The most vibrant cuts here, Long Time Coming and Brand New Name On An Old Tattoo, rise above generic nostalgia, but very little else is worth a second listen.

Part 2’s tracklist does find room for efficient new versions of songs Brix co-wrote for The Fall (LA, Feeling Numb and the enigmatic Hotel Bloedel) but they’re merely the icing on the cake here. Indeed, they’re arguably bettered by newly-minted songs such as the stomping, Big New Prinz-esque Something To Lose; the shape-throwing Damned For Eternity and the psych-pop candy floss of Moonrise Kingdom.

It's strictly old-school, in a good way. .... Streisand still sings like a dream. [Aug 2025, p.102]

One forgives most of Booth’s excesses and there are plenty on the oddball chanson tracks Alvin and Waking. It’s an anything-goes approach.

Unsurprisingly, Noveller has scored many films in the process of building her voluminous catalogue; out on her own, but playing a subtle role in realigning 21st century music.

A pretty good, not great, pop record. [Christmas 2025, p.132]

Cameron could be a pop contender, but the masks that make the man are as much barrier as blessing here.

This is no modest return, either. It’s produced by Rick Rubin, rock’s very own St Jude, and features Richard Thompson, Charlie Musselwhite, Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy and Tinariwen, so it all sounds rather lovely despite the variety of styles.

There’s nothing here as radical as Young’s brazen take on God Save The Queen, for his far more engaging 2012 covers set, Americana, and the performances are decidedly tossed-off, even by Young’s capture-the-moment standards.

With fire and fury in their bellies, September Girls manage to keep their balance and keep pushing on into ever darker territory.

As Keaton forcefully exclaims in The Pugilist, “I’m an artist, and I still have songs in me yet”, a sentiment he has demonstrated perfectly with Kindly Now.

Mixing up the correct dosage proved tricky, but, to Berry’s credit, Music For Insomniacs reclines on a perfect plateau: chewier than your workaday (workanight?) ambient dribble, but not so rich with incident that you’ll sit bolt upright.

The band’s full-length debut has spent a long time in the works, but it’s nonetheless an impressive statement of intent.

Their dense, clenched teeth sound has allowed them to cross over to rock fans, but can come over a bit try-hard, though that is not to say that the album is anything less than interesting, well put-together, filled with high standard rapping and at times strangely majestic.

It’s easy to be cynical or apprehensive about “lost” tracks resurfacing years later, but there’s enough A-grade material on Out Among The Stars to make its belated arrival something to celebrate.

His eponymous seventh LP feels like a massive leap forward, as though an epiphany has allowed him to put all the right pieces in all the right places, and suddenly the picture becomes clear.

The Darkness are big. It's rock that got small. [May 2025, p.103]

It doesn’t always gel entirely (the false-ending-blighted Look At Your Life quickly grates; Change simply feels forced) but Who Am I’s blissful harmonies are second to none and both the celebratory Relief and chugging, metallic The Times subject the Hackneys’ patented, hard-driving Detroit rock’n’roll sound to a strikingly contemporary overhaul.

Far from lifting the veil, its live performance further deepens the album’s mystery.

Bob Ezrin’s production is solid throughout, but the whole thing basically sounds like rock stars having fun on their day off.

There’s a time and place for material this demanding of the listeners’ attention, and it does take repeated listens for the album to really make sense, but when the mood fits, Painting Is hits the spot like only they can.

X's unspools warm, rarefied variants on his meticulously maintained minimalism. [Aug 2024, p.103]

This is probably their best record in years--so jump on board.

The gorgeously wistful All Of Our Yesterdays and Skyless Moon lament time’s passage, but Here Comes… barely wastes a second of its sweet, tender and winningly off-piste, high-plains drift.

This is a great country album to boot: full of great craft and guile, no small bitterness and a cracking production from Ray Kennedy.

New York… is a pitch perfect and regularly beautiful homage to the likes of Suicide and the Velvets.

Hearteningly, much of it sounds enviably fresh, and its 12 tracks crackle with contemporary energy even if a few of the riffs are a mite grungier these days. It is, however, a little south of perfect.

This blasé bunch of post-modern Gen-X alt-rockers still sound more ramshackle than playing rough demos of Pavement’s earliest material through a faulty boombox while being shoved down a cobbled hill in a wonky-wheeled shopping trolley by the late Oliver Reed. Some might find such slapdashery charming or even exciting. Others, I fear, will be rolling their eyes and reaching for Live On Two Legs by Eddie & The Pearl Jams.

The album does have its moodier moments, Hate on--easily the best track on the album--features a strong meditative groove, oddball sax, razor-sharp guitar chords and luscious harmonies. Along with the final track, it hints at a depth that is sadly not fully explored. Nevertheless, this album is a lot of fun.

When Julie’s Haircut get it right, they really get it right. ... By contrast, some of the Can-like vocal tracks are slightly less successful, the hushed chant of The Fire Sermon rendering the music repetitive without quite managing to capture the groove it hints at.

A beautifully rambling set that sounds like chums making it up as they go along deep in the woods. [Dec 2025, p.92]

The music is at its most interesting when it veers off at a tangent - the snappy organ fuelled Social Climbing Scene and the loping gait of the title track. [Mar 2026, p.104]

Love is the soundtrack to a short film by Jesse Nieminen (also titled A Walk With Love And Death), and is essentially a series of bugged-out sound collages. Though intriguing on first listen, it’s Death which is the real draw here.

Much of what stems from his bands’ 15th standalone album never really gets past that “nothing of a track” phase. In fact, often the mood music Coyne and the gang have striven to make – as much about beats and textures as it is melody--is frustrating.

Trouble is, the songs themselves are instantly forgettable, devoid of alluring melody or interesting lyrical content, and sung by a limited vanilla voice lacking in character.

It gets gnarlier elsewhere.

On occasion, the bare bones, stripped-back effects don’t serve the songs quite as well... Still, this should delight the distorted ears of Melvins followers, though they may need to get used to turning the volume up, rather than down.

Sometimes chilly, this set has occasional echoes of Vince’s former bandmates Depeche Mode and this largely successful, surprise direction so late in their career is certainly welcome.

She Paints Words In Red turns out to be the Camberwell crew’s finest--and most consistent--platter since 1990’s Fontana album.

A piledriver of a set, but it pulls you into his world.

It’s a tremendously playful collection that veers from the spectral spaghetti western of Visa To The Stars to Chicken On The Rocks; an screwball jaunt that’s begging to be used as the theme for an absurd Radio 4 panel show.

It’s arguably The Veils’ most complete and satisfying work to date.

The addition of Hammond, fiddle and nicely understated guitar make So Familiar one of the strongest tracks with Edie Brickell reining in the often drawly mannerisms of her singing style to accompany with great effect. Other songs are not so successful in marrying the feel of bluegrass with the sweep of a big song.

Smith’s voice admittedly sounds ravaged on the cranky Quit iPhone and the otherwise boisterous Stout Man, but at least he’s fully engaged throughout.

Their previous album Tincian revolutionised new Welsh language music and won Best Album at the BBC Radio 2 Folk Awards for its troubles. The follow-up is equally as dark with a dystopian edge that suggests we’re all doomed. Yet there is a salvation of sorts in the band’s glorious three part female harmonies and in lead singer Lisa Jên’s centrifugal force-of-nature presence.

Gillespie's words can sound like platitudes when they're written down, but his sincerity and the music's sonic freshness and influence-exposing urgency elevate the material, evoking the Primal Scream of 30 years ago. [Dec 2024, p.104]

Relief all round then that their fifth album is a shimmering thing of beauty; a fresh summer breeze blowing in full of character and heart and sweeping away the dirge and disappointment of their last outing.

The past might be an albatross around Lydon’s neck, but he demonstrates superhuman strength at times, achieving lift-off in a way that nobody was really expecting. If the end of the world is nigh then PiL are going out with a bang.

Without straying too far from the patented funk, soul and jazz peppered with enlightened, literate lyrical bars that have marked his previous four albums, A Work Of Heart seems thoroughly of the moment. There are dexterous rapping performances aplenty, often marked by enlightened sexual politics.

Though it’s essentially a finely-crafted guitar pop record, Arthur Buck also finds room for enough angles, quirks and adroitly-employed electronica to keep it interesting and it rarely puts a foot wrong as a result.

The change of scenery manifests in the album’s wider sonic palette as the trio embrace classic pop (Down Down), garage-rock (Had Enough), surf punk (Watch Your Back) and even resemble a grunged-up Heart on Perfume.

Overall, it’s less of a curiosity than it might look on paper; not so much a departure as it is a confidently mapped-out alternative route.

A really gorgeous record, and well worth seeking out.

Prepare to be taken on a journey around the pair’s sonic universe that touches on everything from US R&B, Nilsson-esque singer-songwriter numbers and back again, all under a heady sheen of studio shimmer that can feel woozy, psychedelic or just 110 per cent odd at any one point.

The long-awaited Music Must Destroy is Ruts DC’s first fully-fledged rock LP since Animal Now and it doesn’t disappoint.

Baby Blue Abyss is a shape-changing beast. Styles vary, the approach is schizophrenic, but still the core of Baird and his scattershot mood remains.

Gillan isn't quite the octave-busting vocalist of old, while his lyrical subject matter often recalls the laddishness of his erstwhile self-named group. [Sep 2024, p.131]

Often embraces sophisticated dance-pop, led by the disco-kissed single Baby and the introspective, percolating Spirit. [Feb 2025, p.103]

The excellent PP Arnold featuring lead single Poison Vine is a good indicator of the move towards a very Stones-y type of uplifting soulful rock and blues; the swelling gospel rock of Don't Look Away is the most stirring thing they've done yet. [Jan 2026, p.101]

Ultimately, it's an well-executed update on his storied history. [Apr 2025, p.102]

The ambition and scope of these 23 songs is undeniably impressive, Scott still with a firm grip on the country and folk-minded tropes of his best back pages, augmented by (mostly) successful detours into the arenas of soul, funk, even hip-hop.

There are moments of genius here and there, so do investigate if you find yourself humming Lil’ Devil from time to time.

Benefiting from Deradoorian’s ghostly vocals and Eyvand King’s orchestrations, Eucalyptus offers rich blooms wherever it roams.

Hints of psychedelia and bursts of frantic riffing flirt with a classic Primus sound over much of The Desaturating Seven.

So, it’s a mini album, of no fixed musical style, with a far from comprehensible but usually hilarious narrative.

It’s a consistent and often stirring effort, with Liebling in particular sounding on fine form.

It’s that kind of affair: fine in parts but far too eclectic for its own good. Collins remains in fine fettle, though, and the choices are fair enough given her Broadway pedigree and eye for a standard.

The arrangements for all 11 songs are exquisite; much has been said about the proliferation of vintage echo and reverb machines used during recordings but much more central is the orchestration and use of instruments, with Tom Moth’s diaphanous but pulsating harp particularly notable.

Rather than a retrogressive exercise, by preserving these stories Hayman reminds us of some of the things our country has to be proud of; take Norton Le Clay’s tale of a Belgian settler (“Come all you refugees and strays, come all you immigrants and waifs”). It’s stirring, important stuff.

A bit more variation to the glistening soundscapes would have been welcome, as each track sounds rather like the others, but the core sound is a sweet one. [May 2025, p.103]

Deeply thoughtful, it's a raw, heartfelt work, articulated by Johnson's superb voice. [Nov 2025, p.103]

As an exercise in showcasing the singer’s inimitably laconic way with a variety of styles it’s a real winner.

Sounding classic on arrival, Lonesome Dreams is certainly the best album of its kind since Damien Jurado’s Maraqopa.

Some of the material threatens to drown in a mire of painfully bland songwriting and sleepwalking guest appearances.

It’s not all spot-on pop perfection: Return The Favor feels as if it’s been included just to fill the quota for an emotional, heart-wrenching ballad. However, this is a minor black mark against an album that ticks all the boxes for those who love cleverly constructed, 80s-esque indie with a pop twist.

If this is Rose Windows’ final farewell, it’s damned, and it’s good.

Unchallenging it may be, but 13 time-honoured blues classics played the Winter way is not an unattractive listen.

Across Six Leap Years serves the weirdest of purposes, pleasing (presumably) both band and fans. Many of these reworks are so slightly different as to possibly only truly satisfy the former, but no matter.

There’s a fine college-rock jangle to The Beat’s Save It For Later and some fab California-kissed harmonies on XTC’s Towers Of London.

There’s a void at the album’s centre; edges so rounded they’re virtually flat.

Thoroughly enjoyable from beginning to end, the band have stuck to their formula and produced another decent if less-than-outstanding record.

A Melvins selection box of sorts, Basses Loaded is packed with delights.

Shimmering industrial dance pulses seem so back in vogue that it’s almost as if no-one ever laughed at Nitzer Ebb. Hence, Wrangler’s second studio album, generally much less brutal than Nitz, but featuring a few lyrics undercooked enough to have featured in the latter’s back-catalogue, may be ploofing about at just the right time.

The laidback intimacy of the recording reaps especially rich rewards on the heartbreaking Sad Songs And Waltzes, further enhanced by Mickey Raphael’s harmonica. It’s the sibling bond that’s strongest, though: a whole history of great American music coursing through the Nelson blood.

While it isn’t without its moments, that is not enough to forgive the sub-standard R’&’B and lumpy rock crossovers.

It’s wilful experimentation with no pay-off, sounding lonely, old, with only the occasional, tempting flicker of a genius that once burnt bright.

Boys Forever goes some way to making things alright, under or above ground.

There are numerous examples of predictable usual suspects (the fuzzy goth of The Cure's Primary, a trippy twist on The Cramps' Goo Goo Muck), but deeper riches are found in what, on the surface, might be seen as curveball choices. [Apr 2026, p.105]

It’s an edgy, spirited 12-track affair, and it feels like the logical successor to the band’s recently reissued Dung 4, rather than a belated follow-up to Devil Hopping.

The old sarcasm and spite that made the first few records such evil fun is still here--in particular on Long Haired Punks and Grinding Teeth--and while speedy thrash beats aren’t present, miserably filthy and heavy drone riffs are--a step forward.

It’s easy to like but, ultimately, easy to forget too.

With Lost Themes II, John Carpenter and band have delivered an album that not only stands up to its predecessor, but surpasses it. In addition to eerie atmospherics, the album is laden with addictive grooves, and feels sharper.

This record is a composite piece blessed with a vision and singularity that repeatedly surprises and invigorates.

Third album Abbar El Hamada continues that [broad musical] path, though it eschews the largely acoustic nature of Soutak for a more electrified outing.

A surprisingly wide-ranging six-track EP of instrumentals providing a loving partner-piece.

Genuinely touching tunes such Driving and Tomorrow add a layer of depth and will help fend off inevitable accusations of ironic retroism, but Delicate Steve’s core appeal will always be that of good times all the time.

Musically it’s a side trip to the shop of horrors.

Singer John Paul Pitts explains there are also other heavy themes on this record, varying from mental illness to car accidents. But still the sunniness pervades. Ironically perhaps, Snowdonia is a summery sounding record, produced in a time that could easily have called for a deep freeze for Surfer Blood.