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.