Gratitude shows that he’s a musician who, almost a decade into his career, still has much to say--and a great deal to work out on record.

Computer Controlled Acoustic Instruments Pt 2--don’t go looking for a part one, you won’t find it--sounds like it’s on its own strange course.

Together Through Life sounds loose and informal, and you get the impression that its creator had a lot of fun making it. A shame, then, that it’s not quite as much fun to listen to.

Ultimately, 'Musicology' is a kind of flawed redemption, neither inspired enough to be a true classic, nor insipid enough to make it unworthy of your attention.

Songs like ‘Backstroke’ and ‘Pirouette’ show flashes of experimental tendencies, but are bogged down by repetitive melodies that’ll briefly make you wonder why you even bothered moving out here in the first place.

The overall effect is less like an album and more like a digitally created scrapbook--a dreamy, transportive audio roadtrip through fuzzy urban noise and peaceful rural serenity.

Initially, you might be disappointed to have waited two years for what at first sounds like an underworked collection of throwaways. In places, though, the record rewards repeat listens. ... But there’s no getting away from the fact that at 24 tracks long, there’s not a lot of variety on ‘Whole Lotta Red’, and the biggest take away here is perhaps that perennial rap fan favourite: less is most definitely more.

If you've got patience it's a quiet joy; if not, it'll drive you nuts.

Eyes Wide Tongue Tied is more testament to subtlety and getting the basics right.

The tracks that work on this album would fit perfectly on a spooky science fiction soundtrack, but the remaining songs really drag the collection down.

The Avetts are clearly happiest when they're miserable. Which is fine, if you're in that kind of mood.

More worryingly, there's a nagging sense that he's decided to dress it up in grandiose, emotive sentiments simply to camouflage a lack of real emotional investment.

If there’s anything wrong with Brooklyn-via-Kentucky singer-songwriter Dawn Landes’ seamless fifth album, it’s that it’s just too damn nice.

‘No Signs Of Weakness’ plays more like a curated playlist of experiments rather than a fully realised body of work: it lacks direction, the momentum sputters, and even some of the more ambitious tracks could’ve used another round of sculpting.

Their vision is so focused on piano and guitar tone and so opposed to the notion of tunefulness that MGMT’s new stuff seems like ‘Motown Chartbusters 3’ in comparison.

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.

Their third album totaling 75 minutes and spread, slightly unnecessarily, over two CDs, it reaches unexpected new heights in the pantheon of 'metal bands who mellowed out'.

There’s a clarity here, a sense of maturity in the lyrics too – something that was often missing in his previous work. ‘Nobody is Listening’ has its flaws, but Zayn is clearly working out a few chinks in his armour, and this comes across as a step in a new and fresh direction for the enigmatic artist.

Size has merely moved from the coffee tables of the last century into the elevators of the next. [30 Oct 2004, p.65]

The record sags in the middle when the pace dies down (on ‘Haunt’ and ‘It’s Getting Dark’), but ‘Transparency’ never overstays its welcome. It may not produce the “massive hit” McTrusty once pined for, but it’s a sign there’s life in the old dog yet.

When they do keep it 'cloud'--with the dissolving beauty of 'Cloud Body' and the fairytale-like 'Love Is Life'--the results are remarkable. But elsewhere, romance and originality suffer.

The album allows acoustic guitar to be the rule more than the exception. And the sublime melodies on 'Never Day' and 'Honest James' shine. Naturally, you can't take the boy out of art-school.

I Never Learn is an album about love, but not a record to love.

The freewheeling spirit does occasionally give way to a less exciting middle ground: ‘Eight Minute Machines’ comes as a blast of scuzzy guitar-driven punk we’ve heard a lot of in recent years, where the six-minute closer ‘Greasin’ Up Jesus’ is built around a drum machine doesn’t go anywhere in particular. For the most part, though, this is clearly the sound of a band ready to party once more, making for another carnival of different sounds and offbeat ideas.

It's cinematic, dramatic, and has vocals so indistinct that Tamaryn (the singer whose band this is) could just be coo-ing "turn up the smoke machine" over and over again.

‘Love, Damini’ had the potential to be the biggest record of Burna’s to date, full of heart and rhythmic passion. But it falls frustratingly short: too often the tunes are repetitive and, other than the aforementioned highlights, don’t show much progression.

Utilizing beats from prolific producers such as Wheezy and Chi Chi, ‘The Voice of the Heroes’ is technically accomplished but, given Durk and Baby’s sometimes monotonous verses, it’s great only in smaller doses.