With treasurable details – the dubbed-up refrain of "Black Icy Stare", the Merseybeat-ish groove of "Karmatron" – feeding into an overall ambience of lotus-eating sensuality.

Not a perfect debut, but one that leaves you with the feeling that we're dealing with a living, thinking artist here, not just another Brit School waxwork.

A hitherto only-hinted-at humour (try "UK Blues") punctuates this hypnotic and haunting glimpse into an imperial isolation.

It may not be for everyone, but it's evidence that there are still some restless minds out there.

When it's good, it's a thrilling and ambtitious state-of-the-nation address.

The Blue Note debut can be as frustratingly tentative as his first outing for RCA 15 years ago.... Things do heat up, with drummer Eric Harland stoking the fires, but there's no big flame.

Most of the beloved Feat features are featured.

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

Sounds like Kraftwerk's Autobahn driven by a tractor. Forget Krautrock, and say hello to Yokelrock.

The sooner this bunch of plums fade back into obscurity, the better.

Well, they were demos once; and here they are, in all their functional glory.

Oceania is best listened to in bits.

Cherry's version of Suicide's "Dream Baby Dream" is an unmissable marvel... Elsewhere, it's not the freedom of the backing that's the problem so much as the randomness of the material, with several songs feeling as if they were chosen to look hip rather than sound interesting.

Boy manage to tease something close to pop perfection.

A patchy affair which too often fails to transcend its blatant P-funk influences.

Every once in a while, the results can be more enjoyable than the main event (see Stephen Stills' Manassas). And this may be true of CRB.

A passionate, heartfelt, serious, dogged effort, pregnant with reflection and as wise as you could hope for.

IOH is their most emotional release yet and also their most philosophical.

A partial return to top form for the widdly-diddly axe-meister.

Yes, it sounds like you imagine: slightly artificial, pop-inflected chunk-rock, with dustbin-lid drums, loads of guitars and even a hint of voice box/Auto Tune.

Few bands do that thing - spitting the venom of the dumped, but somehow staying romantic at the same time - better.

Their most consistent and accomplished album to date.

Nobody does this kind of thing quite like the Swedes, and NATD are a welcome addition to that nation's synthpop hall of fame.

You know exactly what to expect: high-energy, hugely entertaining garage rock. And, with the odd exception, that's what they deliver.

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

ODIGTS is the soul album of the century. It might yet turn out to be the album of the year

It is cursory, lumpen and dull.

A cloudless orgy of nostalgia.