The only real lump-in-the-throat moment is ‘No One’s Gonna Love You’--although admittedly, said lump is gobstopper-sized for the duration.

It’s not necessarily trying to be clever – more that the sheer weight of its many ideas crushes the more visceral response that its obvious instrumental swagger demands from its listener.

The club bangers lack the oomph of his past singles and the lead-out tracks, ‘Fan’ and ‘Worth It’ are criminally limp. .... Eventually, the vulnerability shines through.

Sadly, Wave 1 is a more disjointed, disorienting listen.

It’s a shame, then, that instead of a sequence of whip-smart sonatas ruminating on the Scandinavian psyche, all that dribbles out is a pedestrian stream of the same old bubble-bath beats.

What Work It Out never quite manages to do, however, is leave any sort of lasting impression: the album’s near 45-minute runtime passes with the agreeable impermanence of a mid-afternoon reverie, a pleasing diversion that melts imperceptibly away as soon as it’s over.

DB's spry, Breeders-style way of recasting '60s and '70s rawk is enough to rescue it--and us--from tedium. [23 Jul 2005, p.50]

He's no Marcel Proust, but full credit for producing what's an unusually thoughtful album in contemporary pop music terms. Even if it is a bit morbid.

It doesn’t sound like the work of a band who might inspire legions of fans (among them, apparently, Kristen Stewart) to get tattooed with their logo, but these world-weary yet radio-friendly ballads imply the band might achieve longevity after all. Three chords and the truth never gets old, and ‘Marigold’ vividly paints the knottiness of adulthood.

‘Volcano’ certainly isn’t overstuffed with ideas. Often, the uniformity in this approach – muddy vocal line that could be a chopped-up classic, and a minimal but effective bassline – mean that several of the songs meld together, struggling to stand out. .... But when they get it right, it’s hard to deny how hard it hits.

[An] album stacked with songs of trailblazing angst ('Je Me Perds'), sinister desperation ('Cold') and nut-cracking jams {'Stop Kicking').

As before, attempts to explore London's seedy underbelly verge on hamfisted and voyeuristic. But, again as before, Soft Cell really flourish with Marc's relationship horror stories, which happens on two songs.

For all that his songs brim with melodic invention, in the end style trumps content.

All in all, ‘ICONOLOGY’ is Missy putting a gun in the face of her haters and daring them to say something. She wants them to doubt her just so she can pop off with some zany game-changing vision that’ll set the world on fire. But she’s not ready to unload a full clip just yet. Rest assured, though – it’s coming.

In the end, Taylor stands strong, heart laid bare in a tender, nuanced close to an imperfect but heartfelt album that proves that you can find your way back to yourself.

Quarantine is less concerned with the tropes of olde world dance music, more fixated on gloopy post-club ambience.

No Romeo may be sweet, but it doesn't leave a lasting impression.

Even if the Mensa-folk crew feel dumbed down on, there's just enough Mercer magic on Morrow to light up your local drop-in centre.

Continuing a penchant for darkness established on 2009's 'Marry Me Tonight', Work (Work, Work) is probably as grim a sounding record as you're likely to hear.

Although as tuneful as ever, tracks like 'Alice The Goon' and 'Peace And Love' reflect these tumultuous political times with a new and surprisingly vicious sonic edge that even they probably didn't think they could muster. [25 Mar 2006, p.37]

When it comes down to it, it ain't gonna change your world any.

The London four-piece have never had trouble creating pretty atmospheres though; it’s contrasting them with a bolder hook, lyrical or otherwise, where they struggle.

The follow up sees How To Dress Well stepping into a more experimental world. The results sounds a little like American ambient producer Grouper on a 5am nightbus, and suits Krell well.

‘Freakout/Release’ certainly isn’t a complete misfire. Its loose premise of retooling negative feelings to a positive end is sometimes realised, though it was always going to be difficult to evoke the sparkly catharsis of its dizzying predecessor.

It's not as unified as previous records, but with fewer meanders towards the mainstream and more of the electronic adventures of last year's freebie 'Shearwater Is Enron', Animal Joy may herald a bold new incarnation.

It's no classic, but there are reassuringly unhealthy signs of life.

For now, Editors sound like a band in need of precisely what their name advertises.

For all there is to grind your teeth and hate about CocoRosie, there's much to love. [8 Oct 2005, p.45]