Holland sings songs of discombobulation and wonder, and all is mannered but also naturalistic.

WTR is a classy bit of radio-friendly Mercury-bait which highlights Dangerfield's development as a songwriter.

Comedown Machine is, essentially, The Strokes' 1980s album.

High on saccharine and low on fidelity, LATBOTS has one foot in the recent 8-bit scene, the other in Merritt's own back catalogue.

“Bitter Virtue” pursues a familiar James theme--condemnation of repressive moralities--but elsewhere, things are more ineffectual.

Like the latter’s Random Access Memories, it’s an enjoyable dance-pop album lacking a central focus. But one whose diffident charm makes a pleasant change from the overwrought wailing that routinely afflicts R&B.

This is a sweet, light confection, but insubstantial as whipped cream and too sugary for some tastes.

Charmless kiss-offs (“Don’t”) and sappy sentiments (“People Fall in Love in Mysterious Ways”) dominate otherwise, landing with the thud of the authentically uninspiring.

Though there's no smash hit leaping out, with its consistent unity of atmosphere, The Fall is the most cohesive Gorillaz album yet.

Filled with beguiling close-harmony tunes which wouldn't feel out of place on the Wicker Man soundtrack and sound like venerable trad-arrs but are actually originals.

Presumably not this unremittingly OK collection of hazy pop-rock singalongs paying anodyne homage to the Ramones, Jesus and Mary Chain and, er, Interpol.

A mature, reflective, intelligent, Americana-inflected [album].

Loud guitars are everywhere, bucked by riffing horns, and the general vibe is testosteronal and sleeveless. He is a rippingly good player.

It doesn't always hit the spot, but at least he's firing at more interesting targets than the usual renta-rapper.

Rizzle Kicks are best when brisk and larky--more heartfelt musings on love and being true to yourself are banal.

With new recruit Earl Slick on guitar they've made a third reunion album filled with ramshackle glam and girl-group trash, reverberating with street-corner romanticism and hard-won wisdom.

If Elysium has a weakness, it is the absolute absence of thumping disco-pop monsters. Once you accept that, and surrender to the tranquil beauty of Chris Lowe's synth textures, you quickly realise that Neil Tennant is on top lyrical form.

Even if it's a joke, it's a joke you don't wanna hear.

Max Martin, Mr "Baby One More Time", has been roped in again along with scores of interchangeable Scandinavians to create an album of autotuned landfill chartpop which you will scour in vain for anything on a par with "Womanizer".

Even looking backwards, Springsteen finds ways to light the road ahead.

It's a jukebox-jumpin' take on straight-up Dolly with a smile behind its eyes and a rockabillyish skip in its step.

Flitting between 1980s soul-pop and jerky indie, it has its big, brash, pop-rock moments.

Good songs, largely, if songs broadly governed by the imperative to “heal”: a worthy intention, for sure, but fluffed up massively in a compressed space like this, also a rather stifling one.

With a little luck, and the careful choice of singles, there might be life in this party yet.

Desperately, painfully arty but worthy of your recollection.

It's a Gary Barlow idea of what indie music sounds like.

Darwin Deez, a New York-based artist for whom the word "offbeat" seems to have been invented. Not that there are any in his music--all straight 4/4 and po-mo lyrics--but there are plenty of tunes, not a little charm and a fair old sense of humour.

Uno! starts promisingly, but it's soon obvious that the Clash of "Tommy Gun" is still their template.