Had the stronger songs been contained to an EP it could well have rivalled the extraordinary consistency and thrill of its predecessor – but frustratingly, it falls short.

There’s one too many generic, string-laden ballads, and a stop-start feel to the record, a frustration given how enlivening its highs are. But if anything, it feels like a record Beer has been desperate to make since the very beginning: she’s come a long way in her time in the spotlight, but now we’re finally getting to know her true sound.

The prime intention of Wolf's Law is to overwhelm with bluster, muscle and noise, to orchestrate us clean out of our boots.

It shimmers with wonky ’90s-indebted pop smarts, a daisy-chain of balmy nostalgia with blissed-out guitars, hushed vocals and kaleidoscopic lyrics.

Throughout the album, Fredo doesn’t necessarily get as deep or introspective as audiences may demand. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it does create superfluous tracks across the project.

This album is an almighty slog, one where the vibrant new is weighed down with a lot of the same old tricks. For all glimpses of bold musical and lyrical steps forward, they remain largely the same band they’ve always been with ‘Return Of The Dream Canteen’ offering an all-you-can-eat buffet that often feels overwhelming.

Ultimately, it feels as if everybody involved in ‘Thank You’ has reverentially tried to make the platonic ideal of a Diana Ross album, but instead fallen into the late-career artist deadzone of a pleasant record that neither particularly updates nor diminishes her legacy.

In standing mostly still, Travis have found contemporary eddies swirling around them.

Clocking in at 47 minutes (despite its 17-track length), Lil Boat 2 feels like a vast improvement from ‘Teenage Emotions’ simply as it doesn’t feel like an ordeal to listen to. What that does do, however, is narrow down your focus, which tends to land on Yachty’s predisposition for telling us just how rich he is now.

Everything you hear is supposedly conjured from Yoav's guitar. It's a cute trick but as the album storms ahead it becomes a distracting and frustrating gimmick that sells the songs short. [15 Mar 2008, p.50]

All done in their trademark chirpy Camden ska way. [30 Jul 2005, p.49]

Yung Lean still lacks quality control. The middle bulk of Stranger can feel like being suspended in ice, experiencing a never-ending comedown.

As a body of work, ‘Glorious’ is uneven – there are a handful of certified hits and a bunch of questionable additions that suggest better quality control was needed here. But, with her undeniable energy and beautiful message of girl power, it’s still worth a listen, even if it doesn’t live up to the expectations that her attention-grabbing singles previously set.

Love gets to indulge his sweet tooth over a whole record. That freedom turns out to be part blessing and part curse, his delicate-as-a-feather jangle and wispy vocals eventually wearing just a little thin.

If the focus on 'I Predict A Graceful Expulsion' is sharp then its scope is overly broad, focusing in on vague sentiments that leave you fond, but never in love.

Leaning into catchy pop and garage rock mixed with an anecdotal edge, Bird’s debut album ‘American Hero’ has a gloss that is, undeniably, all-American.

It’s a bit nuts, but the ominous, shimmering psychedelia of standout tracks ‘Three Frendz’ and ‘Angel Of The North’ elevate the album beyond a quirky, Watership Down-esque curiosity.

No doubt many of these songs will go on to be fan favourites, but while it’s not a step backwards, it certainly is a step sideways for a band who until now have been in perpetual motion.

Like most blasts of carefree romance, its charms may not endure--'Spun', for example, is so saccharine that it's in danger of making your teeth itch--but often in this life, the sweetest things aren't built to last forever.

He flirts with past glories on the throbbing ‘I Am Dust’, but Splinter never sounds ahead of the curve he created.

What The Time Is Now lacks in coherency, it makes up for in sheer enthusiasm.

Like most break-up albums, ‘This Is Really Going To Hurt’ is self-indulgent. There are moments of relatability, but for the most part, Taylor’s fury steamrolls everything.

Though this record is as polished as anything they’ve done before, it somehow feels easier to break through the sheen, and get to the heart this time around.

Some contributors slip seamlessly into her world, amplifying her playful spirit, while others feel more like drive-by cameos, impressive in name but disconnected in vibe. The result is a sonic joyride through the world of dance that dazzles in flashes, even if it never quite eclipses the original.

Sometimes you wish Meloy would just put away his studied thesp-schlock and say, "Man, I'm sick of singing about Victorian peasants. I got dumped once. I want to write about that..." [27 Jan 2007, p.31]

It may be breathtaking in places, but Flossie's Lungs are just a bit too full of bluster.

Creosote’s first album since doesn’t have quite the same woozy charm, trading the lush and eerie textures for gentler, more traditional ditties, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still pleasures to be plundered.

Pacing a 15-song LP is no simple task, and ‘This World Fucking Sucks’ can sound uneven. .... The record ends with a showcase of the emotional power of Cassyette’s voice, which still feels like a breath of fresh air in the alternative sphere and will stand her in good stead as she continues to establish her sound.