What saves this record from being another wallow in the misery of post-fame existence is the music.... 'We Love Life' is a grandiose, symphonic affair buoyed by succinct orchestration and white-light choral interludes.

No acoustic stinkers. No Live And Unrehearsed At K-ROQ radio sessions. No ropy early demos. No remixes. Just Green Day, playing solid, dependable, familiar idiot-savant punk-rock.

With 4everevolution Smith continues to avoid the genre's default Americanisms and instead dabbles in proggy electronic wizardry ('In The Throes Of It'), warped R&B ('Takes Time To') and sleekly produced, astute socio-political commentary ('Who Goes There?').

New is the sound of an old dog having fun with some old tricks.

Opening track ‘Back To Land’ wouldn’t be out of place at an Eric Clapton gig, closer ‘Everybody Knows’ is dreary, and ‘These Shadows’ could be a Mazzy Star throwaway. The rest, however, is gold.

It’s unlikely to gain any new converts to the cause, but you get the impression Hitchcock stopped caring about that sort of thing long ago.

Blood Red Shoes is probably the duo’s most satisfying effort to date--frustratingly short of the “quiet triumph” they sing about on closing track ‘Tightwire’, but an admirable racket nonetheless.

Yet another ’90s micro-genre gets the hipster revival treatment on Montreal duo Solar Year’s snazzy debut.

The result is a record that fully embraces the theatricality of its genre but falls just on the right side of ridiculous.

The Faint continue to ensure that across the pond there's an infinitely sexier state of dance-rock affairs. [11 Sep 2004, p.55]

He sounds small, beaten and subdued beneath the Lemonheads-meets-Diiv slack drawl of the music. The key thing here? Unlike so many of his contemporaries, he also sounds totally believable.

Yes, we could have done without the plodding, church-baiting 'Hash Wednesday', but songs such as 'Explode', and 'On A Fix' more than make up for it and are so incredibly abrasive that you probably shouldn't put 'Eyes & Nines' next to valuable records on your shelf.

London duo Mount Kimbie are stronger than the latter temptation; this six-track mini-selection bows to no imagined commercial pressure.

If this is an indication of what to expect [on the next LP], things are going to get very hairy. [8 Oct 2005, p.43]

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.

The unlikely, ghoulish inspiration of a dead Dutch pop star has forced Pixies' frontman Frank Black into making his finest album since the demise of his influential '90s alt.rockers.

Thankfully, on The World Is Yours the band sound more engaged than they have in some time.

She’s every bit the equal of Bat For Lashes, Frida Hyvönen or any member of the Wainwright clan.

While the music may not always match up, the lyrics reaffirm The Libertines’ place as one of the most vital British bands ever and should usher a fresh generation of believers on board the good ship Albion.

Where once lo-fi underachievement stifled Barlow's outsider pop genius, 'Emoh' abandons dictaphones to the dustbin and sees Lou documenting his wonderful, incisively literate pop songs with something resembling sheen. [5 Feb 2005, p.51]

Their first record is good; their next could be mega.

New Gods is endlessly lovable stuff.

Butter is twitchier than a smoker on a 12-hour flight, and you wish Hud-Mo would have more confidence in his majestic melodies before shredding them. For the intrepid listener, though, this is popping candy for the ears.

This is a gorgeous album, but sacrifices had to be made. They’ve undeniably lost something that made them special in the first place.

Frustratingly, the one thing Held needs is the one thing their Tumblr-goth fans are short on: concentration.

The odd misfire aside, Feel It Break is self-assured and utterly consuming. At this rate, she'll be leading the pack soon.

This Bronx rapper-producer makes genuine party bangers out of dustbin scraps. [18 Sep 2004, p.65]

Mostly, though, Conatus gives you a more polished version of exactly what you'd want from a Zola Jesus album.