Strangers feels as if it’s trying to fit into a radio-friendly country narrative that’s surely already passed.

Fans of any of the artists involved will be satisfied.

It all gives the sense of a fun, messy but inspired recording session conducted in a fug of weed smoke.

It’s difficult to imagine many better rock albums being released this year; it’s the record Springsteen fans wish he had in him.

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.

Packed with motifs and allusions to cinema, it’s also a subtle commentary on the singer’s stratospheric rise to superstardom, lyricist Bernie Taupin retrospectively suggesting disillusionment was a recurring theme.

A peculiar cove, Wareham is also a viciously acute lyricist with a love for tremolo, and has invented what might be described as quiet heavy metal, or rock’n’roll noir.

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

There’s good songwriting in places, but with the artist’s idiosyncrasies effectively airbrushed out by a bloated production, the result is a dull, vapid collection of songs desperate to please.

Perhaps their most impressive, consistent and varied offering to date.

The album’s immediacy is impossible to escape.

Anyone feeling the mildest desire to get on with their day may reach for the volume control and reduce the endless drone to background level – hardly the point of the exercise.

The guitar solos are the album’s single saving grace.

Melodically bewitching throughout, Nadler’s vocals are as nuanced and strong as Dunn’s production.

This is a one-joke album, but the joke is a good one, and more than a few bona fide country fans will be convinced.

From the opening refrain of Whistleblowers, Spectre is an astounding work.

Shonna Tucker may have left the fold for a solo career, but in Hood and Cooley the Truckers still have two of the most eloquent songwriters working in Americana.

All in all though, a fair return.

Pritchard is at his self-deprecatory best on the witty but barbed break-up song Yeah Yeah Girl, while producer/guitarist Tim Bradshaw deserves credit for so fearlessly jettisoning the indie comfort blanket on the stylish, Chris Isaak-esque noir of Posters.

Acoustic At The Ryman is an unplugged album done right. A live record that’s not just for hardcore fans, it’s a must for all lovers of alt.country.

No Squeeze fan is going to feel short-changed.

Their best--and most radical-sounding--LP to date.

Reader’s own explanatory notes enrich these universal songs with a personal edge, completing a particularly satisfying package.

All in all, another envelope-pushing opus from a pathfinding musician whose talent doesn’t recognise boundaries.

High on ambition, musicianship and charm the end result is a set of well-meaning if often uninspiring afro-rock.

Deceptively simple, Morning Phase rewards repeated immersion.

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.

Making up for lost time, Strut have produced a collection that’s broad in scope, detailed in its sleevenotes and packed with a raft of outstanding music.