Oblivion With Bells is less the comedown than the sound of the party still going 10 years on.

Mostly: total bliss session.

Oftentimes, Davis dips his toes into this new realm of instrumentation, only to return to his heavy comfort blanket, twisted riffs drowning out any tentative experiments. You can’t help but wonder just how interesting Black Labyrinth could have been if he only dove a little deeper.

An album of washed out, happy-sad, semi-psychedelic sounds that glower as much as they gleam, it’s perfect for those 3am mornings when you’re full of alcohol and regret.

Here, Byrne's well-plotted tunes can rule, and Norm can keep himself in the background, going against his natural tendency to overstuff.

It’s bread and butter blues-rock, packed with lyrical anachronisms and clichés, but it’s done well.

Though lacking standout tracks, this is an icy masterclass in how synths should sound.

They produce pretty mutations; their first collaborative record throws up a mix of stuttering electro-rap and ethereal pop.

While its synthetic atmospheres initially intrigue... The music wavers indecisively between structure and formlessness, ending up as curiously misshapen objects, half-finished designs.

The record peaks with its first two songs.... The rest is Condon shirking off the grandeur of his earlier arrangements with his simplest songs yet, but without showing he’s got the songwriting chops to move on.

With a bit of luck, Broken Records won’t be afraid to indulge themselves a little more in the future, because it would be a minor tragedy to see such a worldly band opt to wallow in mediocrity

A strident, self-assured album.

His sound is furious, muscular and relentless - not to mention camp, dangerous and slightly insane.

When it comes to big, belting choruses backed with equally sizeable orchestration, Graham doesn’t muck about.

An album of impossibly adorable disco - Star Wars "ping p-p-p-ping ping" bits, cheesy synths, George Clinton (!...hmm) workouts... all delivered in a slightly unsettlingly ersatz kitschness, half-hinted ironies, indietastic samples, hip-hop phrasings and The Asian Influence seductive throughout.

As essays from high-flying, high, high school dropouts go, however, 'The History Of Rock' isn't bad, if a little low on inspiration.

Bragg and The Blokes' delivery sounds just as dated as the social traditions they lampoon.

The Lover Chanting EP is, admittedly, inoffensive and low-risk. However, it’s a solid enough attempt at breaking away from the ‘band that does collaborations’ tag.

This, his third album and major-label debut, stretches this sea of sound even further, ebbing and flowing from ethereal opener "Never Be The Same," to the folky strum of "For Good."

Blonde Redhead continue to splinter off into an exciting world of their own.

To immerse yourself in 'Violet Cries' is more akin to entering a Ye Olde English fairy tale than some trashy vampire fiction, like discovering a weighty, weathered tome that lies under several thick inches of dust and recounts a distant age.

Winehouse's live performances were (sometimes brutal) indicators of how far she'd gone into her own personal darkness for inspiration. It's perhaps predictable that it's the earliest material here that makes for the less harrowing listen.

They’ve made one that sounds like it was recorded without a care in the world.

Ultimately, too many of these tunes are rehearsal room grooves in search of a hook.

Her voice--treated and autotuned to within an inch of its life throughout--still sounds like that of the Mouseketeer who brought us '...Baby One More Time’, with every breathy “Mmmm… yeah!” and all the oh-so-naughty lyrics, such as the ones above, sounding forced and unconvincing. Of course, on a large number of the tracks here she has the solidly cool-sounding (no doubt expensive) backdrop of futur’n’b pop.

Simply put: an album stuffed with great, joyful songs.

‘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.

In the end, MDNA is a ridiculously enjoyable romp, but oddly not for the bits that are supposed to be fun. Instead, it's the psychotic, soul-bearing stuff that provides listeners with some of the most visceral stuff she's ever done.