The kids of the LC! still bristle with a fundamental melodic vibrancy, and the hand-in-hand maturing of music-writer Tom Campesinos! into the realms of Sonic Youth thrashes, cranky synthetics and handclaps, harmonium, violin and bar-room piano gives the record a gravitas to counterpoint Gareth's lyrical anguish.

Ace. [15 Oct 2005, p.35]

It’s not only the consistent songwriting clout that elevates this album from recent efforts by Grande’s teen-star peers, Demi Lovato and Selena Gomez. Even if most of it is co-written, the modish message of empowerment feels honest coming from Grande.

Non-conforming, ‘The Off-Season’ is a little bit off in places and its steadiness can be one-note, but it’s still a strong piece technically. You might not play this album every day, but it would still be a strong record for J. Cole to end on.

Every note of 'Rock Action' wins every fight they've ever started, touched with an imagination and awareness of the potential of sound that puts them so far up on the moral high ground they're almost lost in the clouds.

As long as Braids can escape unscathed from the hype machine, this could be an amazing journey.

Still as sharp and impactful [as 2023's self-titled debut] but focused more on the spaces in between her stories than the plots themselves.

[Producer Bob] Cooper adds gleaming sheen to Hairball’s 10 scrappy, infectious tracks.

There’s also no denying the power of their bittersweet, socially inept aggression, and the ferocity of their sound on Farm. But, as truly gifted as Mascis is on the guitar and as surly as Barlow is vocally, this is merely Dinosaur fossilised, leaving you hankering for something a little more daring.

Ultimately, Jialong is the sound of a producer having the time of his life--and boy oh boy is that infectious.

Love the way cricket brings out people’s most eccentric traits? Then love this.

Endlessly fun, stuffed full of brilliantly left-field production and ear-worm choruses.

For the converts there’s enough familiarity and boundary pushing to justify continuing to invest in this band, right as they begin playing their first headline arena shows on their upcoming spring tour. But for the doubters and sceptics still on the fence, this album might prove even more enjoyable and surprising. Only a fool would deny themselves this collection of big pop bangers.

There are some misfires here and there. ‘Escape’, which details trying to get away from the never-ending plod of everyday life, is so understated that it fails to make an impression. ‘Here I Am’, meanwhile, has the opposite problem – overcooking itself at points into OTT theatrics. Those missteps aside, ‘Melanie C’ is an invigorating, uplifting record.

Scream the words and dive head-first into the Fat Dog experience, because ‘Woof.’ is pure, unbridled escapism – just what the world needs right now.

Their charm lies in the feeling that below the faintly twee, wistful, synthy exterior beats a feisty riot-grrl heart.

['Savior Breath' is] such terrific fun, you can't quite fathom how the same band could be responsible for something like 'Iron Rooster', which moseys on far too long and a little too close to Neil Young's 'Old Man' for comfort, but normal service is thankfully resumed with 'The Neverending Sigh', ensuring the record ends on a fittingly-thunderous note.

Overall, you get the kind of lush musings that’ll soundtrack all the pivotal moments of your wayward summer romance. Blissful.

A decidedly strange record with flashes of beauty and brilliance, then. How utterly Yoko.

While the low-key arrangements and melancholic song choices may make Tinsel And Lights an EastEnders special of a Christmas album, if you're planning on a microwaved turkey dinner for one this year, there's probably no better soundtrack.

With ‘Stereo Mind Game’, Daughter marks a new era of tending to sorrow instead of dwelling in it, where the band wading into new wider ranges of emotion without leaving behind the rich orchestration and poetic lyricism they’re known for.

One quibble is that Gossamer never really comes down off its Haribo rush, which gets exhausting. That said, when they do ease up, as on the boudoir-funk 'Constant Conversations', it resembles the two-a-penny synthpop that clogs the blogosphere.

In the main Dean Wareham is too dreary, too frequently.

Though the guests form a great deal of the fabric of the album, they do so on Battles’ terms, firmly entering their universe. No guest – not even Shabazz Palaces’ flowing verses on ‘Izm’ – steals the show. ... An album – that indulges the weird and wonderful side of Battles while also, simply, giving the people what they want.

Remarkably, with this astounding debut, an unassuming 21-year-old from SW2 has revitalised a forgotten form to make one of the finest forward-thinking British pop albums of recent memory.

A bit of a winner. [17 Sep 2005, p.58]

Barring a late collapse into soft-rock mush on the drifting ‘This Love’ and weepy ‘Clean’, Swift’s plunge into pop is a success.

What's most promising is that GVSB's often melodic noise now, thanks to emo, exists less in weird isolation than it did, and the band seem to be headed dangerously close to getting what they deserve. If this means they must intermittently sound like Feeder, so be it.