Angles ends in a horribly frustrating manner, with none of the assurance of "Take it or Leave It" or "Red Light." No, Angles, even in ending with its strongest song, dies the way it lived: in sheer ambiguity.

The two-edged sword concerning Welcome Home Armageddon is that it is far from perfect. That room for improvement factor is exciting, but instead of looking too far into the future, listeners should just be pleased that Funeral For A Friend are out of oblivion and once more cause for some deep conversation.

No matter which extreme you believe it to favor, Endgame sees Rise Against as fiery, passionate and motivated as ever, when it comes to their wide-reaching social commentary.

Obviously, Atlantic did not rape Lupe into releasing a soulless, automated, corporate record. The real irony is that Lupe's fans demanded this garbage be released.

They're not really revolutionary because there's nothing that ambitious in them. Rather they're content being a light Dinosaur Jr., making pleasant, noisy indie rock with tambourines and static that's more an aural treat than a mental stimulant.

The group have harked back to the more memorable songs in their canon, but this can be interpreted as largely derivative in some quarters.

It's safe to say that Darkest Hour are not as good as they used to be--sorry, fans, but The Eternal Return and The Human Romance are both indicators of that. But the band have certainly got their bearings back this year and have made the best album that they possibly could have without Kris Norris.

While an interesting concept, neither CD contains enough strong material to match up to either of her previous releases, and at times, the constant barrage of R&B cliches and adult-contemporary production make it sound like Beyonce is rapidly transforming from hot, hip pop goddess to your standard bored diva.

There's a sense of detachment when I listen to this record that's weirdly hard to explain, and it's certainly hard to shake. As it is, anyways, Port Entropy's still vastly enjoyable on a surface-level; this certainly counts for something.

It's hard to find any real faults with Eisley's latest album, The Valley.

One listen to this album though and you come to realise that its Noel's absence that has made it.

Dom's sound has enough edge to satisfy the critics and enough energy to satisfy everyone else, but for what it's worth, this is the kind of album you don't have to think about for even a moment; sit back, sing a long, play it in the background, it doesn't matter. Just enjoy.

Filled with fun, catchy, bright & bouncy hooks, they redefined the art of being a guilty pleasure into being a shameful delight!

It's Barwick's most evocative instrument, one that sparkly piano notes can only help fill the room for, and one with which she diminishes too many comparisons to Panda Bear and other leftfield pop musicians.

Each of Hecker's layers are shards, something incomplete, but with just enough shards, a fragmented, disturbed image is formed, and that is the result of Ravedeath, 1972.

No, The King of Limbs is not a world-beating album, and it was never meant to be; it's an album about Radiohead trying to iron out their own creases and fix their own flaws, and judged on those terms, it's another success.

There are times when the idea of experimentation can become too much to bear.

Music that is this desolate and isolated is rarely as rewarding as Little Joy which is what makes it one of the most successful records of the year.

This is war poetry at its finest and will keep you coming back for many repeat listens. Its influence on any listener, impressionable or otherwise, should be a positive one.

The flow of Times of Grace's debut is so jagged and stop-start.

It's not that it's post-rock-by-numbers, although at times it really is, but more so that it doesn't even sound like there are painters behind the palette.

Keely has stated in interviews that it's this kind of record that he grew up listening to and wanted to emulate, and maybe that's why Tao of the Dead ends up being the most focused Trail of Dead effort in years rather than a space-rock sham.

Because this album sticks so memorably, so unwaveringly brightly, it's useless to resist it. The only thing to do is love, and so I do.

It's excellent, to be honest. Jay-Z sounds relaxed and comfortable in his legacy on the mic: he's not feeling as pressed to perform as he did on Kingdom Come, and the MC just lets his talent flow effortlessly.

Mission Bell isn't anywhere near a disaster, but it's also nowhere close to being a great album. Whatever it is Amos Lee went off in search of at the beginning of this album, he should have kept looking for it.

It works from top to bottom, to take songs from, and it fits the Go! Team canon with assumed confidence.

The World Is Yours won't set the world alight with insightful lyrics or experimentation, but that isn't what we've signed up for. This is an LP that just does not let up from the get go.

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.