R.Y.C is at its most provocative and memorable when its larger-than-life characters and productions become unhinged and combustible with lust for life. Yet Mura Masa’s anxious contemplation of modern-living – the highs, the lows, the lies we tell ourselves to make it all better – hits just as hard.

Unsurprisingly, it’s overcooked in places. In addition to super-producer Max Martin (Taylor Swift, Katy Perry), an array of producers come and go on the 17-track record that nearly stretches to a full hour. ... But little could possibly dampen the record’s spirit and spunk.

Sawdust reveals a band with a healthy blueprint for success, sure, but "The Masterplan" it ain't.

It just feels like, once again, Coldplay have done the selfless thing and gone out to protect EMI's share price, and at the end of it remain peering off the edge of a cliff edge, wishing they had the courage to jump.

An adventurous and fun record.

Line-up changes (guitarist Jamie McMorrow was replaced by V-Twin man Dino Bardot) have resulted in a beefier, bouncier, more playful sound, with vocals shared more evenly and harmonies abounding.

Make no mistake, this is a poor, poor album.... Frustratingly, it's a waste of talent. For Snoop has lined up an array of musical back-up here (Swizz Beats, Timbaland, Eve, Master P: all marshalled by Dr Dre), and his is one of the most distinctive voices in rap, but he chooses simply to repeat himself with it.

It's an itchy, difficult listen, but then it's hardly easy being original.

The album ends up as a tribute to each of the individual singers rather than Sound City itself.

<i>An End Has a Start</i> turns out to be a pupae album--it's Editors stretching their sonic muscles, poking the first spindles of whatever new form they'll take out of their gloom-rock cocoon come album three.

Dios (Malos) are clearly capable of breezily mordant psychedelia nd thumpingly pie-eyed pop... Sadly, they're not so hot on tunes you can't help whistling. [4 Mar 2006, p.31]

More than anything, annoying for the fact that in its moments of brilliance, it's the catchiest, danciest jangly guitar pop you'll hear this side of the summer. Sadly, those moments are few and far between.

All in all, a weird brew, set to confound anyone who likes their music to fit neatly in a box.

It might not kill the Mumford and Butler clones, but The Hunting Party is an energetic effort at least.

This record isn’t a fifth as clever as it thinks it is. It’s glorious in a dozen other ways, though.

Nobody's pretending this lot balance on the razor-sharp blade of the cutting edge. Even so, their orchestral whimsy presses the 'lovely, bordering on twee' button.

Its bluster and sheen ends up burying the barbed poetry of frontman Mike Duce.

It’s all jam and no croissant, sadly.

Where he’s inventive and precise in directing his energy, he’s able to make real uplifting and imaginative indie bops. It’s a shame this album’s not full of them. The potential is there, but he’s not quite hit it.

Klang has a clarity of purpose, its songs structured with military precision.

There are four or five genuinely decent songs on here - but ultimately, as a whole it just feels a little too worthy, a little too overwrought, and a little too formulaic to be worth the 64 minutes and 32 seconds of your life.

Experimental pop that tries way too hard and yet paradoxically feels frustratingly half-hearted. [12 Jun 2004, p.49]

Twist[s] both the ultra-familiar and the obscure into awkward new shapes. [21 Jan 2006, p.35]

Taylor's attraction lies in her ability to switch herself effortlessly between vastly different styles.

It's an impressive attempt to drag folk music out of the hayloft and onto the dancefloor and it marks the emergence of a smart, sincere and talented new pop star.

While these might not be Nilsson finest ever songs, it’s nothing less than a joy to hear him singing again.

For the most part, ‘-‘ feels like a warm but cautious hug from a sensitive friend – Dessner gives Sheeran space to say what’s on his mind without trying to crowd him. ... But most of ‘-’ is doggedly one-paced, an often drawback of Dessner’s mellow production stylings.

A welcome change of pace.