The most doubter-defying second album since 'Modern Life Is Rubbish'.

It's often as befuddling as it is brilliant.

'Dumb Luck' will numb the pain for an hour, but you'll be buggered if you can remember anything about it afterwards.

When it strays from charmingly retro to willfully 'raw' it all goes wrong.

Despite his surprisingly palatable baritone, this remains an album you won't want to listen to more than once.

This is just one long squelchy fart of a soundscape that Reznor himself admits is probably too long. It's certainly too unremitting.

'Grinderman' is an almost defiantly edgy record.

This is about as close to a bid for mainstream acceptance as you're going to get from Bright Eyes.

'Jarvis' never quite gathers an irresistible momentum like his past glories did. There isn't a bad song on here, but there are several which don't fulfil their full potential.

Their songs are either shitty soft-rock or worse, wink-nudge pastiches like the new-wavey 'Someone To Love'.

'Because Of The Times' cements Kings Of Leon as one of the great American bands of our times.

It may sound simple but it's devastatingly effective.

The beats here are as staggering as ever, but of an indulgent 19 tracks, none sound like they were good enough to give to anybody else.

Sadly, TAI...'s surprise maturation isn't yet 100 per cent complete.

'Myths Of The Near Future' is charged with the same spirit which fuelled legendary rave pranksters The KLF's period of pop subversion.

'Reformation...' is darker and deadlier--more Cramps than Killers. [10 Feb 2007, p.32]

'Yours Truly...' is a rip-roaring pop record - sprightly, lean and adventurous - a bold leap skyward from 'Employment'.

Vile, goth-jock pop with all the wit and nuance of a urine-soaked sock.

11 tracks of the same old maudlin balladry.

On 'Octopus' The Bees find their groove and sound blissfully unaware whether anyone else is listening. You should, they've made their best album yet.

Whereas Murphy's wise enough never to let his showing off spoil the fun, he can't avoid investing these songs with heart and soul.

Both Marr and MM mainman Isaac Brock have a weakness for bombast that can make them sound like Snow Patrol playing Gogol Bordello, but the album heaves with vim and variety.

The trio have discovered a few new sonic tricks, but it's the celestial duel-vocals of Parker and Sparhawk which continue to ensure that Low always reach such beautiful highs.

This stinks of trying too hard.

This album proves that Bird is up there with the kings of US alt.country pop like Lambchop and My Morning Jacket.

Unless you're a fan, the title says it all.

If you enjoy using your brain rather than listening to it fizzle to the strains of Virgin Radio, then buy this.

She has talent to burn, but rather than challenge herself, Stone has chosen to throw herself on a multi-million dollar bullet train to the centre of mediocrity.