'Kittenz And Thee Glitz' is not a techno album, hardly even a dance record, only partially an '80s homage, and not quite pure pop either. But it is also all of these things in one, plus some kind of warped comment on celebrity culture.

At times it sounds like pastiche but when they're themselves... the 'Couture...' club are amazing. [6 Nov 2004, p.59]

Intriguingly adventurous, ‘Bird’s Eye’ marks Lenae expanding her musical repertoire and exploring new vistas – an ambitious accomplishment.

Covers all the same ground as albums by Le Tigre, Liars and The Rogers Sisters in the space of one spectacular 45-minute burst. [12 Nov 2005, p.45]

With ‘Broken Hearts Club’, Syd has crafted an album that elevates her to new heights – one that positions her as an exceptional, peerless talent.

Rhe majority of this 46-minute album is gripping, a sickening start to the year that makes Saul’s temporary departure all the more understandable.

Bejar has a wondrous lyrical facility that it’d be a shame for him to forsake--but he’s also possessed of a beguiling, breezy touch that acts as a musical lingua franca here.

Songs begin fully-formed before spiralling into abstract drum loops punctuated by slicing guitars and vocal drones (‘Mess Your Hair’). At other times, the most perfect moments of Small Faces psychedelia or Velvet Underground basement pop will emerge from the most unlikely formless squalls (‘Sitting’; ‘Heart From Us All’).

While their version of My Bloody Valentine’s ‘Only Shallow’ sounds exactly the same only much more so, the unexpected choices work best.

Not all of these experiments quite come off: the industrial clang of ‘It’s Dark Inside’, on which she drawls, “they don’t teach clit in school / Like do Lit”, veers close to ‘Yeezus’ parody. It’s notable, though, how contemporary her distorted art-punk sounds.

Like Missy Elliott, the Beasties are reimagining hip-hop--what it was, what it is, what it can be. [12 Jun 2004, p.47]

This rollicking debut album is a balance-redressing, cliché-bucking tonic.

Whether by design or evolution, The Radio Dept’s third album fits the grand scheme of all things voguish and hazy rather perfectly--though that’s not to say they’ve made a faultless record, as ‘Clinging To A Scheme’ arguably hangs from just a few songs.

Behold their evolution: while 2008's 'The Chemistry Of Common Life' album was drenched in religious connotations and spiritual euphemisms, this time, their rock opera about romance and death at an English lightbulb factory (seriously) is theatrics personified, taking listeners on a quest while still abiding by their precious DIY ethic.

At 18 tracks long, ‘Lover’ is more sprawling and further from flawless than her 2014 pop crossover ‘1989’. But it succeeds in spite of its clunkier moments because Swift’s melodies are frequently dazzling and her loved-up lyrics are ultimately quite touching.

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.

Part of why it feels like such a beast is Shelton’s total frankness and vulnerability across these songs, which, while welcome and galvanising, also feels exhausting in the way watching someone run a marathon does.

‘The Gods We Can Touch’ is loaded with AURORA’s idiosyncratic quirks and enchanting notions, but it’s never purely a slave to whimsy. Now’s the time to give in to AURORA.

Kid Cudi gives us every part of himself, laying out his insecurities and inner demons in the hope that it might help someone else, his words etched into a vivid backdrop of intoxicating melodies and palatial riffs. No one does mood music quite like Cudi.

It’s a project where everything has been allowed to evolve and align properly: Clay’s willingness as a songwriter to go to a place where he was once uncertain, and his courage to compose and lead with his most authentic playing yet.

It’s compelling and moving songwriting that manages to depict all of life’s complexities, Canal spinning raw emotion into beautifully crafted songs.

The record is littered with painstakingly layered guitar parts, mellifluous melodies and clapping drumbeats that nod to Russell’s posthumous collection ‘Love Is Overtaking Me’.

Cheery yet punk-as-fuck attitude is studded through their rattling second LP.

Whether or not you choose to take his advice with either your first or your 51st listen, IGOR is an accomplished and evergreen record that’s well worth putting your phone down, turning the TV off and devoting your full attention span to.

A truly special tribute to a wonderful songwriter.

At 16 tracks long, it’s a dense, textured offering that--on numbers like the lush ‘Love Streams’--manages to shimmer with both nimble experimentation and languid pop finesse.

The two-piece create an irresistible sense of longing that’s more disarming than Donovan’s smoothest pants-off line.

Their fourth album rarely disappoints...