The record is made up of four nine-minute-plus epics that waft into view, all dub basslines, ambient synth washes and well-chosen samples. The exception to such rambling--and standout moment--is the title track.

Bitter Rivals is their toughest and most focused work yet. It’s also their poppiest, which is very much a good thing.

A mid-section of orchestral Bacharach lounge pop, hints of Gorillaz afro-hop on ‘Allweddellau Allweddol’, the glitchy gospel of ‘The Swamp’ and some glacial grandeur on ‘Walk Into The Wilderness’ and 'Year Of The Dog' bring a sense of nobility and glory to the tale of this tribe-hunting madman.

Ultimately, 'Killing Puritans' is well-crafted and commendably diverse, but somewhat joyless and cold. It aspires to social significance without having much serious to say, just as its creator casts himself as a taboo-trashing auteur rather than accept his true status as a skilled artisan in the commercial dance field.

Recorded in a cave near Oslo, natch, this gloriously dark second album begins with the dystopia of ‘Ayisha Abyss.’

It’s no Pinkerton, but Weezer, finally, are back on track.

We worry on your {Marnie's] behalf about carpal tunnel syndrome, in fact. Until then, permit us to bug out to the controlled chaos.

Like all covers albums, the temptation to dig out the originals is not far away, but there’s enough electricity pulsing around these versions to not only justify a charitable contribution but also make it a worthy addition to your record collection.

Grey Oceans is CocoRosie's most beautiful and, more importantly, least bloody irritating record to date.

Marvellous. [5 Nov 2005, p.45]

Yes, it's solid rock but what they might lack in glamour (no back up dancers here, dude), they make up for in sheer sincerity.

Eminem’s cameo on ‘Medicine Man’ is technically superb, but the content somehow comes over both hateful and boring.... But it's hard to deny Compton is brilliantly constructed, a masterclass in 21st century hip-hop.

It is, shudder to think, Nine Inch Nails' pop album. Or, at least, Reznor is returning to the more song-orientated territory of 'Pretty Hate Machine'. [23 Apr 2005, p.49]

This Is Christmas is effectively hate-proof, loved-up, entertaining stuff that strikes just the right balance of humour and heart-tugging.

A far more accomplished work than anyone suspected this bunch of deadbeats capable of.

A dollop of deliberately sloppy post-grad college rock. [23 Apr 2005, p.51]

It can be dour but that just makes the moments of light, such as the galloping, violin-augmented 'Golden Age', gleam all the brighter.

As is often the case when a rarefied musician enjoys themself too much though, this is a wildly self-indulgent release; 16-tracks which veer between excellent and average.

Sounds like a brilliant album by a lesser band. [5 Jun 2004, p.57]

Largely, though, Nash sounds just like herself, and that's exactly when she shines most brightly.

HITNRUN Phase One isn’t one of Prince’s best albums. But neither is it his worst. He hasn’t lost it. He’s just resting it.

Busy and Melissa have made a record that shimmers with possibilities, mapping out an alien territory that’s eerily inviting. Now it’s time to build on it.

It has taken Brooklyn's Vivian Girls three albums to expand their musicality beyond the (unquestionably ace, but repetitive) garage racket that characterised their last two.

'The Red Thread' is a frequently beautiful record, as dark and twisted and funny as anything the band have ever produced.

While being as well-crafted, catchy and dynamic as the first one, it leaves you feeling distinctly underwhelmed, as if the band had simply reprogrammed the Pro-Tools machine that they'd made the first album on and changed the lyrics and speed of the songs a bit.

It's all strung together with punk-drunk pace and some properly good melodies. This is the real deal.

The juxtaposition of the melancholic with the mellifluous melds majestically atop delicate lap steel, brushed drums and double bass on this country tearjerker.

With her distressed, Southern-inflected vocals and guitar/piano accompaniments tolling like perpetual church bells, Cat Power brings these songs successfully into her own, bleak domain.