They rekindle some of that fiery passion with The Doomed, a stunning example of grand, orchestral rock with some majestic touches. But for every explosive, curtain-closing exit there's the lifeless anthem.

It’s difficult to qualify Somewhere Else as middling because it proposes a whole new set of exciting challenges for Shapiro, but it also brings about a befuddling, poorly sequenced effort that crosses out songwriting ingenuity with across-the-board dancehall padding.

For whatever reason, though, the voices in her own head aren't strong enough to out-sway input from others, leading to a few unimpressive moments in the LP.

Schnauss' sheen unifies it as, bare minimum, a pleasant journey through the haze. Just don't expect to see anything too clearly.

How long this approach will remain fresh or whether Hoiberg can maintain the quality of his productions after the novelty wears off are questions for later records. For now, enjoy Wedding Bells. It was made for no other purpose.

Whilst it might not be the powerful, dark electro that some fans had been hoping for, there's no denying that the more matured Justice is pretty damn good.

Young & Old is a more mature release which demonstrates that Tennis possess both the wisdom and guile to evolve.

This album has failings and successes; it all adds up to a highly commendable record, there's no doubt in that.

This is considerably more poppy than what you'd expect from Cursive, and it's clear: Kasher has never been content with playing it safe.

This may be no grand revelation, but it has its moments, and overall it’s a thoroughly satisfying sit.

Inspired by B&S leader Stuart Murdoch’s read of the novel, the soundtrack thankfully veers more towards the bibliophile than the head-banger. Two B&S classics are re-worked, including a spritely updating of the perfect fitting I Know Where The Summer Goes as well as more of a straight read of Get Me Away From Here I’m Dying.

It’s true that a band can only write about the same topics for so long, and it is nice to see Bonnette taking his lyrical approach in a new direction, but the lack of that intensely personal touch unfortunately makes the songs on Christmas Island far less relatable than the band's past catalogue.

If Moaning could unshackle their melodic sound and avoid building their walls of sound so high on their second record, they will be another certified gem in the Sub Pop crown.

Please don't let any negative first impressions put you off though, as it just might be the album that Ladytron have been working towards for a decade.

Grohl and Co. have celebrated the veins of American rock music from coast to coast, but their fear of over-administering each city’s sonic roots into their own blueprint has hindered the progression of Sonic Highways into a cohesive unit, and instead resulted in a challenging listen.

It’s an album without the excitement of the first Digital Shades without the correct tones and instruments to recall those pioneers, and in terms of quality, Junk is still a little better.

Sky Full of Holes, the band's fifth release, doesn't stray from their foundation of fitting rhymed schemes amidst archetypical power pop chords.

At 50 minutes, there is the overriding feeling that the album outstays its welcome, with the blueprint lacking the dynamism for it to maintain its focus.

There's a weird combination of influences at work here.

Spend The Night With... offers some impressive diversity without sounding tossed off or smashed together, and for all of the sloppiness it's a surprisingly cohesive album.

It's terrific fun while it lasts, and Moon's knowingly gawky charms just about manage to stave off any lingering Jimmy Ray (remember him?) related doubts, but the general lack of content does offer fairly compromised value for money, and raises questions as to if he'll be able to think of ways to expand his repertoire without ruining the central conceit, or just end up being an oddball one trick pony.

If only Jones would also add some color to his verbatim accounts to match his minimal pop songs, then we would have a real contender in our hands.

Ukulele Songs can aptly be summed up as Vedder's pensive doppelganger which has been peeking out sporadically over the past decade or so, with none of his Pearl Jam-rage presenting itself here.

All We Are has potential, but it's squandered on their debut in an attempt to make a spacey, moody soundtrack.

Freak Puke is at its very core a Melvins album: strange and abrasive, muck-borne and jagged.

The "effluxion" between records has taught Lerner to evolve while sticking to what he knows best, and though some of his approaches don't work, they also push him to find the subtleties within his richer compositions.

With a combination of new and old faces, the new iteration of Art Brut is rhythmically tighter and more robust, less ramshackle, as Argos embraces middle-aged malaise with his charmingly lyrical bluster.

Too much of Weathervanes is unnecessary fluff. Of the album's 13 tracks, three are wordless moments of focus-less, meaningless noise and at least three other songs could have been trimmed down by a few minutes.