Ironically ‘Jordi’s stand out songs are the ones lacking almost entirely in guest star pull – instead, in these moments, they fuse ambitious, wide-screen arena-pop with messier, more complicated subject matter and Adam Levine’s feelings and experiences over the last three years. It’s here that Maroon 5 break free of paint-by-numbers pop, and unearth introspective clarity instead.

Over the album’s 12 tracks, Stefani doesn’t mope once--in fact, a lot of the time she sounds like she doesn’t give a s**t. ‘Where Would I Be’ and ‘Send Me A Picture’ say it with Disney dancehall, while ‘Me Without You’ is the closest she comes to balladry, singing “I don’t need you/not a little bit” over polished trip-hop.

The record shines during these more upbeat, fun moments. ... The album is less successful when Cabello tries to show the side of romance where you’re falling head over heels, or doubting a relationship.

Propelled by a glossy indie sound hell-bent on dragging the band up festival bills, opener ‘Hometown’ expresses this best. ... The problem is, such weighty ambition is left off this album, which too often finds them content on taking the easy road.

‘Sunburn’ still acts as a love letter to the place he was raised in, however, allowing Fike to return home not only to the relentless humid state but to himself.

He excellently lends Coldplay's 'The Scientist' a terse fragility, but less successful is a sanitised, Sheryl Crow-featuring version of Tom Waits' 'Come On Up To The House'.

‘Love Goes’ does possess a handful of pop- and radio-friendly tracks, but at its core its Smith’s knack for sap and soul – and their singular, chilling vocals – that forms the base of the record. When it comes to songwriting, Smith oscillates towards what they know.

You may well be charmed by Ghost Outfit’s acidic battery; but there’s so much going on, you may have trouble remembering how their songs go.

'Algiers', their seventh album, is far less surface-level appealing, but the sad twang of a pedal steel and Joey Burns' rich lyrical imagery draw you in, and depth and craftsmanship is slowly revealed.

When she steers away from pastiche and fully delves into cataloguing the mundanity, pomposity and sheer ridiculousness of grotty Little England, she’s at her best as a songwriter.

Metal Resistance shines brightest during tracks such as the epic, melodic ‘Amore’, which draws more heavily on J-pop. For the most part, though, its adherence to the aforementioned formula can be quite boring.

Too often, however, Flory is prone to overcomplicating matters, and tracks like ‘In Time’ and ‘Get Down’ wind up too governed by the soulless stamp of the laptop.

The resulting noodly beats might have pricked ears in 2007. But in 2012, with Flying Lotus set to redefine the LA scene with his keenly awaited fourth album 'Until The Quiet Comes', it's not quite enough.

A handful of great songs might not be quite enough to sustain a new listener, or placate an older one. ‘Gigaton’’s saving grace? There’s plenty of malcontent here, even if Vedder leaping from amps might be a thing of youthful memory.

Pierce’s creative and personal rebirth are evident throughout, but a return to the trappings of earlier records makes for a relatively limp second half. ... Overall, though, The Drums sound closer to what Pierce had envisioned all those years ago.

At least his grimmer outlook has inspired some equally raw music.

While it’s stronger than the messy ‘Born This Way’, Artpop feels little more culture-quaking than a good collection of fun, silly, well-crafted pop songs.

The first REM album to really disappoint. [2 Oct 2004, p.60]

What these tracks are, though, are lovingly programmed, laser-dappled, preening--thanks to Sampha's buttery soul voice--and glossy reduxes of late-'90s two-step and twitchy post-house that should be filed next to James Blake and Jamie Woon.

Selecting a few old R&B bangers, he’s created some tracks that will be on playlists for years to come. Tory Lanez has modernised cult hits that are, in some cases, nearly two decades old. And despite the use of these classics, the album still feels like his own.

Moments when his former wretchedness is recognisable rescue the album.

Its mixtape nature means it isn’t yet the concise album Keel Her might one day produce, but the breezy likes of ‘Go’, ‘Riot Girl’ and ‘Don’t Look At Me’ are tuneful pop pastiches in the vein of Dum Dum Girls and Ariel Pink.

Within the chaos, there’s beauty — the sensitivity of ‘Hey Jane’, the infectious hip-hop bite of ‘Thought I Was Dead’, the rising cacophonies of brass and percussion on ‘I Killed You’. But perhaps a less frantic approach would’ve benefited the listen overall.

‘I’m Doing It Again Baby!’ is a fine album; it’s fun and sweet, if a little bland. It’s a pristine pop record that takes few risks and leaves little room for error – though it might be more interesting if it did.

As usual, if you scratch the surface there's a lot more going on than you'd initially realised. [20 Jan 2007, p.31]

Across 31 minutes and just seven songs, Poliça are impeccably focused on ‘Madness’, packaging up their first decade as a band into a neatly formed, bite-sized package.

Total couldn't be more mid-noughties if it came dressed in a geometric hoodie, and the result is a chopped-up, sample-heavy stew that's a whole load of fun if the Tales Of The Jackalope shebang was your Hacienda.

While the nine-year break has seen the duo barely switch up their instrumentation--Warren Fischer is still blasting drum machines and moody synth underneath Spooner’s vocals--the band’s friend and new producer, R.E.M.‘s Michael Stipe, seems to have generally smoothed the scruffier side of the duo’s compositions.