‘Careful What You Wish For’s quality--along with that of everything else here, not least the closing ‘Silent Night’, featuring a full church choir epically utilised to yank up every hair on the back of the listener’s neck--re-confirms Glasvegas’ position as the most exciting British band right now.

Cooked up in a session originally meant to spawn a batch of B-sides, We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed instead debuts 10 songs that outstrip LC!’s debut album at every turn.

The resounding verdict is that it’s a surprising, but bold and brave progression from last year’s confused "Graduation."

In truth, of the eight previously unreleased tracks, one is a not-massively-adventurous reshuffle (the Osaka Sun mix of ‘Lovers In Japan’), another a 48-second long incidental piano piece, another the version of ‘Lost!’ that features Jay-Z on autopilot (ie, still quite amazing) but is on the flip of the single.

Price has pulled off a smarter trick: after doing ’80s Britain and ’70s America, The Killers now finally sound like… themselves.

There’s still a lot to love about B&S, but there was something magical, otherworldly even, about them during this period that this compilation captures perfectly.

Canopy Glow can pass you by on first listen, but persevere and memorable moments do emerge.

It sounds like almost exactly the same record, just not as slap-in-the-face fresh. Still, if it’s more of the same, at least the same is pretty good.

Beneath the radio polish lies a wickedly caustic songwriting wit.

It’s still a brilliantly sleazy punk rock’n’roll album that feels, sounds and smells just like you want The Bronx to be, and the fact it’s so pure and elemental works strongly in its favour.

Made In Sheffield is a surprising record, lovingly conceived and beautifully executed.

Little Joy might not quite have built a castle in the sky, but they’ve constructed a cosy little corner in our hearts.

It exists in its own eccentric, unique universe, and that is the best thing that any debut album can do.

Not their best, but still more consistent than any British indie album released this year.

Sonic developments in the form of style, delivery and arrangement (an experimental approach no doubt encouraged by Mogwai producer Tony Doogan, who recorded the album in Glasgow earlier this year) are marred by disappointingly dumb and predictable lyrics, and where the quintet once made it sound so easy to come up with killer choruses, this second effort finds them slumping into forgettable filler territory on more than one occasion.

Half-knowing, half-full of anthems and lyrically halfway to hell, Off With Their Heads is musically halfway there. Kaisers have barely missed a beat on the highway to massive-dom, but they’re hardly raising our heart rates.

Ocasionally, the shtick does wear a little thin and they lope off towards water-treading mid-pace. The line between parody and genius is always going to be fine.

He has regularly crept back to the light of the charts and 4:13 Dream is such an occasion. And one which, given the ’80s revival, is timed to perfection.

It’s all so methodically planned that even standout radio-wave surfer ‘Take Back The City’ and producer Jacknife Lee struggle to stamp fresh life into this mega-selling formula.

The crepuscular glow of this quartet should be embraced.

Musically, they’ve ripped off swathes of things contemporary and popular to make them ‘hip’, but it just feels like some dodgy old guy at a bus stop telling you he digs Klaxons.

Morning Tide is a collection of songs that take the word ‘pop’ in ‘pop music’ literally, bursting with effervescence and joy.

Skinner has consolidated everything he’s done before, chucked in where his head’s at now and come up with an album that, while lacking the visceral thrill of ‘Original Pirate Material’, is a minor masterpiece that will mean a lot to a more select bunch of people.

More than anything else, there’s a feeling that Dig Out Your Soul might actually be their best album in over a decade. In other words, not quite the fabled, oft-promised “Best one since fookin’ "Definitely Maybe!"" but certainly the best one since fookin’ "...Morning Glory."

The album is over-long, too, and a few songs less would have made it a leaner, meaner, more KAPOW-ing beast. All that said, when Jwl and Shunda’s flabbergasting spit is on form, it’s as compelling as a new, untired voice in rap always is.

The second half is noticeably weaker than the first and the constant perkiness will grate if you're in anything other than a blinding mood, but there's plenty here to appreciate and it's perfect iPod fodder. [Sep 2008, p.46]

The Chemistry Of Common Life finally proves that rather than being a messy gimmick, Fucked Up are a startlingly talented punk rock band.

This may well get those girls on the dancefloor but it crucially lacks the subtle depth to give it that all-important soul.