The music here might be gimmick-free, but it's imbued with a dark sense of confidence.

The more this album wears on, the more it feels a world away from the band who once grabbed attention with that charming and vibrant 2003 album. ‘Lovers Rock’ features moments that will satisfy those who’ve stuck by the band this far, but it ultimately feels like The Dears are running out of gas.

So, though it’ll be a while before they shake off the inevitable age fixation, TMOT have produced an album that’s a stroke of genius regardless of age.

Ultimately though, this feels most like the result of a major-label brainstorming session titled 'Which Of Our Artists Will Fill A Santa Suit Best This Year?'

The generous would suggest this is the album Oasis should be trying to make; the cynical that it's a collection the Inspiral Carpets did make over a decade ago. [7 May 2005, p.66]

Mostly, though, The Dodos’ little quirks--the lack of bass, the blustery drumming, the lyrics that threaten to say something profound but never do--irritate rather than intrigue.

It’s Bellamy’s job to prise open deeper socio-political dimensions as much as it is to comment on the times, and Muse’s music once more matches his adventurous intrigue.

Flamboyance and melancholy in equal measure, then, but 'White Noise' mainly leaves you cold.

Continuing a penchant for darkness established on 2009's 'Marry Me Tonight', Work (Work, Work) is probably as grim a sounding record as you're likely to hear.

Overall, it misses Hot Chip’s outsider appeal completely, coming off as whingey and middle aged. Don’t bother.

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.

His [singer Brian Fallon] dramatic vocals might be in full force, but conspicuous by their absence are The Gaslight Anthem's usual lyrical canvases of Americana, save for a couple of brief glimpses of the old dive bar-dwelling, jukebox-thumping badasses in the pair of back-to-back weepies that close the album.

Musically, they've come on. Kevin Baird's bass work – always a highlight – is finally showcased to full effect on the 'Rip It Up'-style swagger of 'Wake Up' and the jagged riffing of 'Sun', while 'Pyramid' features some seriously impressive guitar noodles.

It's just nothing. Complete plastic nothingness from the outset.

His latest album is as likeable as he seems in interviews: assured but unassuming and sometimes hard to fathom.

Here, ultimately, the DJ remains resolutely in the background. ANd that was never the point. [16 Sep 2006, p.35]

Despite overwhelming evidence to support the notion that he should quit vocal duties forever, he continues to labor under the delusion that his cochlea-shredding falsetto sounds like anything other than Prince with his scrotum in a vice.

A few strokes of fortune might send this London quintet--or, say, Clock Opera or Fixers--towards stratospheric hugeness.

Despite its delivery, Kamikaze is very resolutely an old-fashioned album: 45 minutes and 13 tracks long.

What Work It Out never quite manages to do, however, is leave any sort of lasting impression: the album’s near 45-minute runtime passes with the agreeable impermanence of a mid-afternoon reverie, a pleasing diversion that melts imperceptibly away as soon as it’s over.

Here they sound more focused and alive than they have for a while.

MGMT might be an uncomfortable journey at times, but it’s also a transcendental one you’ve never been on before.

There have been plenty of albums borne out of the pandemic (Swift’s ‘Folklore’ era) and some whose recording wrapped up before it all went to pot (Dua Lipa’s ‘Future Nostalgia’), but few bridge the gap between the old and new world quite like ‘Who Am I?’ The band capture their optimism of a new life worth living, but never shy away laying bare the challenges of doing so in times like these.

Provides us with a fascinating insight into the mindset of a band who’ve gone from BMX riding curio’s to the oddest paid-up residents of the top ten for years.

If Two Door are to hold onto anything from ‘Keep On Smiling’, it should be the playful, curious moments that convey a sense of fun, even if that’s deceptive. When things get serious on this record, the band stumble and the smiles begin to slip.

It’s true that in parts Battle For The Sun, Placebo’s [sixth] studio album, will give the open-minded/easily-fooled aspartame butterflies in the stomach, methadone iris dilation and nicotine-patch heart tremors.

In music, there are few things more tiresome than an artist obsessed with the idea of authenticity – they usually forget how to have fun. And this is a trap that Rag’N’Bone Man’s second album ‘Life in Misadventure’ falls straight into.

The nuance and specificity of his last album’s songwriting is largely absent; instead ‘Autumn Variations’ is akin to aimlessly swiping through Instagram, blurry snaps of followers’ leafy happenings whizzing past in a distracted daze.