Kiss Land is proof for the unconvinced: the Weeknd is a star whether he wants to be or not.

Overall, Hard Candy sounds a bit too much like Madonna’s trying to catch up with the American R&B princesses. Having said that, she holds her own for the most part, and when her own voice shines through, she reminds us why she’s outlasted so many.

Their clear evolution in terms of talent and ability is more than evident on songs like Firebreather and The Whaler. Between that and some pretty sweet packaging and liner notes, this is likely their best to date.

The Kooks seem unable to get beyond the Brit-rock blueprint.

At 19 tracks, LAX is bloated and uneven, more often than not marked by weak beats and uninspired appearances. The Game’s skill and wit alone save this from being a complete disaster.

The most listenable song is the Chavril duet Let Me Go, which has zero of either musician’s “edge” and a whole lot of adult contemporary schmaltz.

They've made a sophisticated, thinking listener's indie-pop record.

Molko still manages to carry songs with his affected, nasal delivery as the band provides a steady backbone.

Love 2, their sixth studio album, continues on this path, though its empty lyrics and overall cheesiness do grate.

In the end, Horses is another addition to a catalogue short on standouts.

Tensnake mostly favours brisk tempos, though the sultry ballad 58bpm makes you wish he slowed the pace more often.

Each song is full of sonic acrobatics--sometimes glimmering, other times glitchy, but it's Weaver's voice that provides the heart and soul.

The result is tunes that are pleasant more often than arresting, tailor-made for playing quietly in the kitchen.

The concept's fine, but the results are more self-indulgent and boring than challenging. For Sonic Youth obsessives only.

Skrillex-produced banger Go Off, Blaqstarr-assisted Bird Song and Visa are solid electro-rap party jams that also reference some of her past hits, while low-key dancehall track Foreign Friend and clubby Fly Pirate are among the handful of cuts that get stuck in filler territory.

It's good enough to impress fans of David Gray and Coldplay.

A floundering mess that bores you to tears.

Some nice instrumentation, with mandolin and other strings makes for an odd juxtaposition with the stunningly inane lyrics.

For all the wank and bluster throughout the album’s 14 tracks, the bottom line is that the shit simply doesn’t rock.

Here I Am concerns itself with the kind of bland, radio-friendly R&B pop that equates sex appeal with self-confidence.

A chameleon with an endless stream of alter egos and the vocal chops to pull them all off.

The trio lose their equilibrium on Maniacs: a flashy keyboard solo hijacks the song and takes it to a cheesy place. But even when songs swing too deep in that direction, Lobsinger’s steady, breathy vocals keep things grounded.

TBS's main problem is that they write precisely two kinds of songs: energetic pop rock with whiny vocals, and midtempo power rock, again with whiny vocals.

It's never a bad thing to be concise in your songcraft, but this album reveals that Plants And Animals are best when not over-thinking things.

Most of the album is moronic Mike Love nostalgia that makes Kokomo sound good in retrospect.

Some songs start out peppy and intriguing, but his moaning over top sucks all the life out of the groove.

Taking cues from disco and synth-pop, TOPS are better suited to drifting and daydreaming than dancing.

Too often these songs sound like Death Cab B-sides, like the 'I Will Follow You Into The Dark'-mining 'A Bird Is A Song.'