T-Bone Burnett renders mostly old jazz numbers with a blend of period feel and modern fidelity, so they're "in the tradition" without sounding antique.

Sometimes the recurrent mood of ecstatic affirmation of life that's evident in her singing can be short-changed by arrangements that fuss to no great purpose, dissipating their impact in brittle beats and pointless detail.

Martha Wainwright's latest songs characteristically zigzag about the emotional spectrum.

This year's version features the usual relaxed jazz-pop grooves, sophisticated horn arrangements and tinder-dry ironic tone.

There's a world-weariness to some of his songs that's as attractive now as ever.

The more languid, erotic performances are balanced by ones on which Deantoni Parks' drums dictate the mood through their rattling, martial bustle.

Jeff Lynne's musical memoir of youthful influences, old songs are recast in new lights.

It's a well-crafted, stylish piece of work. But it's hard to love songs that try to hide.

In some cases, as in "Cloud on My Tongue", the orchestrations serve as little more than swaddling blankets. But the more thoughtful rearrangements can be transformative.

Most B-sides compilations seem to have been thrown together to fulfill contracts but Dead In The Boot has a form and substance beyond that.

No Doubt makes only the most tentative divergences from previously tried and tested strategies, which gives Push and Shove a character that could be described as either dated or timeless.

Some of the dullest music released all year.

Babel bowls along with the ebullient energy one expects of Mumford & Sons, like a cider-soused hoedown at an after-hours lock-in. But while this works to the advantage of their more rousing sentiments, it tends to iron out the subtler creases in some of the songs.

The music Kanye West reserves for his own albums is so much more ambitious than that apportioned to the collaborations on this compilation from his new label, Good Music. Which isn't to say it's not effective.

It's a perfunctory affair, further fragmented on my download version by the muting of Wayne's stream of expletives, which renders large parts of it unintelligible.

Not bad, and nice for Nick. But for every good 'un, there's a dull 'un too.

Elysium is bookended by two of the best songs the Pet Shop Boys have written in years, but flags badly in between.

There's a danger of art-rock overload in this alliance of two cerebral music talents, but Love This Giant succeeds remarkably well.

It's on "Early Roman Kings" that the various strains come together most effectively, with Hidalgo's organ added to another Muddy Waters blues-stomp groove, and Dylan blurring history again in his depiction of the titular Romans "in their sharkskin suits, bowties and buttons, with their high-top shoes" – neatly underlining the gangsterism of imperial invaders of all eras.

Deceptively uneasy listening at times, but worth the effort.

Thanks to her faithful for enabling the rest of us to enjoy Correa's gauzy, melodic dream-pop.

[Lead singer] Justin Young assert[s] that he's "too self-absorbed" to be the voice of a generation. This wouldn't be so bad if the music didn't follow suit, with lumpen punk-rock grinds and spartan guitar-rock trudges.

Bouger Le Monde offers a celebration of life.

On their sixth album, Calexico finally sound more like a band with memorable, individual songs, than a project dedicated to creating audio soundscapes evocative of the American southwest.

While there's some interesting moments to be found here, for the most part Centipede Hz is a fatiguing experience.

This alliance with The Orb is positive for both parties, Perry providing a tighter rein on their tendency to meander, while they furnish him with a different terrain to his usual dub skanks.

On [Cat Power] Marshall has changed direction yet again, abandoning her soul charm for something much less appealing.... But her natural grace shines through on "3, 6, 9"... and "Ruin."