It’s a difficult album and requires repeated listening for some of the subtler parts to sink in.

'Sky Blue Sky' returns to the original formula with which they made their name.

The spontaneous nature of this album isn't quite the asset it could be. [26 Nov 2005, p.45]

'Spectral Split' is the pick, 17 minutes of tropical marimba, but the seamless whole is a joy, locking you in as you float downstream.

Colour Of The Trap isn't quite a perfect debut, but by stepping out from the shadows, Miles Kane has come away smelling of roses.

Legrand’s nebulous vocals may have the effect of casino music at times, but we’re reeled into a settling autumnal haze.

When ‘I Hear You’ deviates from its dance-pop blueprint, it doesn’t always work. .... The album picks up in its explorative second half, with intercontinental drum’n’bass (‘Seoulsi Peggygou’) and comforting piano house (‘Purple Horizon’). There are still cheesy references and canned snare fills, but also a welcome dose of surprise.

‘No Lube So Rude’ might be Peaches’ slickest work yet.

As an album, it’s uneven, but its stream of highlights make this a fun listen, perfect for the summer.

Yes, this is a mixtape of other people's tunes, like you've made in your bedroom dozens of times before. But it isn't nostalgia, it's very 2012.

Rarely does a remix EP recalibrate songs so thoroughly while maintaining every inch of their magic, but we should expect the unexpected from Phoebe Bridgers by now.

Fans will be thrilled to hear her sounding so playful.

Yeah, that’s 8 Diagrams--a knockabout set rather than a knife to the jugular.

Another fine fusion of volcanic arena-rock and cherry-poppin' slow burners. [9 Oct 2004, p.56]

Even when English Graffiti sounds like The Vaccines, it’s a kitschier, more colourful, hyper-stylised version.

Rollickingly great fun to listen to. [4 Mar 2006, p.31]

It's unfortunate that Frank Black And The Catholics' fourth release falls so close to that of his former band the Pixies' B-sides compilation. Next to the twisted urgency of Black's heyday, his current shortcomings are even more stark.

BODEGA’s most vital moments come when they lower their guard down and just let it all out.

Truly a master-class in beat-science from start to finish. [28 Jan 2006, p.34]

A collection of astounding anthems for a new tomorrow, made by the disaffected youth of today.

The future sound of 2012 is mating here with the current sound of Yates’ wine lodge, and quite possibly creating the sound of 2018.

Crutchfield’s vocals strain with emotion against the stripped-back instrumentation here often, the result feels like this is one of her most personal musical interpretations to date.

Marauder takes the punchy, warm sound of 2014 predecessor ‘El Pintor’ and folds in some much darker, more menacing flourishes.

Great Divide is a love letter to the power of music itself; earnest, yes, but as heart-warming a rock record as it's possible to imagine.

Across 31 minutes and just seven songs, Poliça are impeccably focused on ‘Madness’, packaging up their first decade as a band into a neatly formed, bite-sized package.

This dream team (two thirds Britney producers Bloodshy & Avant, one third Mark Ronson collaborator Andrew Wyatt) decided to take a step back and make an album 'as a band', rather than as competing knob-twiddlers. And it's worked.

The lows are low for sure, but the highs are largely absent.

This time around, however, they've paced themselves and delivered an album packed with punchy, literate guitar music.

Lostprophets are big and brash and brilliant. And this is rock'n'roll radio.

The actual music on Blurry Blue Mountain, however, is warm and enveloping.

It is also, perhaps more importantly, an album absolutely overloaded with spine-tingling, pulse-quickening electro noises.

Everyday Life regularly steps to the left-field, proving that Coldplay are more adventurous than they’re often given credit for.

The rest of it though, is soulful and intelligent where 'intelligent' is not exclusive to 'good beats and rhymes.' Which is what it's all about.

Taking cues from ’60s free jazz, dub and disco and combining it with the punk-rock sensibilities of their former outfit, Watersports is a delirious fever-dream of an album.

Do Whatever...sounds less like inhibitions being shed, less like sex with a tree trunk after a hallucinatory, three-day Haribo bender than their other stuff - and that's kind of a shame, too.

Beverly’s effortless indie rock debut is the result of a casual collaboration between honey-voiced guitarist Drew Citron and her occasional employer, former Dum Dum and Vivian Girl Frankie Rose.

Occasionally, Geography grows monotonous, but derivative it is definitely not. There’s something undeniably unique about the tone of Tom’s voice--precise yet effortless--and his guitar skills are prodigious.

Blue Roses, you see, is less Nash and more Bush, a dizzyingly beautiful set of delicate folk songs that sound like they’ve been sprinkled with pixie dust and reincarnated from some perfect bygone age.

Only the plodding ballad ‘Hurt Yourself’ fails to earn its place on the track list, and on the whole Death Magic makes a grander statement than its more rudimentary predecessors. It sounds like Health finally know what they want.

Consciously retro, sure, but more convincingly so than Disclosure and similar young bucks.

When they deviate into a treacly world of dub and shifting tones (‘The Channon’), there’s still a lineage, along with an identifiable personality.

Together, EL VY create an enthralling musical space where Matt Berninger can explore the idea of being Matt Berninger.

Some of 'Free The Bees' could have been recorded 40 years ago and some of it could have been beamed down from an orbiting space station 3,000 years further along the pipe than us. [26 Jun 2004, p.54]

Covers all the same ground as albums by Le Tigre, Liars and The Rogers Sisters in the space of one spectacular 45-minute burst. [12 Nov 2005, p.45]

Overall, Pure X’s immersive charm remains intact. Only ‘Rain’ betrays the heady sonics of old.

Largely, Styles taking a new approach to things really works – ‘Kiss All The Time…’ feels like an album that you’ll really want to spend a lot of time with, letting all its layers envelope you.

It's a fine debut that hints at a finer future - and for their determined attempts to twist something new out of retro influences, we salute them.

We’ve been overdue an election-year statement record from the trio, and ‘Saviors’ gives it a good crack. .... Of course, the record is a good romp too.

At other times we're not sure whether we should be laughing or feeling uncomfortable; either way Ventriloquizzing is certainly no dummy's game.

For an album that you might think is merely an excuse for a megabucks world tour, it sure does, er, wail.

Not hip-hop in its most conventional form then, but a mutant version drenched in, and suffused with, the same rebellious spirit. An organic meta-hip-hop, if you will, that hearkens back to Gill Scott Heron's innovation and looks forward as well.

A superbly impertinent set. [10 Jul 2004, p.48]

The Fall: quantity and quality.

They were always one of the most metal band of the alt.rock boom that emerged from their Seattle scene in the early 1990’s, but on Rainier Fog; there’s a beauty and an expanse--as well as a major chord or two--that sees the band evolving.

The album may seem short at only nine tracks, but there are enough ideas crammed into Curve Of The Earth to call it one of the most well rounded records of 2016.

A melancholy blend of shoegaze, hardcore and alt rock overlaid with Palermo’s dark and dreamy vocals.

Experimenting with different vocal registers and taking advantage of how harmoniously her voice goes with live instruments, she’s shared a collection that should leave you itching for her next step. If these are loosies, it’s proof of how top-notch her craft is.

Sexy, fierce and occasionally very, very silly, this is an album made to be played on jukeboxes in backwater biker bars the world over, loudly.

This contrarian impulse ultimately makes things more interesting, but Mount's decision to record at Toe Rag--the all-analogue Hackney studio made famous by The White Stripes and Billy Childish--imbues the songs with an archaic, lived-in feel that takes some getting used to, and you'd be forgiven for being underwhelmed by your first listen. Bear with it, however, and that feeling will turn to pleasant surprise.

Big, bounteous of hook and packed with more senseless beauty than an acre of rainforest, Pala offers the sort of agreeable nonsense every good summer needs as its soundtrack.

Yes, there are lows: the mawkish ‘Why’ is as sticky as treacle and slushy ballad ‘Perfectly Wrong’ is an unwanted lull as the penultimate track on the album, but these are in the minority. In general, Shawn Mendes is a bright and bold new direction for the 19-year-old singer, as he leaves behind sickly choruses for brazen, guitar-ridden anthems; he sounds all the better for it.

Sounding as vital as they ever have seven LPs down the track, there's life in them yet.

This is an album to file alongside Aphex Twin’s ‘Syro’: one-of-a-kind electronic artist returns reinvigorated and still way ahead of the game.

Whipping up a surplus of creeping, insistent sophistication--climaxing with ping-ponging head-wrecker 'Aspic'--you can once again envisage techno overlords such as Sven Vath dropping SMD, rather than daytime radio DJs.

As ever, their key skill is being extremely dark as well as mega poppy.

Complex and artful, there’s no need to understand fugues and canons to appreciate this--its utter perfection and joy is self-evident.

Shamelessly self-indulgent, you imagine their aim is to jam themselves into a sonic trance as much as the listener.

There ain't too much here that's going to add to her legacy. Rather, there's the unmistakable sense of someone treading water, with even the OK bits here sounding uninspired.

He pushes deeper and comes up with something that’s both poignant and fun in equal measure – a solid gold record that leans into the little moments and produces pure, emotional magic that will ensure many more “biggg mad crazy” times in Fred Again..’s future ahead.

Beautifully recorded strings and piano occasionally break the intimidating, sustained reverie, and the stark, rolling drums of 'Prime' suggest that Wexler could take this somewhere far darker.

Not only do his [Reid's] noises fail to carry the songs, he often loses the songs altogether. They drift away from him when he should be dominating them. And this album is a missed opportunity.

‘Fighting Demons’ is evidence of a nuanced, complex artist whose legacy is stunning in its richness.

Ultimately though, sensitivity outweighs ’80s cliché.

This record is fun with a capital ‘F’, but there are moments of gravitas too. Not easy to do, that.

The Timothée Chalamet-sampling ‘As If’ sees him defiant and refusing to change. With nods to homophobia and fentanyl addiction, it’s a modern take on bratty emo and the rest of Glaive’s debut album is just as complex.

There's all sorts of other excursions as well; the benefits of having a home studio to get lost in.

Gone is the orchestration of 2008’s ‘Entanglements’, though the melodrama of the Portland band’s baroque pop remains.

Love Is Dead manages to balance hopeful, utopian pop with a darker, gloomier undercurrent.

Confident, relevant and full of gorgeous instrumentation, Ella Mai’s debut proves that she is more than worth the hype.

'Souljacker''s songs rock harder than most of E's nu-metal enemies.

Those waiting for another record as challenging as 'Vitalogy' will be left disappointed. But 'Riot Act' is the sound of a band entering a powerful middle-age. They still deserve your attention.

It's what The Velvet Underground would've sounded like if they'd been psychopaths. With a heart.

A curious hybrid, channelling both Bruce Springsteen's 'Darkness On The Edge Of Town' and Hendrix's 'Electric Ladyland' into proper classic rock ('Cherokee Werewolf') moments, but elsewhere sounding a bit elevator music.

We could all do with an absence of cynicism – and the presence of some comfort, hope and optimism – right now, and this 10-song collection certainly delivers on that front. Recorded back in September, the modest and warm performance sees Liam let down his trademark bravado, laying bare the bruised sincerity at the core of his unifying back-catalogue.

The prime intention of Wolf's Law is to overwhelm with bluster, muscle and noise, to orchestrate us clean out of our boots.

Noise music has been content to let its harsh aesthetics do the talking alone for too long; with Laced, Whitehurst has challenged that paradigm.

The tunes he’s releasing are fresh and exciting.

Born In The Echoes is a bold reinvention of the Chemical Brothers’ sound, pushing the late-period renaissance that 'Further' heralded to somewhere dark and twisted.

At its most euphoric, 'In Case We Die' is reminiscent of the cast of South Park forming a Polyphonic Spree tribute band after an all-night feast of sugarcubes and E numbers. [13 Aug 2005, p.58]

The record’s constant dive through history often comes at the cost of consistency and a solid sonic identity, though, for the most part feeling more like a scrapbook of ideas in transition than the work of such an established act.

As albums go, ‘ATUM’ is an ambitious body of work and does ask a lot of its audience. But there’s also plenty on here to please any diehard Pumpkins fan.

[It] takes some persistance. [18 Mar 2006, p.35]

It gives an alternative to Lipa’s super-polished pop take on the shimmying sounds of the ‘70s, feeling delightfully handmade as it struts through 12 sublime tracks that transport you out of the four walls of your home and into a world much sparklier, sweatier and fun.

The result is the most expansive, yet cohesive record Bastille have put their name to. In fact, they may have created a perfect soundtrack to life after lockdown.

Musically, it's really just more of the boozy, ribald, shoutalong same, but tellingly the best moments are when Hutz reins in his mentalist troubadour shtick.

With a comeback pitched between the indulgent love-metal of HiM and the pubescent pop-punk of Fall Out Boy, AFI's hiatus looks increasingly less like laziness and more like a marketing masterstroke.

We’re pleased to report that her third English-sung studio effort is as nutty as ever; combining Neptunes-esque beats with flamenco, post-punk riffs, synths, Arabian strings, gongs and disco.

Massive in pretension, slightly too long and gothic, but when all the pieces fit, you can't deny its unstoppable power.