain as central as ever, there's only so much you can take of his constant overbearing bellowing. Love Lust Faith + Dreams was set up as a new chapter for the band. The end result just feels empty.

At the end of it all, you realise there's really nothing here.

While Deaf Havana have worked hard to get where they are, there’s no getting away from the fact that Old Souls is a substantial step in the wrong direction.

With a lack of tunes to come back for, maybe it would have become a better record if they weren't so focused on stardom and the charts.

No Tourists is a change of heart, but it proves Howlett’s instincts right with its lack of inspiration. Making this record probably did bore them, just as it bores this reviewer to listen to most of it, and while there are signs of life in places it’s mostly, to quote Jeremy, so futile.

Until Now never quite shakes the feeling of being a little gratuitous--a few euphoric gems aside, there isn't enough creative spark on the record to justify its existence, and listening to it feels about as useful as attending a Swedes gig without the live atmosphere.

The sad thing is, Gomez has one of the most pleasant and distinctive voices of her Disney cohorts, but she's let down by an album of weak songs that try too hard to be family friendly. Back to the drawing board for this cartoon pop star.