The album suitably builds on everything that ‘Going…Going…Gone!’ teased, re-confirming Udu as one of the most flamboyant and honest artists in the pop space right now.

While the only revolutions here might be the creaky cogs of the Fannies' 20-year career turning nicely, there's little denying they're still worthy of the reverence they effortlessly garner.

Not only do the band successfully blend genres with ease, they thrillingly leap through whole musical movements from one note to the next.

Ladytron slide perfectly vacuum-moulded from the Kraftwerk production line, a brand new model of synthesised splendour, power songwriting, and industrial dance shudderings. 'He Took Her To A Movie', 'The Way That I Found You' and 'Jet Age' capture the exotic Teutonic soul of 'Don't You Want Me' or 'The Model' while sounding thrillingly modern.

‘Warnings’ is a brooding, beautiful contemplation of life’s flaws. With this album, Lindén and Balck have strengthened their mastery of atmospheric music.

Put simply, this is fantasy pop, performed to perfection.

Welcome home, The Boss. [30 Apr 2005, p.64]

It’s wrought with haunting, high-stakes emotions, but the strength of Scott’s voice means it never feels melodramatic or plainly vulnerable.

Ultimately, this is tinkering around the edges of a formula rather than a bold stylistic shift--and while this makes Kannon an easy disc to recommend to newcomers, ultimately it goes nowhere SunnO))) haven’t gone before.

Not only does it showcase Pearl Jam reclaiming the charm that first made them a force to be reckoned with back in 1991, it comes alongside some of their most impressive musicianship yet, as well as a determination to take risks after years of playing it safe.

It's the sound of a band knowing exactly who they are, what they want--and how to get it.

The Money Store offers a glimpse of sonic dystopia that's utterly convincing.

Escapism’s one thing, but we need artists to sneer at the stars and sing songs about the gutter, and right now no-one does it like Sleaford Mods.

Smith’s made the grade on this serviceable first record Lost & Found, and the path to her becoming Britain’s next global export is looking pretty clear. If only it was made to feel less of a drag.

With the arrival of Fantasy Black Channel--four young men given free rein over four studios – it’s time to hail the new age of anything-goes ridiculousness.

A marvellous little menagerie of smart, eccentric guitar pop full of arty tics and tricks. [13 Aug 2005, p.58]

Even more subdued than usual. [12 Aug 2006, p.32]

Kicks with a passion and inventiveness that's seen them steam up the specs of everyone from Moby to Graham Coxon. [17 Jun 2006, p.39]

Musing on the break-up of a nine-year-long romantic relationship, simplicity is key to ‘Old Flowers’’ innate grace.

Who'd have thought the best Americana record of the year would come from two Swedish siblings?

There’s no suppressing the fact that, ironically, in loosening up and stretching their wings they’ve become a little more earthbound. Where once they conjured up the sound of, um, glaciers drifting across the surface of the moon, occasionally here it lapses into the sound of a wheelie bin being dragged across HMV’s backyard.

Disappointing, then, that the eight-track ‘bonus disc’ opens with a cover of a cover: a lo-fi version of ‘Valerie’. [Review of Deluxe Edition]

Stripped back to basics and muttering against the machines, they've never come on so strong.

Allen’s lo-fi production does nothing to dispel the notion that we’re eavesdropping on his innermost thoughts. At a time where many encumber sleepless nights and intense self-reflection, Puma Blue’s debut may well provide a brief moment of relief for those lost in the darkness.

‘Zeit’ might be a more reflective album than previous Rammstein records, but it’s still an energetic, swaggering beast.

The music is a spectral combination of bleepy 80s synths, lightly crunching backbeats and dreamy vocals; the mood is pure post-clubbing afterglow, in bed with your loved one, in some snowbound Ikea log cabin.

There’s plenty more evidence here that Frank remains one of our most consistently punchy, stirring and chaff-free songwriters.

Mangy Love would succeed even without lyrics. Produced leisurely with Rob Schnapf (Elliott Smith) and Dan Horne and featuring 21 extra musicians, this is McCombs’ richest ever recording. Sublime flourishes abound.