Mythomania’s level of sophistication is not hard to achieve and it certainly does nothing to elevate Cohen’s abilities, his contributions to Deerhoof being markedly superior.

While flawed, this is still a very worthy record; a majestic realization of the promise shown by Chapel Club over the past two years and one equally suggestive of the what may be to come.

The relentless energy expended throughout the album will no doubt also make the album appeal to fans of Does It Offend You, Yeah?, Pendulum or the Prodigy. But listeners with a broader appreciation of dance and electronic music would be well advised to source their dubstep fix from elsewhere.

It's exactly what everyone expected this much hyped album to be like. We all guessed the Jay-Z appearance and a Wu-Tang member outshining the other acts on show. We all expected insane feats of arrogance... But don't get me wrong, it's a good album.

Naomi is a decent album, not a good one.

theyesandeye is charming, and even throws in a cover of The xx’s Angels, but is lacking the dimension required to make it anything more than a polite and pleasant affair.

The album suffers some of the worst adjectives any musician can hear: boring, forgettable, and embarrassing.

She misses the mark slightly, and though her take on sweeping and haunting art-pop isn't always the most distinct--especially when compared to some of her like minded peers--it is in the end a truer and more consistent statement of her abilities, and one that also offers a lot more promise.

This is such a charming little band, such a charming little album that one wants to like it more than it deserves.

If more is to come, it should bring with it a great deal of anticipation - Colour Trip has a great deal of promise about it, and that, it seems, is hard to miss, even through all the noise.

The album finds Peter, Bjorn and John settling into a comfort zone that, while hardly groundbreaking, makes for intriguing listening.

If Small Craft on a Milk Sea was an installation piece in the museum of Brian Eno's career, requiring rapt attention to find meaning, Drums Between the Bells is modern art that immediately captures those witnessing it in a state of aesthetic arrest.

You have never heard these songs like they are presented here, and there's a chance you have never heard them better, either.

Sushi's main strength is the way it draws from so many strands of contemporary electronic music, but sounds like something else in its own right.

They play directly to the people willing to get swept up in a communal euphoria, and they do that very, very well.

It doesn't feel forced in any way and actually can seem a little lacklustre at times due to this.

Most bands are simply prolonging the genre’s decline by playing insensibly catchy pop under the sonic crust we’ve come to know it for. Failing either, we’re left with the dull ad nauseums of the musical record. And that, in a sentence, is Born Again Revisited.

13 songs in 36 minutes is a constrictive ratio for a record with so many proposed ideas, and its brevity makes Rustie’s ideas sound especially half-hearted. It’s bad enough that he doesn’t give the more physical tracks enough time to flex their muscles, but the tracks which suffer most are the briefer, more innocuous pieces.

Though it often oversteps its own ability a few too many times, The Pariah, The Parrot, The Delusion is clear in aggression and ambition, rarely annoying listeners with undue hubris.

Crawling Up The Stairs has strong riptides that have no qualms over carrying you away, but if you embrace them you may be pleasurably surprised.

So the bottom line is this album turns out to be about half good, is probably not going to mean much to people who don't remember them, and while it hits all the right notes in places, it doesn't quite deliver any moments of pure pop perfection the way they used to.

It’s too flabby to listen to as a whole, and unless the label decides to re-release 'Stuck On Repeat' (which isn’t a bad idea actually) there’s nothing here strong enough to force a mainstream breakthrough.

As promising as its initial concentration of songs foretells, The Century Of Self suffers from careless sequencing, its tempos haphazardly spooned together and flung like high school portions of mashed potatoes and gravy, slopped into sections of the tray with no real purpose or benefit.

Hurley sums up like a consumer guide of all the musical directions Weezer has explored throughout the years.

Unfortunately, her constant insistence on being so ham-fistedly quirky and zany soon becomes wearing, and simultaneously rescues and spoils the whole album.

Cotillions does have its fair share of bloat, though—at 17 tracks and clocking in over an hour, its instrumental parallels can often feel redundant once it concludes. Nevertheless, his recent "unplugged" projects suggest he’s found fulfillment carving his own path rather than overthinking how to capture the spirit of our times.

Ratworld wears its influences brazenly on its sleeves, but its execution is impressive, presenting an odd bird view of a world that is ostensibly its own.

Skilled Mechanics is an intelligent, pertinent piece of work that shows just how fresh the ideas of Thaws remain.