Juice WRLD is far less indulgent than XXX, not getting lost in the idea that he’s a messianic creative. This will be the moment that solidifies his status as one of rap’s most exciting new stars.

Duck is far from inventive, but there’s fun to be had.

Mabel’s gorgeous silky vocals soar, the glossy production is stellar, but the exuberance and effervescent attitude that make tunes like ‘Don’t Call Me Up’ so brilliant aren’t found throughout.

What’s My Name dares you to continue listening, to see if you can make it through its first song without spontaneously combusting from second-hand embarrassment, a spectral groan of “Grandaaad” escaping from your ashes as they sizzle and singe. ... But perhaps opening with such a heinous song is actually a genius move. In isolation, they might not fare so well but, after that, nothing else sounds as bad.

The effort in attempting to redefine their sound and head back to the ’80s is clear, but it’s sorely undermined by a lack of originality and ideas.

You know everything is going to be OK within seconds of the surging, tidal riffs of ‘Wraithlike’, and what follows is simply a fine-tuning of what the Park have done before.

One of the best British rock albums of the year so far.

If I Had The Blues But I Shook Them Loose is the band's Everest, not only do they conquer it with unassuming boyish romance, but they've also created the most poignant anthology of what it means to be young and restless in the city since fellow Londoners Bloc Party's "Silent Alarm"--though they're a lot less frosty than Okereke et al.

Even when easing off the throttle, The Warlocks find ways to blow your mind. [10 Sep 2005, p.66]

Ghost Stories is a feeling more than a collection of songs, and takes a willing reception for granted. That feeling's not rancorous, it's bloodless and resigned, but touching as well.

Unapologetic makes a compelling case for Rihanna knowing what she's doing. This most compelling of pop phenomena still has something new to offer.

This record moves way beyond armchair psychology - in fact, there are armchairs that have a cannier grasp of the mind.

It’s clear this ‘Falkirk miserablist’ has finally found contentment.

It's not perfect--but no Big Star album ever was. [24 Sep 2005, p.47]

Mawkish and messy.

There's 100 reasons to worship the Beastie Boys. But, plugging in a wah-wah pedal and writing an album of indulgent jazz-funk instrumentals is certainly not one of them.

If you look at it as a Grand Guignol of rock cheese, this album is huge fun.

As a whole, Meteorites fails to set the sky on fire.

Only the LP’s soaring ‘Intro’ hints at greatness, and despite the raw talent on display, the dose is diluted and the sum total falls short.

Free Weezy Album is one of those records you sift through for flashes of greatness, rather than sit back and let it wash over you.

Sometimes the introspection is a touch overcooked, the lyricism stumbling into platitude. But the honesty and self-interrogation should be applauded, and the powerful, richly textured soundscapes behind it all show why Daniel Caesar is revered as one of the most important artists in modern R&B and soul.

As debut albums go, it's unnerving that The Enemy are already this good and yet barely old enough to buy their own champagne when the ridiculously high chart placings inevitably come in.

The lead single, the excellent, Bowie-ish wibbler 'We Are All Made Of Stars' is a total red herring. The other 67 minutes and 17 tracks are 'Play' Redux; familiar-sounding "oh-lord-my-dog's-just-died" samples over shopworn pianos and strings, straining to be epic but lacking the crucial element of surprise that made 'Play' sound so innovative.

Noble and determined, 'Left' proves that while HOTS are capable of stirring thoughts and emotions, it's only when they reach full throttle that they truly move hearts and minds.

Myths 004 certainly hits the mark for “embracing the chaos” as a “crude holiday scrapbook”, as they promised in a release accompanying the EP. But is it actually an enjoyable listen? Not really.

Kasher wrote this as the soundtrack to his screenplay, but on this evidence it could debut on The Hallmark Channel.

What disappoints, though, is how numbingly comfortable he is within these nostalgic boundaries.

From 'Gimme More's' heavily treated vocals that sound like a sex addict's cry for help to the electro throb of 'Piece Of Me', where fembot Brit tackles the paps with laser eyes, it could really do with a few more human touches.