Tracks such as "Excuses," "Animal Backwards" and, in particular, "Into the Mirror" caress the ears with hypnotic funk, yet these triumphs are only ripples against a stronger tide, as lyrically Omni is a damp blanket.

If the band suffer from anything, it’s being too serious for their own good, but the sheer propulsive nature of the majority of the record makes it undeniably attractive.

You Were Right pretty much fulfills all the criteria for being a successful radio rock record, apart from the one about having a chorus you can actually remember 12 hours after hearing it.

Instead of offering a truly revealing glimpse into their relationship – as the album cover suggests – ‘I Said I Love You First’ maintains a noticeable distance between artist and listener, and leaves you feeling a little empty by the end.

The dark and sexy new songs shine their brightest when coated with a layer of her previous sparkle; which makes the artist’s second album a fine but frustrating release.

This one fares better than most in audio form, but whether ‘Natalie’s Rap’ will be enjoyed by anyone who hasn’t already wet themselves at the video is debatable.

Even if they're a hard band to fall in love with, this record is ridiculously easy to admire.

Less of a concept album, more of a patchwork, Mirrors runs together not so much seamlessly as breathlessly.

[‘Gold Rush Kid’ is] a fun and curious ditty, yet the songwriting frustratingly positions Ezra as someone who got lucky, rather than an ambitious auteur ready to set his own fate after years of hardship. Elsewhere, though, this theme comes secondary to descriptions of a crisis induced by losing control, with bright, almost homespun production tasked with keeping our narrator grounded.

Opener ‘Teenage Exorcists’ really would have been an awkward fit on ‘Rave Tapes’, a rare vocal-led effort with the enveloping guitar of shoegaze and REM’s anthemic tenderness. More plausible is the idea that ‘History Day’ and ‘HMP Shaun William Ryder’ were left off the album because they’re basically Mogwai-by-numbers. Of the remixes, Fuck Buttons’ Ben Power, trading as Blanck Mass, triumphs.

Finn certainly takes a paddle – if not quite a dive – into fresh sonic waters.

Technically accomplished and assured record, which doesn’t do a massive amount to deviate from the template of Catfish’s debut.

California is too long, but has the humour, pace, emotion and huge choruses of a classic Blink record. Mission accomplished.

It's not, as has been signalled, Super Furries' best album. It's their worst. That's still aeons better than most other left-of-centre alternative British pop bands, but it's nonetheless a disappointment.

Backed up by producer 30 Roc, Big Papito and Boi-1da, this 15 -rack album is sometimes ‘big’ and sometimes ‘clever’, but occasionally goes awry.

Nothing new here, as you might expect, but a handful of catchy tracks could teach those young whippersnappers a thing or two about melody. [11 Mar 2006, p.43]

Ultimately, this is tinkering around the edges of a formula rather than a bold stylistic shift--and while this makes Kannon an easy disc to recommend to newcomers, ultimately it goes nowhere SunnO))) haven’t gone before.

Smith’s made the grade on this serviceable first record Lost & Found, and the path to her becoming Britain’s next global export is looking pretty clear. If only it was made to feel less of a drag.

St Catherine’s surface may be polished to perfection, but much of what’s underneath feels hollow.

Canta Lechuza deflates its ambition by bleeping and whirring in every direction at once, landing in a confused heap of awkward samba jangle and rippling steel drums, a curious and compelling mess.

Touted as half 'Get Ready', half 'Technique', it lives up to every predictable stylistic retread that entails, to the point of self-parody.... Thank Christ, then, that the songs are so good. [26 Mar 2005, p.49]

The band once again remain loyal to their signature blend of chugging riffs, angst-fuelled vocals, and enough shreddy-guitar solos to make your head spin. This is an unwavering commitment that remains throughout, and ultimately becomes both the record’s main redeeming feature and its biggest downfall.

Tracks like ‘Angels On A Passing Train’, swoon with religious imagery and elevate in their choruses, nodding unashamedly to Dylan and Springsteen, while ‘Jesus In The Temple’ is a BRMC mosey into the sunset, delivered with adventurous gusto that’s matched by anything found here.

But from supposedly passionate Vonnegut fans we could do without ‘Sons Of Privilege’ and its student union pop at Uncle Sam (chief findings: U.S.A.=B.A.D.), while much of the rest slips into shouty default mode.

Maybe it’s because the whole sex-food thing is so overdone that the 18 tracks never drag, and it’s not often you can say that about a hip hop or R’n’B album.

When Khaled does make magic happen, it’s plain to see his brilliance – as when he pairs H.E.R. with a dancehall-infused backdrop on ‘We Going Crazy’, utilising the singer’s silken vocals in a way we’ve not really heard before. But, as with all Khaled albums, there are plenty of misses too. The low points here come when you can’t really hear Khaled’s imprint at all.

While DONDA certainly isn’t a rushed job, it could have benefitted from West spending a little less time on it and learning when to let things go. Nobody needs all 27 of these tracks, but dig deep into its contents and you’ll find enough gems to make his 10th album worth your time.

[It] takes some persistance. [18 Mar 2006, p.35]