In buying in so emphatically into a US pop/soul template, Stone has effectively erased what made her so intriguing in the first place.

They asked, so we'll tell. Does it offend me? No. Does it bore me? Yes.

I was so looking forward to hearing Monkey: Journey to the West, as I'd totally succumbed to its charm in the theatre, but I'd advise anyone approaching this CD to do so with caution, especially if you've not seen it in its glory in the theatre where it belongs.

If plodding indie-by-numbers with the odd nice tune thrown in is your bag, jump right in. Those seeking a bit more invention may care to look elsewhere.

These dated trance beats and chunks of grime tinged R&B aren't going to earn him any new fans, so he's flipped the default switch; if in doubt, get a bit naughty.

They rarely take a step out of their neat little country twinged pop-rock corner. This is a real shame because these songs belie a musicianship that can produce work much greater than this.

Man Made suffers from too much material, not enough editorial oversight, and not nearly enough inspired composition.

This is not an album that you're going to come back to again and again. It's tuneful in places, but ultimately pretty vapid.

Overall, Hard Candy lacks subtlety and is overworked and overproduced.

After 30 years since their first incarnation, has the flowing fountain of creative inspiration finally run dry for the Bunnymen?

The album has undoubtedly been an opus of dedication but essentially there is no spontaneity.

Overall, there's nothing much here for even Wainwright obsessives to get excited about. Buy it as a companion for the far superior DVD, or if you're desperate for a souvenir of the Release The Stars tour. Otherwise, this is strictly for completists only.

Producer Will.I.Am's contributions are, for the most part, utterly bland and lacking in bite. The sanitised R'n'B of Heaven is embarrassing with a generic construction that feels as if he went to a superstore and it took it off the shelf.

Unfortunately, such small moments of inspiration are only peppered throughout, and they're not enough to make up for an entire album of ramblings.

Overall there's just too much bland corporate sludge rock here to make any geniune lasting impression.

Regardless of how good the voice is, if the music does not follow suit then there's only so far you can get.

There is some real chemistry here, but for the third album, it may be advisable to pay more attention to quality control in order to make the truly epic album that is doubtlessly lying somewhere within The Dead Weather.

Few could deny her vocal talents but you can't help but feel the character that made her stand out in a crowded pop room has been diluted somewhere along the line.

For all their individual talents and collective intentions, The Little Willies just don't measure up to the greats they invoke.

So while they aren't 'middle of the road' yet, their rumble needs to find a direction of their own before finding their speed limit.

All in all, it’s hard to see this appealing to anyone other Gabriel completists.

Northampton’s Child has a brilliant trap-style beat which comes with one of Slowthai’s better performances, as if being more autobiographical implicitly encouraged him to find his own voice. But these moments are too few and far between to save a record that reveals the whirlwind of hype around Slowthai to be not much more than invisible garments on an arrogant emperor.

The main problem with Gallagher-Squire is that it all sounds a bit lazy and predictable. You get the impression that they know this too.

This is flat, formulaic and forgettable.

On Magna Carta... Holy Grail, Jay comes off as even more pretentious than Kanye.

The memorable melodies expressed by Chadwick, drive Eyes Wide and Accidental Anarchist passionately along, and album closer Fight Or Flight is undoubtedly a gem in the rough of an otherwise largely underwhelming effort.

It does sound very different from their previous two albums. Unfortunately, in doing so, they’ve produced the most crushingly average album of the year so far.

Indeed, at some worrying points, Gray sounds like he's on the point of expiring, so croaky and listless is his voice.