A more thoroughly radical-sounding album than even Ray Of Light...

There's still enough synapse-jangling vocal invention and moments of great beauty to make it a worthy addition ot Bjork's singular ouevre. [Nov. 2000, p.99]

En masse, Maroon's brisk acoustic rock settings and the hyperactive rush of words can still have you reaching for the skip button. But broken into bite-size chunks, its bitterly humorous dissection of the fumbling absurdities of modern life and death is not without pathos.

Osborne still sings well, but, apart from the late swamp-dirty sequence of Baby Love, Hurricane and Poison Apples, deadly rock orthodoxy prevails.

A rare treat, with Jones' stripped-back, largely acoustic band brilliantly framing that voice... [Nov. 2000, p.109]

Five years ago she collaborated with Brian Eno and U2 producer Daniel Lanois on the ambient Wrecking Ball. Now she returns with a less intense but no less powerful new record that continues that album's heavy/ethereal vibe, courtesy of producer (and Wrecking Ball engineer) Malcolm Burn, but with a more melodic touch.

The results, although respectable, were never going to ignite anything like their former glories.

Devoid of the chest-thumping drama of the real thing, this sprinkling of tracks, largely taken from Second Toughest In The Infants and its follow-up Beaucoup Fish sound curiously neutered.... Hugely disappointing.

At first listening, this feels vexingly inconsequential, but after a few loosening listens the music's slight but simple pleasures shine through.

The 6ths is all about incongruity (where else could you find Gary Numan, 70-year-old folk diva Odetta and Sarah Cracknell sharing space?) and as such it`s an eclectic affair.

The songs here convey life's troubles - failing relationships, feelings of rootlessness - with an unfeasibly languid, almost opiated calm.

An LP of sleek, sophisticated and teasingly soulful tunes. Eerily introverted one moment, warm and open the next, Essence demands attention but makes for an intriguing, rewarding experience.

Regrettably, Williams fourth album continues her "progression" from convincing acoustic confessional to mild, gutless rocking with sessioneers who lack inspiration. [Nov 2001, p.130]

At his best, Jean writes great tunes that don't give a stuff for anyone else's criteria of cool, but amid the overlong skits/underlong songs of Ecleftic, and despite the super-silly brilliance of It Doesn't Matter, the lasting impression is of a talent at sea, cut off from his roots and uncertain of the path ahead.

Compared to the angular new wave of yore, the Elastica sound has matured into something far more interesting.

A profound disappointment... few songs lift themselves above pedestrian tedium. [Nov 2000, p.117]

Spring Heel Jack exist in that increasingly exciting no-man's land where clubland and modern jazz call a truce and have a kickabout.

At times the sound of Peter Hook eating himself, at its best - the epic, Hook-sung It's A Boy - Monaco display a powerful combination of emotionalism and bombast all their own.

It's not for everyone. It's certainly not for Blur fans of Country House vintage. Nor is it the best dinner party album in the world ever. But it's no knottier than 13 and in its own noisy way, great fun.

Many will be quick to dismiss this as a shadow of 3 Feet High, but it's their loss when hip hop's as infectious and intelligent as this.

MOR for the Ibiza generation.

More than ever, they can be summed up by the epithet "The Brand New Heavies, only a bit more hip hop", peddling a soft kind of soul that fuses old-school influences with feelgood philosophy of the "believe in yourself" variety.

While their previous albums have always had great songs, with this latest set they've managed to place them in the right order, creating a truly impressive journey...

Similar in spirit to [Primal Scream's] Exterminator or Death In Vegas's The Contino Sessions, his third album tools up a live rock band with dance music's sonic armoury... it's a claustrophobic listening experience, challengingly thick with ideas.

Long-vowelled and nasal - Redman without the charisma - and with a tasty line in mortuary slab terminology, he's never knowingly caught short of a rhyme.

By far their most effective release.

Now more than ever Richard Ashcroft is comfortable with music that strays alarmingly close to the Middle Of The Road.

A belligerent record: fiercely independent, full of right angles, curious sound effects and a guitarist, Aziz Ibrahim, who believes, incorrectly, that the soul of Jimi Hendrix is preserved in his G-string.