This is easily Costello's most instinctive, least self-conscious record of original songs in over a decade.

Far from venturing further into the polyrhythmic interior, four long tracks find him drawing closer to techno's primal pulse, until celestial finale 'Wing Body Wing' squares the Afro/Detroit circle with a single dramatic power-chord.

The songs are deeper and richer than on 2006's "12 Songs," but still naked and raw.

As standout lead single 'American Boy' (on which she raps with West) shows, this could be one of the most unlikely comebacks of 2008.

Never has a pit of despair sounded so inviting.

Soul is about voice and music that connects the church and the bedroom, with elegance and earthiness. And, by that crucial measure, Jim is a great soul record.

Whenever Hard Candy threatens to get boring, something always happens to recapture your interest, but the three songs in which Madonna actually seems to forge a genuine connection with her musical helpmeet leave the rest of the album in the shade.

No Doubt-esque ska-pop forms the record's core, but her belting vocal hooks really come into their own on the robotic indie numbers.

Fans looking for an air-guitar gurning masterclass may be disappointed.

Cajun, unquestionably, are the real deal.

Their fourth album picks up where 2005's "Leaders of the Free World" left off.

Six years after his last album, England, Half English, Bragg has come up trumps: Mr Love & Justice, with his band the Blokes, is his best realised work musically for ages.

This album will make your life considerably better.

The production is glossed to within an inch of its life, the mood is cheerfully upbeat--or 'festive' as Carey might put it herself--and the entire confection rings out with bold, sassy, brutally executed intent.

The follow-up adheres to a winning formula: this is sunny pop in a Sixties vein. But why don't they try something reckless?

World-weary and introspective, frequently discordant, this is the sound of a man pondering where it all went wrong.

Lewis's voice is impressively elastic throughout but lacks any grit or style.

Musically, the album is a triumph from first to last.

Such is the balm-like propensity of her singing that the listener experiences it as a physical sensation as much as a sound. Yet as these 13 brief but perfectly formed songs rush by in 35 hectic, blissful minutes, the overall effect is galvanising rather than palliative.

A perfectly executed debut as might be expected from a band championed in OMM53 for their mathematical precision.

There's a fine songwriter somewhere inside frontman Liam Fray--but first he has to bust his way out of a genre that the world has long ago left behind.

X is merely a slightly above average collection of tracks.

While their coming-of-age tales entertain some, it's their 'us versus the world ' spirit that makes this such an enthralling debut.

The result is a flawless (post)modernisation of heartland rock that wears its lovelorn pessimism proudly on its ruffled sleeve.

It's mostly fast and unfussy, convincing and committed.

On this relaxed and cohesive set, Van's band fall into simple and graceful grooves and play like a proper group, not hired hands.

The first album by the B-52's in 16 years sees the Georgia trash-pop veterans keep dull maturity at bay with 11 paeans to partying, space, deviant sex and sly protest politics .

Consolers of the Lonely is heftier than its predecessor, both in its Led Zep-go-garage wig-outs and in its cosmic balladeering.