This is an album in possession of a rare innocence and charm.

It's far from bad, but if you're still waiting for a Clinic record as great as the utterly seminal Internal Wrangler, keep waiting, and probably don't hold your breath.

The record works as just five songs.

The band continue to be radical, but rather than being reactionary, ‘There is No Year’ is precise, thoughtful and powerful.

This ain’t ‘Chinese Democracy’. ‘Still Sucks’ doesn’t feel laboured or overthought and never overstays its welcome.

A wonky, Teutonic thing full of outré drama and should-be pop classics.

Sure, there's the odd thoughtful spot of violin, like on "Give Me Shapes," but the record's relentless rawness eventually bleeds into a murky burble.

They may be Pivot no more, but they're turning heads – and for all the right reasons.

The Futureheads have defeated the machine at its own game and made a record that’s every bit as vibrant and vital as their 2004 debut.

This time around, though, the band operates with a little more future-facing pride and compulsion. It’s a lesson on how to do it yourself, and do it well. Defiance never sounded so good.

‘None of Us Are Getting Out Of This Life Alive’ isn’t just a testament to Mike Skinner’s intriguing evolution but also proof of his keen eye for curation. It’s good to have him back – and all of his mates, too.

Faux-feminist tracks such as 'Dirty Mind' are more Austin Powers than Phil Spector, too self-conscious to hit the heart-bursting heights of the originals, too much a pastiche to forge anything new. [15 Jul 2006, p.37]

His outfit have returned with an album that skirts close to perfection in its 35 minutes of glorious madness and transcendent, George Harrison-like guitar solos.

Riceboy Sleeps' is a tedious album of orchestral drones, produced by manipulating piano, strings and choir samples on solar-powered laptops

Uptown Special is Ronson’s moment of absolution: you can try to hate it, but in the end, as with all the best pop music, resistance is futile.

Given the somewhat disjointed making of this record – a journey that stretches from 2017 to mid-lockdown – it lacks the cohesiveness of recent material. The songs origins, however, have come from a completely different place for Morby, one more instinctive and reflective, as he jots down snapshots and musings eloquently into a handy piece of kit. Given that it kickstarted a new exploration in his songwriting, the resulting project is still worth savouring.

As much as the album is warm, wistful and pleasant, every song is a variation on the others, using similar chords and the same key, although final track 'Long Journey' packs more of a punch.

20 years after the outlines of the band was first sketched by co-creator Jamie Hewlett, the band clearly still stands as a vivid creative outlet for Albarn. He’s managed to tap into the chaotic ethos so electrifying and unpredictable first time round, and reanimate the band’s fortunes in dazzling fashion.

An eclectic but thoroughly satisfying record. [21 Jan 2006, p.35]

King Krule fans will find their hero to be far more accessible on ‘Man Alive!’. The Krulean gloom is beginning to lift and, with this newfound paternal responsibility and a more optimistic worldview in place, Marshall’s creativity is shining for all the world to see.

The album’s beachy vibes feel suited to a festival field’s carefree disposition. You just wish there was a little more to these songs.

Third album La Di Da Di is comprised of 12 entirely instrumental tracks that feel less like stand-alone songs and more like strange sonic experiments cooked up in a lab.

Fans alienated by My Morning Jacket’s more recent material will find plenty of comfort here.

They lose points, however, for a descent into guitar squall and full-on ‘Baker Street’ sax (‘Perpetual Surrender’), which mar an otherwise intriguing debut.

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

Mostly, Paracosm is Chromatics if their nocturnal danger was replaced by nocturnal emissions, or Beach House if they got so stoned they forgot to change chords for minutes at a time.

The sheer scale, pop-pomp and balls on show here render their survival an absolute victory. Resistance may be futile, but the Manics continue to advance.

This is their most convincing and compelling work to date. Amid all the experimentation of this excellent album, The Districts have hit a new, complex and compelling stride.