Robbie Furze and Milo Cordell's second album isn't done for by a lack of ambition, but rather the imagination required to realise it.

London quartet Good Shoes offer little to get flustered over with this sometimes dire, but mostly mediocre second album.

Bangarang, a stopgap EP ahead of his debut album later in the year, still fails to confirm whether his unashamed populism is deeply naive or profoundly cynical.

Truly this is music for life's uncomplicated moments. [15 Jul 2006, p.39]

What Happens Next is a distracted listen--an experimental Gill production that should be out under his name only.

Although clearly Canibus is undoubtedly one of the best freestyling lyricists of his generation, he's still to find the right production team to match his vocabulary.

More problematic than the bad lyrics or air of disengagement is Higgins' involvement. Too much of the album sounds washed out and painfully clean.

It’s an ambitious, emotional monolith of a record, with all the hallmarks of future classic status.

But just before sheen threatens to turn to smarm, The Research acknowledge twee works best when a dark side lurks just beneath the surface.

There are more ideas here than Blink-182 had in their entire career; it's just that they're the same ideas that Jimmy Eat World had on their last LP. [11 Nov 2006, p.41]

As on their debut, the sound is slick and polished and the songs are snappy and unpretentious, but there’s a lack of wit or invention.

He’s crafted a tender and often forlorn eco-treatise.

They've just made the best rock album since Andrew WK's 'I Get Wet'.

If it’s a collection of tried-and-tested bangers you’re after, showcasing three pop powerhouses at their proven best, then crack on. In search of a left-field album of crate-digging curveballs? You’re best looking elsewhere.

Sadly, he only briefly reaches the heights of his best Gorky's work. [18 Feb 2006, p.36]

Solid singer-songwriter fare with more longing than your teenage years.

Allen’s old sharp eye feels watery on Sheezus, squinting at the discourse around feminism, race and privilege unfolding online in 2014, and riding them as a bandwagon back to the middle of the very space the Myspace-spawned pop star once owned, but not having the conviction to do much with them once she’s arrived.

[Rjd2] has moved away from sample-based instrumental hip-hop, throwing in gently psychedelic Beatles-y songcraft and live instruments to achieve a jack-of-all-trades sound that, while perfectly pleasant, is done better by Beck.

Amped-up, aggressive and with a deep love for our canine friends, he arrives once again, shadow-boxing to the max. [19 Aug 2006, p.33]

When it works, the results are astounding.

If Sparta have been damned thus far as the weaker of ATDI's progeny, let it be so no longer.

Morning Tide is a collection of songs that take the word ‘pop’ in ‘pop music’ literally, bursting with effervescence and joy.

St Jude is conclusive proof they have far more interesting things to say when they let the tunes do the talking.

Brave and futuristic, by venturing into space, Mescudi finally steps out of Kanye’s shadow--with not just one small step, but one giant leap.

Red is more a poor parody of the genre than a booty shaker.

Here is the ultra-Keane album, with tinkling, histrionic, arena-ready piano motifs™, soaring, emotive vocals™ and songs called 'Day Will Come', 'In Your Own Time' and 'Silenced By The Night'.

VHS Or Beta hit on a candy-coloured disco-funk previously only thought possible by men wearing daft robot masks. [9 Apr 2005, p.58]

A Better Tomorrow isn’t all good (most noticeably, it’s lacking killer verses from Raekwon and Ghostface Killah), but it’s a bold, clever album that’s thankfully positioned away from the hip-hop zeitgeist.