Identity is everything in pop, but the majority of this record serves only to bury what made Gwen Stefani unique in the first place.

He barely has to try and, to be honest, here it shows.

Big Talk is a record to be roared while stood atop the bar, and then deny all knowledge of the next day.

Macy effortlessly combines the classic pop of Chic and Bill Withers with the sort of flamboyant, contemporary chart-frippery Mika probably thinks he's up to.

Sound smart? It would be if he hadn’t served it up with such flaccid beats.

For all its glum pronouncements of murder, mortality and loss, it’s an ecstatic listen, ponderous party music.

Only a joyless weirdo could deny that these are fearsomely well-crafted songs, as clean-lined and immaculate as a well-cut suit.

[They] are so busy trying to be Supertramp they've forgotten to add anything of themselves. [3 Jun 2006, p.35]

To be fair, this is easily the best thing they’ve done since the mid-’80s and ‘Rockets’ and ‘Moscow Underground’ have some of that epic post-punk/new-wave disco spirit of yore, but it’s still not enough.

This album is a tribute to enduring a profoundly underwhelming pop star existence. The banality could be forgiven if it included even one decent hook but alas, no.

Much as there's no getting away from the fact that this is basically one long remix, it's much better than the car crash we all predicted it would be.

They've already featured on a multitude of soundtracks including Stealing Beauty, Shades and I Know What You Did Last Summer. Not to mention cinema ads for champagne and episodes of La Femme Nikita and er, Baywatch. That's pretty much all bases covered, then.

While The 1975 don’t own radio-rock just yet, Rituals feels a little too much like Deaf Havana have lost sight of their own signature, while hammering at the heels of Healy’s.

No surprises here, but it’s hard to fault Kannberg’s strongest solo album yet.

An excellent modern rock record. Dense, intelligent, user-unfriendly and challenging. [12 Mar 2005, p.57]

Though Gary Barber's half-spoken, oh-so-London urchin coo brings a little quirk to proceedings, for the most part Native To is a pleasant but not memorable listen.

[A] perplexing and risible album.

Ho-hum. [22 Jul 2006, p.39]

The sort of glossy folk-pop that makes you want to usher Alice down the rabbit hole, and roll out the cement mixer. [10 Jun 2006, p.41]

The overall effect is less like an album and more like a digitally created scrapbook--a dreamy, transportive audio roadtrip through fuzzy urban noise and peaceful rural serenity.

The highlights aren’t enough to make this album feel as vital as top-notch Sia efforts – namely, 2014’s ‘1000 Forms Of Fear’ or 2016’s ‘This Is Acting’. For the most part, these are reasonably catchy pop songs that become forgettable after their last chorus.

Uneven it may be, but when his goofy rhymes catch sparks against a noxious mix of grime, electro and funky house it’s dazzling.

Uncanny Valley is like listening to a latter-day Oasis album: too weakly reminiscent of past achievements to really satisfy.

Raymond V Raymond finds the singer in an emotional headspin, and when he channels it here he produces some of his darkest and most hypnotic soul-pop to date. But sadly there’s quite a bit of forgettable bravado babble too--hardly original.

Luckily, no amount of squelchy beats, dubstep bass, trip-hop crackles and gabba breakdowns can suppress their effervescent sense of melody.

This may not be a groundbreaking record, but it’s definitely one that delivers bops befitting of a woman who keeps on performing even when she’s served with court papers on stage.

With only three 'songs' to speak of here, 'All Watched Over...' smacks of another great British songwriter having their melodic nous chewed away by electro-moths. [7 Aug 2004, p.49]

Happy Mondays' first album since 1992's "...Yes Please!" is the sound of a damaged former addict being ushered into a studio for one last shot at the big time - before falling on his arse.