They've made a sincere, unironic record about how great life can be if you want it to be.

There is a tail-off in quality at the end, but every track still has a chorus that Swedish song factories would sell their grannies for and, most of all, there's a sense that Take That are genuinely challenging themselves here.

Rival Schools have finally returned from an inexplicably long hiatus to demonstrate why they're such luminaries for today's post-hardcore hordes.

The overall impression is of gloomy landscape paintings with a spooky, residual feeling that God might be hiding behind every cloud or passing tumbleweed - electrifying.

So, you're a founding member of the legendary hip-hip combo Wu Tang Clan. And your fans are extremely pissed because you went and done a track with that Justin Bieber.

It's certainly a messy record, made by half of a broken legend.

It allows this album to coast through even its dodgy moments and emerge as a loose and easy proposition.

The simple fact she's intent on change makes her and the rest of her career infinitely more intriguing.

The juxtaposition of the melancholic with the mellifluous melds majestically atop delicate lap steel, brushed drums and double bass on this country tearjerker.

They have the relentless persistence needed to stick to the wall long enough (this is their third self-released album), but despite their striving for the grandiose (Kings producer Ethan Johns provides the country-ish bluster) and breaks (a spot in rom-com Going The Distance for last album "Union"), there's still that dark sparkle missing.

Dulli generally succeeds in keeping things as darkly hypnotic as a rain-lashed midnight motorway.

Banjo Or Freakout effortlessly mates electronic distortions, low-end theory and achingly gorgeous pop melody – with emphasis very much on the latter.

To bypass Yuck would be imbecilic simply because their debut contains some of the most effortlessly hard-hitting, heart-hitting pop of 2011.

The novelty-obsessed stay-at-homes who made Toro Y Moi the buzz hit of 2009 might react unfavourably to all this accessibility, but by digging deep, Underneath The Pine shows Toro Y Moi setting down roots and, perhaps more swiftly than expected, flourishing.

So We're New Here isn't exactly groundbreaking, but it showcases a producer so in love with the music of now that he not only preserves the power of his source material, but makes it more relevant.

As is the case with twee-pop even at its best, there are moments when Allo Darlin' can get carried away with its cutesy sensibilities, when smiles can turn into winces

Whipping up a surplus of creeping, insistent sophistication--climaxing with ping-ponging head-wrecker 'Aspic'--you can once again envisage techno overlords such as Sven Vath dropping SMD, rather than daytime radio DJs.

Perhaps Oberst finds it tough to bring his brilliant bile to bear upon a synth the way he attacks an acoustic; a shame, as The People's Key is otherwise synthetic perfection.

Beyond the sonics, the lyrics are embarrassingly piss-poor as well.

If the band scraped away the torrential bluster in favour of more subtlety, then their next record could be a portrait of artists. As it stands, they're not there yet.

With his finest tracks lasso'd together, you can notice the immaculate progression of James Murphy.

If Little Comets played to their strengths they could burn far brighter.

Sure enough Freddy Ruppert's second album as Former Ghosts is as warm, life-affirming and snuggly as a coatless night on the Siberian steppes.

Let England Shake is an album that only the Polly Harvey of today could have written.

More than anything, annoying for the fact that in its moments of brilliance, it's the catchiest, danciest jangly guitar pop you'll hear this side of the summer. Sadly, those moments are few and far between.

From its cover in, there's a knowing, bustling swagger to The Streets' finale, if only in its relishing of a quick dart for the exit.

Gruff's skills as a songwriter married up with his gentle, accommodating tones can, at their best, elicit the fuzzy feeling one gets listening to a Burt Bacharach classic, but this falls short of such lofty comparisons.

By giving a wide berth to the safety of the post-rock label they've long despised, Mogwai have recorded some of their finest songs since "Mr Beast."