At times Siskin’s story is also the album’s downfall, the music suffering from a lack of diversity despite being heart-wrenching. The high points salvage things.

Mixing the exotic sounds of Laibach, Sparks and forgotten camp Euro-disco heroes Army Of Lovers, he's on to a winner even if he feels he's losing the corporate fight.

The album ends up as a tribute to each of the individual singers rather than Sound City itself.

II is the noise of all their Christmases turning up at once.

His [singer Brian Fallon] dramatic vocals might be in full force, but conspicuous by their absence are The Gaslight Anthem's usual lyrical canvases of Americana, save for a couple of brief glimpses of the old dive bar-dwelling, jukebox-thumping badasses in the pair of back-to-back weepies that close the album.

Tassili, too, sounds neither glossily packaged for western audiences, nor too easy to please.

There's a bunch of teary emotions bagged up in the spikiest of descending scales.

Things do sometimes get laboured and one-dimensional. But, there's a wry Glaswegian humour here, which ensures there are plenty of smiles to go with those dance moves.

Their fight-and-make-up pop is like Dananananaykroyd gone new wave, with the B-movie and comic-book geek-joy of early Ash. But that doesn’t mean there’s no depth, if that’s your poison.

The hooks have gotten naggier, the production crisper, to the point where 'LP4''s wide-eyed squelchy funk is carving them an oxymoronic niche: 'utterly compelling background music'.

As passion-packed as her visceral diatribes are, they suffer through being frustratingly free of dynamics.

Eschewing the slacker blueprint he practically invented for off-kilter pop tracks, Malkmus has shown that he's not defined by his past.

What is unfortunate is that she allows Lanegan to utterly dominate their duets.

The Bundles’ kooky childishness and playground melodies will beguile and irritate in equal measure.

Decent, but delivered with all the enthusiasm usually reserved for stool samples. [26 Mar 2005, p.51]

Warm and welcoming, Alphaville sounds a great place to lose yourself.

A welcome addition to the intricate patchwork quilt of the new wave of Americana.

A set of sombre fingerpicked fables, Luminous Night’is heavy in spirit. It is cold to the core, as if it’s being played in the long shadow of a tombstone.

This is a great pop record. [17 Jul 2004, p.49]

Tellingly, ‘Be Brave’ is back-loaded with easily the strongest and most diverse cuts, and by the time the final acoustic plucks of ‘You Can’t Only Love When You Want’ fade out, The Strange Boys have done almost a sonic 180.

Where the songs are slow, the fruity Bontempi keyboards are gruelling and the singing comes on like Jimmy Somerville weeping over a dead pet in a marbled mausoleum. But get past the Bronski Beat animal trauma vibes and Savage's other life is rich and full.

If you really want a definitive collection of Ice-T's work, go and buy his albums 'Power' (1988) and 'OG - Original Gangster' (1991). This is not to criticise this greatest hits package, which, technically, does a decent job of presenting an overview of his illustrious career. However, when you have an artist like Ice, with such an impressive body of work, you have to come with more than 17 tracks.

This is folk music transmitted from the far corner of the universe.

Trust never want to be seen to be trying too hard, but finale 'Sulk' is where it all comes together, like Chromatics with an evil glint in their eye.

Dylan's voice is the star. [26 Aug 2006, p.43]

Monch stays versatile, political, and intellectual as he uses his many gifts to be at once motivational ("Hold On") and verbally ambidextrous ("The Trilogy"). A winner.

This might be their ‘reflective’ effort, but it’s classic MV.

A highlight comes in 'Sans Toi', an unassuming love song which proves that, stripped of special guests, it's their songwriting that brought Amadou and Mariam this far.

Sam Beam's fifth album sees him taking further, grander steps in the shiny loafers of a cheesy 1970s crooner with a fondness for symphonic folk and a soul groove.

As its title suggests, the album is one for the long haul rather than instant gratification.

That this debut tries for so much and almost achieves it all is to be applauded. However, in trying to run before they can walk, DIOYY have missed out on making the classic this could have been.

An exuberant record that is well worth your time.

Where the intervening years have tempered that haste, this fifth album offers compensation in the form of their sharpest, most precise set to date.

Crystal Antlers may be treading the same ethical path that bands such as Fugazi did, but it’s their ability to amalgamate and transcend genres with apocalyptic effect that makes them truly revolutionary.

More laidback than their most feted, punk-derived early albums, this nevertheless compares favourably with the new 'un by Meat Puppets fans Milk Music.

A stonking collection of slick honky-tonk pop, the belting Stadium Nashville of 'Together You And I' shows Taylor Swift a thing or three, while 'Shine Like The Sun' and 'The Sacrifice' are pure Mumfords meets Miley Cyrus.

Sadly, though, there's just not enough forward thinking on 'Origin 1' to give TSOOL the ammunition for a second attempted coup of the rock revolution. [23 Oct 2004, p.51]

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

The big question: is it any good? Well, in places.

A confusing, intriguing record, then. Not their strongest, but there's a transition underway.

It’s Bellamy’s job to prise open deeper socio-political dimensions as much as it is to comment on the times, and Muse’s music once more matches his adventurous intrigue.

Taken as a whole, it's some of Nick Thorburn, Ryan Kattner and Joe Plummer's finest work to date.

It's eclectic, but the linking thread is insistent dancehall beats and a sense of dumb, colourful fun.

It'll never be your favourite album, but you'll wish your adolescence sounded as carefree as this.

A substantial offering awash with humble entreaties and doe-eyed, lounge affectations.

JL have dropped a weird pop record so humorously danceable that Ke$ha’s probably planning a collaboration as we type.

Such is the band’s melodic power the sensation is like slipping into a warm bath rather than eavesdropping by the psychiatrist’s chair.

What stops The Red Album being a great Weezer album, is--for the first time ever--Cuomo’s invitation to his bandmates to sing and write songs too.

A disquieting atmosphere is conjured by both the constant shifts in tempo and Niblett’s emotionally naked lyrics, while ’s naturalistic production deepens the album’s near-menacing intimacy.

Carnation restores some of the eerie, discombobulated feel of his debut.

Musically it's the cream of nostalgic pop, and the lyrics exhibit a wafty elan; but in purely conceptual terms, Cults is too busy flying on clouds of giddy adolescent wonder to plunder the depths of its pretensions with conviction.

After exploring some most unlikely corners, Swing Lo Magellan is arguably its best at its simplest.

Contains... some of his finest ever songs. [5 Aug 2006, p.29]

Harris has distilled all of the synth-popping, amp-busting sounds of electroclash and disco-punk into a complete set of proper pop uppers.

Pull The Pin has urgency, a sense of menace and though it deals with issues like war ('Soldiers Make Good Targets') and the London bombings, there's little of the sanctimonious rhetoric Stereophonics of old were guilty of spouting.

it's largely a successful experiment, with sumptuous keyboard melodies and live drum breaks replacing the heaped samples of old.

As it is, and considering the upheaval following Adam Kessler's departure, it's best to look at Portamento as a marker of the potential brilliance that album three could bring.

'Vision Valley' is the sound of a band with nothing more to lose, a super-condensed portrait of their career thus far.

They’ve stopped trying to do indie rock by numbers and gone back to the sort of idiosyncratic weirdness that made us fall for them in the first place.

It’s a late resolution; like their debut, Crystal Castles feels long; not too long for comfort but too long for coherence.

A similar slide into the mainstream for Jim James and co certainly wouldn't be out of the question – not least because Circuital, despite stiff competition, is possibly their most impressive work to date.

While Green Lanes doesn’t exactly break new ground, it does refine their warm’n’cosy formula enough to interest.

If you're after better versions of classic songs, think again. But as a humanising, comprehensive and often heartbreaking document of a man who, in five years, changed the face of music, almost by accident, it's essential. [20 Nov 2004, p.55]

Their records once had a two-sided feel, Angus' songs lacking the drama of his sister's, Julia lacking her brother's restraint. Here, particularly on 'Death Defying Acts' and 'Little Whiskey', they've got the balance just right.

This is a smooth, sleek band with their eyes on a bigger prize and they undeniably lose something in the process.

Simplicity obviously works to their advantage. True, with all unnecessary distractions gone you're painfully aware of Wareham's stretching for the high notes, but from the leathery creak of 'Bewitched', to the arch pop of 'Moon Palace' via the rollicking fuzz of '23 Minutes In Brussels' it hardly seems to matter

Their most well-rounded effort yet.

Festival stalwarts and vintage sonics trailblazers, their no-fuss rhythm and blues has little truck with reinventing the wheel and fizzes with the simple joy of creation.

It envelopes you softly, despite being wholly inscrutable.

Only 17-minute finale 'Friendly Society' wears thin, its ideas forced and spread too thinly across clunky sub-sections. The rest, though, is languidly atmospheric, peaking with the moonlit disco jam of 'Sideways Glance'.

There’s no denying that Heartland is an overflowing well of musical creativity that leaves you feeling like you’ve missed something crucial if you let your attention drift. But the array of sounds can smother the songs.

Howling Bells aren't back to their best, but they're within touching distance.

This record is a worthy companion for the latest Joanna Gruesome album: Fist City too, blur the distinctions between indie and punk, and have a similar knack for killer hooks.

Permanent Signal finds beauty in loneliness.

On Field Music Play they bring their brand of clever and excellent to other people's pop songs.

Even though Gliss Riffer comes with no added extras it still creaks under the weight of its experiments.

As a bite-size CV of the last five years of his career, it’s pretty good.

Not just a fan oddity--a fine pleasure.

If there's a quibble, it's an avoidable tendency to let songs drift into overtly tasteful territory, but on point, Ballet School do their heroes proud.

This is not the carefree record Splashh were expected to make, but it is all the better for its dourness.

['Wrist'] sees [Deftones] continue to explore that hazy hinterland, where The Smiths' sensitivity and Sepultura's sledgehammer riffs overlap. [28 Oct 2006, p.35]

Vocal-free, Chance Of Rain sees Laurel Halo once more stepping back behind the sounds of her machines, but it’s the depth of those sounds that speaks volumes.

A little more melodic resolve wouldn't go amiss, but 'Ester' is a solid, imaginative debut that leaves you aglow with the ice-warmth of a blip-literate Cocteau Twins.

Sunne is a grotty, grubby and exciting refining of Cheatahs' sound.

Klang has a clarity of purpose, its songs structured with military precision.

Throughout, Settle will blind you with so much sheen you’ll want to tile your bathroom in it. Sadly, the London Grammar-featuring ‘Help Me Lose My Mind’ is a bit of an unnecessary cool-down.

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

A thoroughly modern, almost Byronic, solo album that updates past excesses in the context of the present, and ignores Californian darkness in favour of a polished, summery outlook.

Hauschka’s bracing concept album.

Mostly: total bliss session.

Provides us with a fascinating insight into the mindset of a band who’ve gone from BMX riding curio’s to the oddest paid-up residents of the top ten for years.

Lyrically 2 Chainz knows he's no street Shakespeare, but as this EP shows, he can certainly knows his way around an arresting tune.

Line-up changes (guitarist Jamie McMorrow was replaced by V-Twin man Dino Bardot) have resulted in a beefier, bouncier, more playful sound, with vocals shared more evenly and harmonies abounding.

They produce pretty mutations; their first collaborative record throws up a mix of stuttering electro-rap and ethereal pop.

It's an itchy, difficult listen, but then it's hardly easy being original.

For their righteous dance moves alone, these guys are for keeps. [5 Jun 2004, p.56]

It’s hardly love at first listen.... Yet across repeat plays, the album’s charms begin to unfurl.