Stroud and Mast are still two of the best beat alchemists around, able to craft layer upon layer of instrument and sounds to brilliant effect, but it still sounds like you've all heard it before. It all leads to LP4 having little identity of its own, with the unfortunate tendency for tracks to blur into one another.

Perhaps Sky Full of Holes will be that album to some impressionable youth whose idea of power pop revolves around Justin Bieber ballads, but for longtime fans it just sounds tired and dusty. Fountains of Wayne are still doing what they've always done, but I think I've finally grown up.

Fans of the genre will likely find it to be one of the better releases of the year. It seems that Red Sparowes, though, are missing a special part of their sound and it's holding them back from becoming the band they could be and indeed, may well be with a future release.

In The Rainbow Rain is an uncommonly jaunty listen.

The room for improvement only makes this consistent, catchy and accessible album all the more successful.

You Can’t Take It With You sounds like a proper album par excellence, gelling together with a cohesiveness so many strive for but never really hit.

Well-meaning and inoffensive.

Rich Brian didn’t need to go so hard with the image change, but as far as debut albums go, Amen is catchy, it’s not gimmicky, it’s not annoying, and there’s just enough Chigga still in there to keep things entertaining.

As usual, Dashboard puts out an album with a couple of very good songs, and a bunch of passable filler. Recommended for fans, but still has nothing on what Dashboard used to put out.

As a band, Yellow Ostrich is in its infancy, and it's forgiveable that they haven't quite found the best way to show their hand both as a unit and as separate entities at this stage.

Ultimately, Conduit is a fair step down from the resurgence that was Welcome Home Armageddon. But having said that, it remains a solid addition to their discography.

It's consistently great stuff--this is among the best hip-hop albums of the year by my reckoning.

The point is that MAYA has to be taken as it comes, culture jam and all, and it's precisely at this point that it works out to be one of the most refreshing albums to hit the shelves in a long, long time.

It can't even stack up to Gabriella Cilmi. Estelle? Leona Lewis? Yikes. Avoid.

Sort Of Revolution is nothing short of brodacious.

At the end of the day, this album might not be what the change-resistant fans wanted to hear but it was necessary and more importantly, they pull it off quite well.

Invented reins in Jimmy Eat World after Chase This Light. It still possesses the same inviting, feel-good sentiment, but it's expressed more personably, and in this regard it makes for a very rewarding listen.

The cheesiness, loads of filler, and overly glossy production are still present and hinder much of what the album had the potential to accomplish.

On paper, not a lot differentiates Saintseneca from the glut of indie-folk bands that saturate the scene. Unlike the rest of the crowd, however, the band offers up an unparalleled sense of wonder within each song.

The Dead of the World, well, doesn't do much of anything. It's cold without being chilling; it's colorless without being dark.

This record comprises fourteen tracks, yet managed to be nothing more than a bad concoction of bad pop punk, bad rap rock, bad lyrics, and vaguely competent performances.

Supercharged is a surprisingly decent, albeit flawed record. There are elements of greatness at the heart of it, but the problems soon arise when The Offspring attempt to veer away from their wheelhouse of driving riffs and infectious hooks.

Stygian Waves crafts a rich, immersive experience that thrives on atmosphere, melody, and mood. It’s an album that rewards patience, pulling the listener in with its delicate intricacies and dreamlike textures – all executed with remarkable finesse. At the end of the day, you may come for Alex Lifeson, but you’ll stay for the strong songs and capable vocals of Maiah Wynne.

Norah Jones has the potential to be one of the defining singers of the decade, but her songwriting needs to take on more styles and more voices.

A Productive Cough should have refined and furthered those musical ambitions, but basically, it didn't--they're right back where they came from in a dying scene, idolising the genre's past and ignoring its future when they could have easily been the writers of it instead.

In a world where many acts of a similar age rely on their past, eschewing their original passion and fire for heritage, tradition and tribute, it's comforting to know that Young can both usurp these elements and carry on ploughing his own furrow.

In defence of Surfing the Void, it's certainly not an album I'd describe as 'bad' per se--it's just a massive disappointment.

The inconsistencies within Green Language, unfortunately, undermine the potential beauty of the album’s closing few minutes.

The most important takeaway when listening to The Pariah, the Parrot, the Delusion is that however centaurian the album as a whole may be, Dredg are a truly special group.

Busdriver gives his best performance thus far.

Though this isn't Maserati at their finest hour, it shows the engine is still running and possesses a lot of potential too. Their universe expanded with VII and Rehumanizer successfully brings all those influences together.

Hurley proves that Rivers still has some gas left in the tank.

There is a savvy depth evident throughout ‘The Family Jewels’ which simply cannot be ignored; fun, serious, poppy and unorthodox, it is an album full of contradictions, but one which rarely fails to entertain.

Drastic Fantastic achieves success due to its near-perfect composition and construction.

Basically, Black Clouds & Silver Linings is an album that continues the band’s increased use of metal riffs combined with extended musical interludes but also brings in strong compositional skills that give the songs the kind of consistency they require in order to be truly memorable and engaging.

Basically, fans of In Flames' last four albums are sure to find plenty to enjoy on Sounds of Playground Fading as it is easily better than a lot of what they've done recently, but it could have been so much more if the vocals could be anything more than adequate.

Chasing Yesterday is crammed full of natural sounding songs by a man who has only ever known one way of making music, and long may it continue.

It has moments of genius (‘Grand Canyon’, ‘The Remedy’) as well as questionable missteps (‘Simultaneous’).

It’s too much. As much as I enjoy the solid starts a la “Monochrome” and “The Double Helix of Extinction” there’s a lot of filler and needless over indulgence in the form of gimmick.

Poppy seems to be restrained here – as if something is holding her back from embracing her typically wild and unconventional whims. Next time, I hope she grabs that sword and cuts herself free of whatever led to this.

What can be viewed as a weakness can also be seen as a strength, and for the most part one can conclude that The Chair in the Doorway is a successful return to form.

E S T A R A is not as strong an album as Ardour, not as surprising because it couldn’t possibly be. But in its own, attenuated, scattered-birds way, this album is everything we could have hoped for.

It’s a pleasantly relaxed portrait of a band kicking back and stretching its legs.

There’s rarely a song here that isn’t beautiful: Fortino’s sense for gorgeous melodies, both instrumentally and vocally, simply shines throughout.

It is without a plan and without much of an aim, save for vague touchstones in ‘80s pop and new wave, a path tread much more smoothly by Casablancas’ prior solo work.

At only 28 minutes long, Lysandre is easily digestible in a single sitting, but that really just embellishes its true purpose--to temporarily whet our appetites till all those other Christopher Owens solo records appear.

With its terrible lyrics, uninspired and generic music and general sense of boredom, the only positive to glean from the wreckage was at least it couldn't get worse.

This is Merritt in designer mood, playing with layers and music. The joy is found in watching it take shape.

Everything about Father of All Motherfuckers is lazy. It begins with the self-referential American Idiot album cover, which features a unicorn exhaling/vomiting rainbows whilst forcefully blowing flames out of its ass. The music is befitting of said artwork, as even the staunchest fan would have an aneurysm trying to figure out what the hell these guys were thinking on this one.

Remarkably devoid of pretensions, Free Your Mind is a dance record boiled down to its most essential, body-shaking elements, and the purest distillation of Cut Copy’s music and their ethos yet.

Strange Desire is perhaps the fullest-sounding and most charismatic indie-pop album you’ll hear this year, just in time to become the defining sound of your summer.

There is still much to work on for OK Go, but at the very least, the progression on display this time around is rather admirable.

Disappointingly, Our Version of Events, with the exceptions of "Heaven" and "Daddy", is as flimsy and mushy as they come.

While the album’s too inconsistent in style to be considered a successful change of pace for the group, it’s at least a promising sign of things to come.

Volume Three can’t flourish under the force of her considerable personality or Ward’s craftsmanship, because the latter has been deadened and the former is unwilling to break the illusion.

X is a vapid and overly confident album that feels more like regression than progression for Ed Sheeran's indie folk sound.

The end result is that even when stumbling across an interesting idea, Francis botches it by coming off as childish, attention-seeking and occasionally repulsive.

The ideal summer soundtrack. It is charismatic, warm, and sexy, with just the right touch of mystique.

V is a welcome return to the consistency of I and II, being an elegant return to form for Blackfield while brightening their sound just enough to remain recognizable.

As of right now though, Evil Urges is on the top of the heap for 2008.

With its obtuse rhythm and the inevitably impenetrable lyrics, Om offer their own truth, one with many questions and answers.

The Serenity of Suffering is easily Korn’s most diverse release; featuring melody, aggression, new sounds and old staples in just about equal measures wrapped into some of the band’s strongest songs in years.

Strictly speaking, it's a Gorillaz album in name only. You could commend Albarn on one hand, but then slap him with the other; the use of a 'rolling studio' and the latest in technology is inspired, but it ultimately represents the downfall of the album.

The end result is a record that runs quite average, there are some quality songs that can be picked from it ("We Are the Night," "Do it Again," "All Rights Reserved") but by itself it will lose many listeners.

The end result is a mish-mash of styles that leaves this LP somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean at the turn of the millennium.

By all means engage yourself in Tomorrow, In a Year, for the prize at the end is one of the essential experiences of the young year. Just understand the scope of the expedition you’re embarking upon before you go.

A gimmicky novelty album that has a handful of redeeming songs but will ultimately fade into the ether within a few months.

Ultimately, while there probably isn't anything here truly great enough to draw any more attention to the band, this is a perfectly good album that displays an awful lot of potential.

Repo isn't a bad record, but it's certainly the least fresh and consistent one I can remember Black Dice releasing and both of those traits are a big deal with 'difficult' music like this.

As with the self-titled release, Mind Over Matter front-loads its more accessible tunes.... Unfortunately, the album’s latter half is a little more hit and miss, with everything being competent enough in isolation, but arguably unengaging when amassed together.

There is just about enough top quality pop music on offer to ensure Snow Patrol’s star continues to grow on the world stage but, worryingly, A Hundred Million Suns is another middling affair from a by-now-mature pop act, and now might be the time to ask why.

It's really unfortunate that Inc. hasn't been able to elevate beyond these very basic production mistakes; they give an impression that No World was either unmastered or mastered haphazardly.

Femme Fatale, after all, is a flawed album, with lyrics that barely clear the level of a Ke$ha and a maturity level to match. But it's a pop album that's supposed to make you dance, and when it comes to that, there's not a star out there that can match Ms. Spears.

There’s glimmers of the old brilliance here and there of course. Exotic BOP may be a pale, miserable ghost of the glory days, but there’s life to be found in Angela, its funk line feeling like it's going to be the root of something that’s about to flourish, but whoops, there it goes into its weird low-effort basement style as Stas THEE Boss delivers a verse that’s passable enough, but which doesn’t do anything to dig the rest of the track from out of its own mire.

Outer South is too long, too uninteresting, and too uninspired to be anything better than not good at all.

They’re darn right they still belong, since Lostprophets have delivered an excellent album that is a reminder to all and sundry that this is a band with not only a storied past, but also a very bright future.

The bands debut album Tourist History is clearly far from original, yet it ultimately wins listeners over with its immediate, enthusiastic, likeable and catchy mixture of ingredients, which results in a sound that is certain to have toes tapping from the pubs to the clubs.

Bodies is a well put together album that will appease hungry fans, but it's not the injection of life that AFI so desperately needs at this stage of its career.

Its strongest moments don’t quite stand with the best that The Menzingers discography has to offer, but they’re well worth a listener’s time and showcase the group’s inherent songwriting prowess. What’s sad is to see a band now nearly 20 years into the career suddenly desiring to be entirely different, independent of the type of music they are writing and releasing.

his is the full realisation of the promise of blink-182 with Matt Skiba: the minor-key melodies and desolate lyrics of +44 brush up against a fully comfortable Skiba as lead vocalist, delivering his best vocals in fifteen years or more – all within the confines of a gleaming clean pop-punk production. ... The overproduction is frustrating both because his songwriting is at its best state in at least 10 years, and because for every generic pop moment there are subtle and fascinating production details to discover.

The brevity of this soundtrack makes for an overall calming effects with a few great moments.

Aureate Gloom distinguishes itself in Barnes’ catalog as its own inexplicable set of contradictions: a record rendered inert and sabotaged by its own ambitions.

Our Earthly Pleasures, in contrast to the water-tight radio punk of its predecessor, overflows with ideas, even if it’s to the detriment of the material.

The defense that it isn't trying, that it's just for kicks, would I guess be admissible if the songs weren't so entirely devoid of substance.

The very things that inspired Maybeshewill to make music in the first place--social unrest and robust melodies--are both absent on Fair Youth, and there isn’t a whole lot left to take their place.

Kintsugi suffers from many of the same flaws that have afflicted past releases, from a tendency to overthink arrangements to Gibbard’s more frequent relapses into trite turns of phrase and the occasional hint of immaturity.

If you get past this wall of noise, only bothering to burden Share the Joy for a freaky sixteen seconds, you'll find a record contained within its little motto, the noise dropped, the joy shared tenfold, the delightful "Dance (If You Wanna)" circling our heads, encouraging us with a smile.

A spunky, Hayley-driven vehicle that nonetheless proves that Paramore justly deserves whatever critical acclaim it was getting.

Much like the average modern-day Playmate, Dirty Work is essentially a manufacturer's dummy: air-brushed; soulless; custom-built to exacting specifications; aesthetically-pleasing but ultimately empty and devoid of any real distinctive character. At the risk of butchering a metaphor, All Time Low are New Found Glory with grotesque, misaligned implants.

Shogun is by no means an outstanding metal album, but it should be enough to satisfy both fans of their older material and those attracted to the meatier hooks of ‘Anthem (We Are The Fire)’ and ‘Entrance Of The Conflagration.’

A Thousand Suns is an extremely well-crafted rock album from a band whose (self-directed) anger is, for once, well placed.

A competent collobarative tape that nevertheless proves that Quavo should stick to Migos and Travis to curating his own albums.

Considering what kind of experiment this was, it turned out pretty damn well.

The album excels, featuring some of the artist's finest work, despite being mostly retreaded material. Do not let this be a deterrent, though, for there is something here for the devoted members of his "Wolf Pack" as well as his fiercest detractors.

Sure, Blitzen Trapper attempt to vary the formula a bit--there's the jangly campfire number, or that one about astronauts--but when it comes right down to it, everything's all the same.

The record offers moments, candid and clear, of Rowe before the fame that'll surely head her way. It’s an opportunity to see what this artist is all about today.

The album clatters out of focus in a pleasing fashion.

A strong-willed, beautifully composed piece of modern day indie-folk.