This is probably the most adventurous musical journey of Garnier's life.

Razorlight's debut has more hooks than a fishing rod factory, and the advantage they have over Oasis (in addition to not sounding anything like them) is that they haven't had their arses kissed enough to disappear completely up them yet.

There's no let up in Kuperus' constant yelps around the difficult end of her vocal range, and it's this that, ultimately, lets 'Gimmie Trouble' down and disappointingly makes this otherwise excellent Adult. album feel rather indulgent and immature.

Put 'Peeping Tom' on the stereo and it's as slickly dark and eminently devourable as Hip-Hop with R&B overtones can be, though whack it on the headphones and you're introduced to something infinitely superior.

With 'Ten New Messages' The Rakes have pulled off the knack of being able to deliver a series of songs that are longer and deeper but equally as memorable as the spiky missives spat on their debut.

It's a bloody nice record, which may be damning them with faint praise but it's an area they've stalked out for themselves immensely likably.

Lyrically the record is less cringe inducing than 'Escapology' but Robbie has been let off the leash for a while in this respect, and while sometimes he can be funny, he needs people to tell him when he's being trite and just downright embarrassing.

Ultimately, this is merely a straight-down-the-line rock'n'roll album.

This debut is pretty good, but don't be surprised if you overhear some twunt proclaiming "A.R.E Weapons are so 2001 daaaaling" anytime in the next couple of months.

As ever, he's on point, and brilliant.

It was possible to ignore Schnauss' new age leanings previously but they're rammed home mercilessly here making too much of this album sound like Enya-period Sigur Ros.

There's little that sounds really new here.

Like post-Kelli Sneaker Pimps or a goth Massive Attack, it adds slow trip-hop beats and whispery vocals to a dreamy soundscape.

The Killers album is, whisper it, pretty good in places.

'They Were Wrong, So We Drowned' is a remarkably assured second album, and considerably more audacious than its predecessor, but it's a far from flawless affair.

Yes, 'Don't Believe The Truth' is an improvement on the trilogy of folly that is 'Be Here Now', 'Heathen Chemistry' and 'Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants'. But so what? Can't polish a turd, you know.

The trouble is that Jay is stuck in an artistic straitjacket of his own making.

A soothing, gentle rock'n'roll opus.

Building on the shaky, disjointed, but strangely beautiful foundations that they first laid twelve months ago with the release of their debut, 'Some Loud Thunder' is a gloriously shambolic second album from a band that continues to sound like no one else.

Beautiful, fun, dark, sentimental, gloomy, hopeful music.

This is pristine, state of the art, pop: the usual perfect combination of great melodies and swooping atmospherics that you can dance to.

You can almost see the soul evaporating off this into nothing. But the good stuff struts through the sludge of the bad, and it's worth it.

There are no great ideas, or stunning movements, just ego-driven mush set to chocolate box arrangements. Oh, and a tendency towards the kind of vocals that Pink Floyd or Chris Rea might have been proud of.

Lethally simple pop tunes which sound like they were written during a particularly good seaside holiday in 1974.

While it's got to be said 'Amerika's Nightmare' certainly has its moments over the space of a complete album the familiar themes and reference points start to feel a shade tired and predictable.

There's nothing quite as immediate or fantastic as 'Disposable Teens' here, but the album on the whole is a triumph.

Moffat knows how to conduct, contort and concoct fountains of melancholia.

The Neptunes have lent their Midas fingers on production duties, but they've gone their schmaltzy route rather than into party bangers mode.