Bittersweet and heartfelt. [Nov 2024, p.101]

Halo Moon distils everything that makes them great on one handy album. [Christmas 2024, p.133]

It's an album which rewards repeat visits, and whose creator sounds more vibrant than a man of his noble vintage has any right to do. [Jun 2025, p.104]

With Neil Tennant adding to the sense of occasion on a joyful Rebel Rebel, a celebratory There Is A Light... affirms Marr's undimmed bond with his audience. [Oct 2025, p.131]

The voice is perhaps a little too polite in places, but lets loose in fine testifying form on the closing Heart Of Mine. [Christmas 2025, p.133]

A recording half the length would have been more pleasurably effective. [Jan 2026, p.103]

Matt's gobby vocals recall Popscene-era Blur, with Issey's guitars driving the Britpop-y enthusiasm of Geraldine, Newsflash's staccato New Wave and Throwing in a chewy solo among Come On Now's glam racket. [Feb 2026, p.102]

La Dee Da has a welcome edge, with a slightly sarcastic feel reminiscent of Grohl’s stint a few years back with Queens Of The Stone Age, and Dirty Water is a competent bit of mid-tempo, mid-intensity, mid-everything stadium rock, as indeed is pretty much the rest of this polished album.

While the studio album underwhelms, the concept takes off on the live versions available on the four-disc edition.

Wolf People invest every glowering note with a watchful intensity that signifies their unswerving dedication.

At its best this album is innocuous. Don’t focus on the lyrics and it is palatable and will be Fleetwood enough to please some. At its worst it is the musical equivalent of trying to squeeze yourself into your favourite clothes of yesteryear: uncomfortable, unflattering and not worth the struggle.

An innovative release in the style of the recent Kate Bush and Tracey Thorn seasonal offerings, Snow Globe is a very welcome, wistful and idiosyncratic addition to the festive market.

Daniel Kessler’s guitar lines remain inventively distinctive, but a gentleness now exudes from Paul Banks’ voice, and his pseudo-absurdist lyrics consider that things might not be so bad after all.

Words surface out of the swirling maelstrom, an occult ritual within the architecture, another tone adding to mood, but always subservient to the texture, which sweeps from the muscular to the persuasively melodic.

In one sitting, Dudeblood might seem wilfully esoteric, with recording levels and musical styles as scattered as they’ll be in Sartain’s 45 box. But that’s always been his style, and it’s ultimately the greater part of his charm.

The album can probably be considered the most successful effort of the band’s current incarnation, with members Fenriz and Nocturno Culto balancing the visceral and organic spirit that has long defined their output with an increasingly considered (but never, ever polished) approach to songwriting.

Is This The Life We Really Want? is a stunning accomplishment, as rich as anything Waters has ever managed.

These are well-written, well-delivered songs. Look Up works because Ringo is being taken seriously. He is, of course, his own worst enemy at times, but Burnett won’t allow Ringo to stray too far into ‘personality’ songs. [Feb 2025, p.102]

Much more than The War Of The Worlds for indie kids, thoroughly recommended.

It all makes for a mouth-watering amalgam of rock, country and soul that gets richer with every listen. [Sep 2025, p.103]

A mixed (body) bag it may be, but Danse Macabre is a fiendishly fun collection that only the undead would remain unmoved by.

Beautiful as it sounds, Double Roses largely reminds you of other things without ever fully settling into itself. It’s deft and accomplished, but Elson has yet to fully bloom into her own talent.

Don't let the bubblegum lightness obscure her visionary talent. [May 2025, p.105]

Crisply produced by Glyn Johns, working with EC for the first time since Slowhand, the record proves a remarkably rewarding listen.

Anything But Words is the sound of two worlds colliding and finding a golden middle ground.

The pretence of mental struggle can be artifice too and Bugger Me might be nothing more worrying than an eccentric art project. Either way, it’s a fascinating glimpse into an unusual mind.

While this doesn’t mark a new beginning for the band, it nevertheless represents a step down a different path that they’ll hopefully continue to follow.

Neither classic comeback nor addled disaster, it's hopefully a stepping stone to again becoming a functioning exciting live act and more productive studio band. [Mar 2024, p.105]

Colors suffers for sacrificing personality for immediacy.

Some of the sisters’ rippling Kate Bush worship is so high up in the ether (or vocal register) that the listener feels a little queasy when glancing down to the ground below, but this nausea is only short-lived and sporadic. Most of the album is in fact rather comfy and well thought-out, lightly jazzy in places and often soaked in reverb seemingly inherited from Dead Can Dance.

Not since Space Ritual-era Hawkwind has anyone so successfully combined workboot riffing with the swirling bleeps of the unexplored cosmos. Honestly.

The overall sense of experimentation arguably makes Dizzy Heights Finn’s most surprising and accomplished release since Crowded House’s Together Alone, the work of confident tunesmith daring to stretch himself.

The record works best at its most direct and personal. [May 2025, p.103]

At times it's near pure pop--the slow, echoing Queen Of Hearts and the synth sensations of Honey while Superstar sees the voice soaring above an electronica rhythm. Self Love is a blistering guitar rocker while the near five-minute title track switches from balladry to boisterous roars. A fitting finale. [Mar 2024, p.103]

Though billed as a salute to Armstrong, Ske-Dat-De- Dat… could more accurately be described as a celebration of Crescent City, the magic and wonder of the burg embraced to the max on a gloriously heartwarming That’s My Home.

Young is classically trained, but beholden to the values of punk rock and for this collection he has decided to throw technical competence out of the window by basing each song around the strumming of a single chord. These tunes can thus, in theory, be covered by anyone within hours of picking up a guitar.

There’s now so little difference between an Oh Sees and a Damaged Bug record as for the two to be interchangeable. That’s certainly no bad thing, but not a new thing either. Perhaps Dwyer’s career is in stasis for once.

While ’Til Your River Runs Dry is unlikely to broaden his fan base to any large degree, longtime followers should be thrilled to find Burdon in such fine voice.

The significance of the LP title is never apparent--this is the most land-locked album imaginable. Still, here’s an invigorating enough noise to ward off the demons.

The wry, Chris Difford-esque football analogies in the ailing relationship-related ‘Injury Time’ (“they think it’s all over, it is now”) show Astor has retained a keen sense of humour, yet Dead Fred and the mortality-facing titular track are befitting of a record stuffed with songs intended to both “celebrate and grieve”.

There’s densely polyrhythmic music of texture and tone, frequently pierced with fragments of melody and hymnal chords emerging like shafts of sunlight through the trees, rewarding listeners willing to concentrate with moments of cerebral rapture.

Covers of songs by Nick Cave, Chelsea Wolfe and Lanegan’s Gutter Twins bandmate, Greg Dulli, bring this collection slightly more up to date, but nothing sounds out of place. Rather, in Lanegan’s hands, they coalesce to form a record of timeless, typically morose joy.

The tone is consistently one of hope, if James intended it to act as a balm to soothe any of the problems of the world, he’s certainly succeeded.

So there’s verve, vigour, and more energy from the slightly revised line-up too, but it isn’t groundbreaking.

It's the details, such as Joey Santiago's feisty guitar licks and Francis's unpredictable lyricism that steer the gentler material from the middle of the road. [Nov 2024, p.101]

No Squeeze fan is going to feel short-changed.

Piano is a solo work through and through. Simple, yes, but considered, dignified and something of a palate cleanser too, wherein everything seems reset.

Oscar is still finding his feet but with promise like this--and the irresistible Sometimes--there will be plenty of room for him when the time comes.

It’s a sturdy, muscular affair wherein Lydon rants energetically about everything from blocked toilets to Botox and the iCloud, on quintessentially cranky, ruck-friendly fare such as Double Trouble and I’m Not Satisfied.

Paranormal lacks both the nostalgia factor of its predecessor and a concept such as the one behind 2008’s Along Came A Spider. It also can’t claim to be a return to heaviness such as Dragontown from 2001. So what does it offer? Not much, other than a moderately listenable set of songs.

The nine sizzling tracks here may fly by, but reveal a true pioneer still firing on his much-abused cylinders.

The Peter Asher-produced album is glossily listenable even if you have no knowledge of the star name fronting the band. Whether it deserves the level of coverage it will receive is another conversation.

Accentuate The Positive’s lively mix of swing, jump jive, R&B and classic rock’n’roll constantly plays to the singer’s strengths as a thoughtful, inventive interpreter.

The opening Introduction To Why I Did It is a pocket masterpiece, a lyrical meditation on lost smalltown 80s indie youth, but often this musically satisfying album feels wanting for more of the story which inspired it. [Aug 2024, p.105]

Wryly observant character studies are linked by wistfully understated instrumental interludes, with harpsichord, vibes, nylon-strung guitar and single-finger organ tumbling contentedly against each other like smalls in a twin-tub.

Compassion is the trio’s second album, and its eight songs straddle the line between the past and the present, between melancholy gloom and euphoric dance music.

Rubin’s experiment has paid off handsomely, even though at times you’ll find yourself comparing the new songs to any number of familiar signature tunes from Sabbath’s catalogue.

While the sharp electric riffs pair neatly with the existential themes of the 26-year-old's lyrics on Agony Freak, its sounds are a little generic in the realm of contemporary indie-rock. Jordan does much better with the warm, Sundays-inspired jangle chords in Tractor Beam and my Maker, the album's high points. [Apr 2026, p.109]

Torrini and collaborator Dan Carey envisioned the record as a chance to explore the possibilities of the studio, and it does sound lovely, in a New Age kind of way. It seems, however, that this has come at the expense of strong songwriting.

Its brief running time over just six tracks harks back to earlier releases such as The Internationale or his debut Life’s A Riot, but this is a definitively 2017 soundtrack.

A tendency to record in sequence brings its problems; a slight mid-album sag might have been remedied by tighter editing. But the end-stretch’s up-swerve in character and definition suggests renewed direction.

While there's no shortage of ideas buzzing around these tracks they often have a tendency to come across as incomplete; meanders down sonic and lyrical avenues that fall just short of feeling whole. [Mar 2024, p.103]

It may be too reserved for excitable fans hoping for I’m Still Standing sequels, but the purity and simplicity of this unadorned balladry (Can’t Stay Alone Tonight, The New Fever Waltz) may bring many who fell by the wayside back into the fold.

A fine addition to a weighty catalogue already packed with duets.

Weirdly though, on his first solo record in nearly six years, it’s when everything is piled up together, when all the faders sound as if they are turned up, that the record is at its best.

Earth To Dora re-establishes Everett as one of the finest and most distinctive songwriters today – one who can make sorrow sound joyful, but who also knows that, without sadness, happiness wouldn’t be the same experience.

Another strong addition to Lanegan’s increasingly impressive canon, it makes despair sound worryingly inviting.

As has been noted about some of their previous work, the sonic characteristics, though very seductive, can become slightly repetitive and it could be argued this does not serve the base material to best advantage--there are interesting ideas floating around and it might be worth allowing some of them a little more clarity.

There’s a sweet familial feel to the opening Wonderful Woman, Berry leading the line of guitars that also features contributions from his son and grandson, but its generic chug disguises a typically leering lyric that, frankly, sounds sinister coming out of the mouth of a man pushing 90.

The swaggering beasts of Wall Of Glass and Bold kick it off and Greedy Soul waves a musical truncheon in your face as producers Greg Kurstin and Dan Grech- Marguerat find the jugular on songs powered by riffs, choruses, hooks and lashings of attitude to keep up with their swaggering frontman.

All in all though, a fair return.

All the pieces are beautifully composed and played, as you would expect from someone whose orchestral arrangements are sought by artists ranging from Gorillaz to Katherine Jenkins, but what Postcards From really needs is an accompanying, immersive Virtual Reality video experience that would allow us to see, and understand, what Brice heard.

After a 39-year hiatus, Altered Images pick up more or less where they left off with Mascara Streakz, a perfectly retro-fitted album, with enough of the modern added to retain interest.

It's an energetic affair, a barrelling collision of Britpop and electro, lots of distorted vocals, the sort of thing you don't hear so much anymore. [Feb 2026, p.101]

The overall effect is dizzying--a revolving door of treatments and narrators--but usually hits the spot.

He cites everyone from Shellac to Boredoms to Kate Bush as influences, while quoting feminist psychoanalyst Nancy Chodorow and Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky. It takes big balls or hilarious self-delusion to do this, but Grapefruit, pitched somewhere between those two states, just about justifies the aplomb.

The unorthodox means of composition ensures that the material on ATGCLVLSSCAP feels alive; blessed with some formidable grooves it retains a freshness and zeal that might have proved elusive if it had been recorded as a conventional studio album.

Ditching everything he’d been working on, Carr launched himself into New Shapes Of Life, his finest work since The Boo Radleys.

Machineries Of Joy proves that BSP are still in bloom.

The jaunty simplicity of First Time and cod calypso of Sunny Disposition are a tad MOR-by-numbers, perfectly well executed but lacking any real spark. The innate drama in Diamond’s powerful and resonant voice is much better served by the more eloquent and layered In Better Days and the Orbisonesque slow burn, Nothing But A Heartache.

Employing a Drake-like emotional honesty (though thankfully minus the Canadian’s tendency for self-pity) he recounts unflinching vignettes of Seattle street-life shot through with harrowing biographical details.

This extremely brief, fidgety album follows last year’s skronky first outing on DFA, the soon-to-be-reissued Flood Dosed EP, and consistently brings to mind hints of prolific New York underground band God Is My Co-Pilot, or Big Flame if Nanette Blatt from …And The Native Hipsters had been on vocal duties.

Forgiveness Is Yours is without question the band's best album to date, full of surprising diversions and even more surprising musical ideas that sometimes border on the sophisticated. Even though there's little uniformity, it hangs together nicely and is always intriguing, like a series of vignettes or short stories. [May 2024, p.104]

What began as a series of bold experimentations dressed in a warm fuzzy melding of genres feels half-baked second time around.

It’s edgy, but civil, and it looks like the war will rage on for the time being at least, regardless of the outcome of each emotional battle.

The sigh of relief provoked by Doom Or Destiny morphs into a mile-wide smile as Pollinator unfurls some of the most resonant music Blondie have recorded during their second phase.

While Vast Aire and Vordul Mega rarely hit the heights of their former lyrical ingenuity, their stream-of-consciousness rapping style remains one of the most potent forces in hip-hop.

At times, there is an element of either hesitance or a deliberately low-key style at work here, but one feels that upon picking up the requisite fans, this could combine with the music’s welling elements to translate into some quite emotional concerts.

You’re Welcome ups his game, injecting infectious doses of glam-punk muscle, melody and engagement into Wavves’ trademark surf-punk melees.

While Knock Knock and The Signs admittedly veer close to theatrical, declamatory pastiche, Solstice--which laudably endeavours to track the journey from the shortest to the longest day-- is nine-and-a-half minutes of bona-fide neo-prog: a shimmering three-way between Camel, the Super Furries and David Gilmour.

Radial, a 17-minute symphony in three parts: first, a foreboding, dark-tinged awakening, replete with nonhuman sounds in the vocal register; after six minutes the band comes in with another trademark minor-key song; then a final, tense, otherworldly coda hinting at stranger worlds to come.

Punchy, purposeful and convincingly contemporary, it’s frequently spiced-up with exhilarating examples of the band’s trademark, Television-esque guitar duels.

The follow-up to 2014’s Get To Hell sees the band further exploring the country element which has always underpinned their music, resulting in a compelling set which effortlessly tramples many of the more buffed-up new bands pulling from the same well.

It’s challenging, occasionally difficult stuff, but in a modern world ever more tailored to undemanding audiences and reduced attention spans, that makes it all the more important.

Musically, TROUBLE grows more assured as it goes on.

Knee deep in dashing, erudite pop, the band’s 13th LP Cosmonaut will hardly sully their reputation.

Jake undoubtedly knows his way around a catchy melody, even if he seems reluctant to break fresh ground any substantive distance from his previously established comfort zone. [Nov 2024, p.99]

Big names bookend this collection, courtesy of Johnny Cash's stately narrative on Johnny 99 and Steve Earle's pleading State Trooper (both songs originating from Bruce's Nebraska album), but the remaining 18 tracks are a mixed bunch. [Jul 2025, p.99]