The results have a tendency to make you look at the ceiling.

Dazzling songs, dismally sung.

There are too many plodding ballads, sentimental on the piano and heavy on the cymbals.

There’s nothing here to quite match his finest moments, but nothing stinks and that, I suppose, is the best you can expect.

The result wears the weight of its history lightly, with the exception of "The Departed", a solemn tribute to lost Stooges.

There’s less barn-floor stomp than on previous albums, but Country Mile is still rousing, with trumpet, fiddle and much--occasionally dicey--harmonising.

An aural Waltzer, exhilarating and nauseous. On the plus side, there's oompah brass, jaunty jigs and a song channelling Fraggle Rock for vocal inspiration; and on the minus, oompah brass [and] jaunty jigs.

An unexpectedly enjoyable late addition to a formidable body of work.

There's an undercurrent of sentimentalism running through Come of Age....But originality is hard to come by.

In the main, she remains stylistically faithful to the originals.

It shows a musical maturity way beyond its creator's years.

The Origin of Love is an autotuned, multitracked meringue whose ingredients include 10cc and Buggles, and whose only weakness is the absence of a killer single.

As an exercise in expanded range, Shangri La is too diverse and distinct to dismiss.

This covers album maybe a joyous blast of buzzsaw pop, but you just know that the live shows will be even better.

The duo often leave any sense of taste with their gumboots outside on the doorstep.

Not one for Bon Iver fans, but the kid's got something.

"Lioness" reinforces what we already knew: Winehouse was, in every sense, wasted.

Surprises are few and what Delta Machine lacks is one big, arena-ready, fist-in-the-air synthpop stormer.

Sadly for the listener, this is mostly a collection of one-paced songs more heartbroken than heartbreaking.

It is a lush thing that, were we writing for a certain type of women’s mag, might have us reaching for words such as "candles" and "bubble bath."

It's sprawling, overdue and not for everyone, but at least it's not a play-it-safe comeback with the hot producer of the day.

It takes no chances. This is a record that browbeats and bullies you into submission with its sheer massiveness, courtesy of producer Brian Eno.

It's charming enough, but it's as well mannered as a picnic with Cath Kidston accoutrements.

She's good when not covering Mary Margaret O'Hara. But you'll need to hear through the still-life mannerisms to get to the good stuff.

If you loved Williams the way he was, rejoice. If you didn't, it may be time to switch off the radio and television for a few months, and bury your head in a bucket of calamine lotion.

Oasis minus the organ-grinder needn't be an entirely horrific prospect.

Singer-songwriter Emma-Lee Moss and Ash frontman Tim Wheeler, a couple in real life, join musical forces and attempt, valiantly and with not inconsiderable success, to breathe new life into that stalest of stale old genres: the Christmas song.

Her voice hangs inertly among racks of lustrous guitars like a worn shirt.