A 55-minute mess called Curtis, undoubtedly one of this year’s worst releases.

There's no debating in my mind that Digitalism have the potential to produce an album even better than Idealism. But sadly, I Love You, Dude is not it.

More than anything, Big Talk reflects the Vegas background of its middling maestro.

It's not quite bad enough to be dubbed an honest failure, but it's flaws are too debilitating for me to recommend blowing a tenner on a copy.

It is samey, ugly and spectacularly stupid at the same time.

Fresh Air and Midnight Snack. Sagar sounds lethargic and detached, which may be the mood that he's going for; but when he sticks to the same tired motifs, it's hard to feel any more excited than him.

As a longtime fan of Usher, this album has great moments and also lagging tunes.

Millionyoung refrains from too many of the bombastic tendencies of electronic music as a result, and we're left with something quite listenable.

Inexplicably, predictably, Daft Punk have become the first band to produce a retro post-parody of their own work.

[The album] is disappointing, but not because it's unmusical or masturbatory or boring, although it is sure to be dismissed as all these things. On paper I love the idea of the musical direction of the record – there are just some insurmountable problems with the execution of it.

Weezer disappoints again. The rest of the tracks are, for the most part, more throwaway power-pop in the vein of the "Red Album."

The biggest, brashest cartoon this side of Eminem's early albums.

Lasers is an expressive album, more so than his previous records.

Lyrically it’s weak, and the over-polished studio buffing does nothing to emancipate the blueprint that is, essentially, the same as it was 17 years ago.

Lines, Vines and Trying Times isn’t a good record and definitely isn’t the kind of thing you should be looking to investigate further. But if you’re reading this review, the chances are it’s not meant for you, so giving it a thumbs-down is hardly earth-shattering news.

To her credit, she has absolutely carved out her own unique sound, far from the epic, prog-punk productions of Titus Andronicus. However, in the process she failed to deliver a consistent batch of songs.

As convincing as she attempts to sound, Bionic does nothing to persuade authenticity.

If you’re already a fan of 80s alt.pop, or modern shoegaze, then give this album a go; it’s by no means a bad album after all (despite my gripes). But if you’re not a fan this is unlikely to turn you, and may just make you yearn for some music with a bit more bight.

When it comes to developing and honing the craft of songwriting to present a signature sound with a variety of ideas, The Temper Trap fall short.

The album's biggest hindrance is a lack of ruthlessness at crucial moments, eschewing cohesion for broad-stroke stabs at too many genres.

With Runaway, MSTRKRFT find a balance between the antagonistic incursion and electro-funk wizardry, but asides from that standout, the record as a whole is a jarring affair.

The problem with Hymns is that it chugs along with a series of stilted niceties that lack any kind of rhythm or emotion.

What we are left with is a short, mostly enjoyable set that does not overstay its welcome and is quite confident of what it’s trying to be.

Should his solo career continue, this record could stand as an in between point between his teen past and his adult future, but as it stands now, it's just a muddled, occasionally interesting but often baffling pop-rock album.

An occasionally fun, occasionally catchy pop record that will log a few hits, move a few units and ultimately be forgotten once this particular pop trend goes the way of Crunk, Snap Music, the Power Ballad and all the other castoffs in the ever-expanding pop graveyard.

Wet feel disconnected from the album's overarching theme, and though they do put some feeling into their maudlin ballads, you'll come off it without remembering a single note.

The band begins to slog through the session--each song sounds like the sonic embodiment of utter indifference, only this time it’s accompanied by electric instruments.

It's not too hard to imagine the Saunders sisters staring aimlessly while some confused producers shuffle the cards until randomly finding their rhythmic groove. And that's the worst think about this record: constantly thinking of the word studio when you're trying to invest some emotion.