There’s more space and sophistication to The Spark than we’ve seen from Shikari before.

McCartney’s always been about inclusivity and openness, but this latest glimpse into his life feels like a particularly enlightening one.

Molina's retro-countrified songs of American redemption are not academic and studied, but human. [28 May 2005, p.64]

Thankfully, closer ‘Goodbye Blue Sky’ is a sumptuous country swoon capable of wiping clean the record’s hoarier moments, and we end embedded once more in LaMontagne’s misty mystique.

Like cold, clean water, Austra’s Future Politics washes clear the mental muck, leaving you feeling alive again.

The result is excellence as usual, with DOOM rumbling along between sinister and silly while JJ slings in off-kilter operatics.

They get the sentiment of a thousand anguished FT editorials across in a mere 30 minutes.

There's little, if any, regard for structure or convention, meaning that Mole City could be five tracks long or 50 and still happily exist in a brilliantly idiosyncratic bubble all of its own.

Nothing else on Confident is quite as much fun [as Cool For The Summer], but Lovato's intensity never wavers as the album alternates between trap-influenced midtempo tracks like the Iggy Azalea-assisted 'Kingdom Come' and bombastic power ballads that show off her mighty vocals.

From the mesmerising opener ‘Try Me’ to ‘Little Things’, a nod to UK funky that has potential to rival ‘On My Mind’ for her biggest dancefloor heater, ‘Falling or Flying’ reveals itself much like Solange’s 2019 album ‘When I Get Home’: an uncompromising and arresting treasure of a record.

The concept is pleasant at first, but pretty soon the repetitive nature of each soundscape--clipped beats, soft Catalan/Castellano vocals and the odd bash, pluck, bird-call and random tinkle--starts to make NME jittery.

It would seem from the evidence presented here that [King Of Leon] are intent on rebuilding themselves from scratch, drawing on whatever wild and wonderful influences they've tripped over in their race to live five lifetimes in every day. [30 Oct 2004, p.63]

Far goes some distance to halt a slide into mere radio-friendly pleasantness, though.

Don’t come to Modern Ruin looking to be cheered up then, but if it’s catharsis you’re after, there’s nothing more fitting.

The line between self-aware irony and tragically conforming to type is thin, though, her knowing winks getting stuck in a tangle of false eyelashes, and ultimately undermining what had the potential to be a powerful artistic statement.

A Canadian producer who manages to strike a balance between the sturdy emotiveness of pop and the shimmering beguilement of ambience.

It's Guided By Voices' finest work since 2001's 'Isolation Drills'

Only when Leithauser relaxes the template does he start to cock it up.

A brutal and beauteous slither from the grave.

DaBaby has emotionally matured over the last six months, a fact that is reflected in his lyrics. Even if he has the superfluous style of the old DaBaby, there’s greater depth here than there was before.

A monster of a record. [4 Mar 2006, p.31]

Discipline plummets you into the band’s shadowy world but remains loveable--like a brighter, warmer Savages.

It’s as nasty a little thing as it sounds, yet, for all the ugliness that spills out of Eagulls, they’re never anything less than vital; these are anthems for a doomed youth determined to kick against the pricks rather than mope forlornly and fruitlessly.

It is raw, emotionally stirring, and the best album you’ll hear this year, by a mile.

‘Pick Up The Phone’ and ‘Hi How Are You’ are amusing bursts of irritation, but ‘I Can’t Stand To Stand Beside You’ and ‘What’s In It For Me’ stand out, lost classics that could have snuck on to The Who’s ‘Live At Leeds’ (well, almost).

History has rarely been so engaging.

They swiftly slump back into portentous jams made for mourning failed crops, made worse by the ye olde farmhand Yoda-isms of Eric Pulido.

A dreamy debut that’ll get under your skin and into your head.