For every fine song, such as recent single I Wish, there's a skip load of ropy ballads.

Vigorous and wise, this is dance music for grown-ups, with Cook keenly aware that any number of spritely garage and trance chancers have stepped in while he's been away making babies. Rather than match them in the disco stakes, he's re-grouped and drawn on previously concealed depths instead.

A heavyweight, goth-rock death trip, awash with mangled guitars and horror-film atmospherics. [Nov. 2000, p.113]

Stepping outside of their natural environment ensured their longevity in the '90s, stepping back in seems to have given them a fresh boost. For all Zooropa and Pop's pushing of the envelope, limiting themselves to rock's core ingredients has given the band a new challenge. Certainly, not since The Joshua Tree have U2 sounded so like U2 but, with songs of this startling calibre, right now being U2 is no bad thing.

Dre and Big Boi (alias Andre Benjamin and Antwan Patton) fill their technicolour vision with the ghosts of Sly Stone, James Brown and, most notably, Funkadelic-era George Clinton. Factor in some distinctly unorthodox production and you've rap at its risk-taking best...

The mood is too heavy for far too long, but some good songs and more cohesive, melodic structures augur well for this damaged daughter's future. [Sep 2001, p.115]

Hard, reverb-heavy, yet fluent guitar arabesques topped by husky, yearning, sorely troubled vocals. [Nov 2000, p.110]

The swampy exotica that was draped around both 1995's To Bring You My Love and '98's Is This Desire? has been forgotten: as proved by the likes of Big Exit and the pleasingly frantic Kamikaze, the dominant sound is that of a three-piece garage band, fused with enough production panache to prove that Harvey remains an admirably intelligent auteur.

Pitched somewhere between Lauryn Hill and Alanis Morissette, Furtado's songs - sung nasally in a style which occasionally recalls a less hysterical Gwen Stefani - are playful, unaffected and full of little surprises.

Like its predecessor, In The Mode is a sprawling tour-de-force, and its 80 minutes contain much that is breathtaking alongside the pleasant if perfunctory. [Nov 2000, p. 112]

David Lewis Gedge seldom received credit for his Sinatra-esque vocal prowess or Dylan-style lyrical insights when fronting The Wedding Present, but his subsequent Cinerama project is a far more intriguing and beguiling affair.

While the lyrics portray only stereotypes - whore, ladyboy, hick - the music is a tumble of racing rhythms underlying slow, reflective vocals with empathetic groans, sighs and howls of matching emotion from violin and cello.

All in all, as resonant and dignified a covers album as you'll ever hear.

With deeply average tunes and deeply average rapping throughout, not even an appearance by Carlos Santana on Babylon Feeling can turn things around.

You'd expect better from a band so on top of their game.

Singer Jay Gordon spends much of the record predictably preening his way through third-hand Bowie and third-rate Simon LeBon impressions while the band labour on a set of half-baked electro-metal...

It's difficult to hear what was wrong with most of the never-before heard material. [Nov 2000, p.101]

The only flaw is the former soldier's gravelly drill-sergeant bark. It packs a visceral punch in small doses, but an unadulterated hour of it is like being violently bullied by Busta Rhymes.

Generic, maybe, but very nicely done. [Nov. 2000, p.117]

The songs here are rougher, louder, and often more exciting than their "official" versions. [Nov 2000, p.123]

A fresh production eye might have rescued its weaker segments - Love Calling Earth or the dull By All Means Necessary - and its surprising lack of overall oomph.

Quirky, spunky and really quite beautiful, this is British pop at its finest.

In the time since OK Computer, Radiohead seem to have built up reservoirs of fresh bile and listened to a lot of Aphex Twin records.... Musically, the album's best features are its keening, lapwing guitars and a thin, atonal orchestral drizzle.... Kid A will still baffle and upset those who are disappointed that they don't do Creep anymore. [Nov. 2000, p.96]

Hugely likeable, terribly noisy and cute, as well as being jammed with proper pop songs... [Nov. 2000, p.102]

Rhythms skip and play seemingly without touching earth... These are manifestly the labours of a man still with something to say. [Nov 2000, p.109]

The Magnificent Tree is accomplished, just unsensational. It nails the neo-'60s trip-hop set down by Mono and Olive but then tries too hard to have a finger in other pies.

A buzzy, incisive Randy Brecker on trumpet adds more than his fair share of excitement, and brings out the best in Summers's quavery delivery.

Although less retro than chums Jurassic 5, their Hispanic-flavoured style constantly edges between sounding cool and simply withdrawn. [Nov 2000, p.101]