Pip retains the sizzling electronics and soaring melodies of her first offering, but delivers them like a sultry wrong'un wracked with self doubt, battering drums and attacking every guitar she can lay her hands on.

As ever, his lyrics sound better the less you think about them, but you know The Killers are getting it right because most of the time, you don't need to.

At times, without the visual aids of the stage production, it whips from cohesive to confusing but, for the most part, 'Dr Dee' is a boundary-pushing triumph.

It veers wildly between the divine and the comedic, but this is positively imperious preposterousness.

Lynch showcases a grim neighbourhood that seems electrically oppressed somehow, synthesised echoes murmuring like residual radiation.

Traps shakes with stoned-in-a-basement riffs and sarcasm.

There's value in finding their [remixers] take on Nick Cave's already unique sound.

The five songs here are awkward bedfellows.

There are times when all you need is a stompy bass drum to underpin a killer melody, and that's exactly what makes Beacon tick; nothing's overworked or overcomplicated.

Born To Die may ultimately prove too-blinkered a vision to fully appeal to the Sheeran-loving public in the long run, but Lana has certainly proved that she's not just here to play games.

Glowing Mouth is as emotionally jolting and cosily reassuring as a night in with a David attenborough boxset.

Ecstatic, raucous, spine-tingling and delivered in the only way they know, Baby is a piece of Tribes for their devoted followers to hold onto.

Effectively, it is emo for Blacksmiths. This would all be semi-tolerable, were it not for the sickeningly overwrought poetry bobbing on top.

Social commentary ('Blaze Up A Fire'), emotional nudity ('Elephant') and confessional bravery ('Angel Wings') illuminate a warm, honest album.

Generally Moonfire is an album big on melody, heart and hooks.

Errors have never sounded more magnificent.

Mostly, these are exquisitely constructed slow jams--especially recent single ‘Cookies’, The-Dream-esque ‘Crazy Sex’ and the cashmere-soft, Kelly Rowland duet ‘All The Way’--but the pace becomes stagnant after a while.

Although she retains the cool cleverness of an indie icon, this New Yorker's detached demeanour eventually ends up sounding, ahem, trullie dull.

With psych bite and cosmic volume stripped away, Nielson’s brilliant, dextrous playing and addled lyrical bravery are illuminated brighter than ever.

It's the inconsistency of Future This--particularly the band's newfound tenderness vs. Their miscalculated explosions of noise--that make it a largely baffling listen.

Against all odds, 'Some Nights' is a hoot: huge-sounding, packed with tunes and not lacking in humour.

The gripes of her debut album--chiefly that the quality of her songs didn't always match the strength of her voice--again prevail here.

Secondhand Rapture feels overlong, hampered by a lyrical palette that seems to mirror the relationship struggles of a Twilight film.

Magna Carta Holy Grail is a solid example of a decent modern rap album and nothing more.

It’s an interesting mix of the wide-eyed and sparkly and the beachfront and nonchalant that makes for a hugely radio-friendly record that won’t dent your credibility.

The album captures little of the Opera's live spirit.

What lets it down is that it is unutterably, irrevocably and unswervingly dull. Dull, dull, dull. As boring as the hum of a fridge.

Form And Control is a pleasant enough offering, but there's nothing phenomenal on show here.