Although Flat White Moon is a serene glance into the past it unfortunately lacks the innovation that makes what inspired it so great, and would be much improved if we could hear Field Music’s individual voice alongside their musical heroes.

ODAOTWMA will do little to challenge the Sheffield band's twee reputation, but the record crosses genres with far greater experimentation than they're known for.

This lo-fi, devil-may-care air translates well to record, with A Season in Hull capturing and accentuating the band’s characteristic camaraderie and casual, Jonathan Richman-esque charm.... Admittedly, the stripped-down setup has drawbacks too, leaving the material with nowhere to hide and exposing an uncharacteristic patchiness.

There are times when this commitment to innovation and experiment costs Los Angeles its ability to hold the listener’s attention. .... Even so, Los Angeles proves that each artist on the record is a visionary in their own right, as they push the boundaries of the past whilst looking to the future.

Most of Popular Music built around thrilling tracks like the classic punk-tinted Membership Man, in which Green mocks a ‘right wing cruiser’, and the frantic masochism of Electricity. Late-album track Beautifully Skint unwisely slows the pace down, proving that LIFE are best when they stay angry.

Tegan and Sara colour inside the lines a little too much (Stop Desire and B/W/U are shiny, forgettable filler, and Hang On To The Night is a damp squib closer) for their latest to really zing.

The album sways more into the meandering rather than the conclusive – perhaps an observation on the unpredictability of life itself, but nevertheless leaving things feeling somewhat stunted.

The lengthy tracks here lose their momentum and oeuvre, dragging wearily toward the end. But when it's good, it’s great – similarly lengthy tracks in the first half, Wandering Through and Our Song feel varied and forceful enough to keep us on our toes.

The biggest problem with this album is its bloated mid-section, which drags down the commendable peaks of its opening and closing segments.

Bunky Becky Birthday Boy is a return to the immediacy that made Sleigh Bells’ name – but you wonder whether they had to sacrifice quite so much of the nuance of their last couple of albums in the process.

There is little to separate the tracks from each other, resulting in a batch of unmemorable songs. Lionheart promised much, but fails to capture the imagination in the way McEntire’s previous work has.

In what should have been a return to form for Lupe Fiasco, Drogas Light falls short, instead feeling too rushed and confused to make for any kind of anticipation for the rest of the trilogy that is still to come.

The album’s nitid production weighs down heavily, so much so it induces a fair few flinching moments.

Across the 20 songs there's a wobbly unevenness, fairly split between unlistenable horribleness like Secretary (imagine Gedge wailing “I only get through to your secretary” over and over, and be grateful we’ve saved you from hearing it) and taut US hardcore influenced indie rock like Fordland and Broken Bow.

JT’s smug family life is the single thread uniting this 16-track jumble of songs that swing between batshit and bland, and romance comes in two forms: soppy odes, or sloppy humblebrags about shagging.

Lyrically and production-wise, Falling, bar a couple of moments, fails to catch the imagination in a crowded field.

The band’s third full-length outing Darkness Rains marches onward down their trodden path and it’s a shame that the stance they take at this crossroads of rock isn’t bold enough to establish a demonic bazaar or make significant strides in any given direction.

Goldblum doesn’t bring nearly enough of his own unique persona to the performance; his band is competent without making any particularly interesting choices, and the only memorable moment comes from Sarah Silverman’s affable guest appearance.

It tries to cover too much ground on its pilgrimage to novelty and ends up lost on its way. Journeys have a spirit and a narrative, and this has nothing of the sort.

Last Building Burning is background music that has a soap-slick grip on our attention.

Dry and lacklustre instrumentation does nothing to compensate for an unshakable one-dimensionality.

Heavy Meta is most likeable when he directs those high standards inwards. ... More often though, Gallo is on the offensive, and his technically commensurate and frequently enjoyable garage rock gets entangled in a scornfulness that becomes a little uncomfortable.

What is said is interesting, and delivered with a fiery ferocity worthy of the howling big cat on the cover, but too often the dissonant noise serves to exemplify the disconnect between the engaging ideas and the impotence of their presentation.

There won’t be many other mainstream pop albums this year that ricochet quite as boldly between styles or pool inspiration from as wide a range of sources. ... But we can’t go any further before we make one thing clear: Sacred Hearts Club contains some of the worst music we’ve heard all year.

There are times when the keyboards and lyrics gel (like they do on Moments and Whatnot, easily the best thing here) but for the most part, it feels like a pedestrian Morrissey album (without, of course, the taint of dubious politics).

There is probably a message buried somewhere within Femejism, but unfortunately it just comes across as lacklustre and contrived.