At one extreme, you sense Anathema want to be taken seriously (in the way that, say, the aforementioned Mogwai are taken seriously); unfortunately, however, there are times they can sound a bit like Deacon Blue or Tom Odell, which is not to be wished for.

Lead track The Love Within opens the record and remains a bizarre mess; Kele Okereke's distinct vocal parting for a mostly one-note synth line that causes a genuine flinch. All is perhaps not lost: Fortress is a somewhat pretty, minimal electro ballad while Different Drugs speaks for the entire record; flirting with a series of ideas before simply fading out of sight and mind. We expected so much more.

The baggy mid-section gives over to pared back singer-songwriter fare that reigns it all in, the record’s bright flame burning out rather too fast.

While it's absolutely fine that he's not interested in making punk music anymore (or at least for the time being), hearing him run through the blues and rock repertoire of the 60s and 70s offers absolutely nothing that can't be achieved by just going and listening to all those great, original, records.

Sure, Graham’s voice is powerful; not Levi Stubbs powerful, perhaps, but muscular and versatile nonetheless. It’s a shame, though, that even its most melismatic hints of adventure feel carefully rehearsed; slickly produced beyond any sense of risk or catharsis.

Overall, there's a real sense that La Roux is on autopilot, resulting in a ‘samey’ sound that struggles to hold the listener’s attention.

The charm of Bleached's earlier, scattier records (Ride Your Heart, Welcome to the Worms) are nowhere to be seen, replaced by a glossy pop-rock sound that would have been fashionable a few years ago, but has surely passed its prime.

The record is resolute in its pacing, maintaining a continuous bpm between songs but never gaining driving force from the bass as the best disco does. Nothing ever feels like it’s at risk.

Nothing is broken with their sound, but the album feels like an extension of their previous work rather than a progression of it.

There’s still too much filler here to warrant an unqualified thumbs up.

It’s just a shame their debut feels muddied, rather than fuelled, by glimpses of their potential.

Unable to elicit more than a shrug for most of its runtime, the record is just one more passable pop album in a year that really didn’t need another.

The band took all the wrong lessons from the success of their last album, and doubled down on the syrup. Turns out too much sugar really can make you sick.

While there are certainly some decent enough ideas to be enjoyed here, this is ultimately a rather flat listen that doesn't challenge anywhere near enough as it appears to intend to; a real wasted opportunity.

Like a horror flick that looks good but never really scares, The Capsule remains a concept crying out for a narrative.

It's actually not a terrible record, really, but it's frustratingly complacent after two outstanding albums.

Unfortunately, Olly Alexander’s first solo outing as Years & Years doesn’t quite hit the mark, but even though they may be few and far between, there are still some glimmers of potential on Night Call.

Savior seems suffocated by the very strict parameters that have been drawn for her, by herself and others.

If creating something uncomfortable was what Butler was hoping to achieve with In Amber, then it certainly succeeds in its mission. Unfortunately, though, it doesn’t achieve much else.

We’ve seen more than enough spark between the two on previous efforts to know that there’s a future for them; it’s just a shame they chose to rail against their best instincts this time round.

She pirouettes into the upper echelons of her register during Rooting for You, conveying the affection and apprehension contained in the line 'you’re the only thing I’ve ever truly known'. The low scoops on Hell to the Liars are another, as if Reid’s digging in her heels to stand firmly against 'the righteous ones'. But these are rare instances of genuine feeling amongst what otherwise feels like palatable but empty theatrics.

Alter Ego should make meteoric impact. Instead, it lands with a dull thud. The album doesn’t feel like an artistic statement so much as lab-assembled and A&R-curated; sterile and unwilling to take risks.

TMBG’s 20th album, I LIke Fun, doesn’t mess with the template too much. If you come to this record knowing only the TMBG song used as the soundtrack to Malcolm in the Middle, you’ll get a hearty helping of everything there is to like--and, yes dislike.

Stiff is better when it's slower, but it still feels like riding a rollercoaster that's all climb and no twist.

The beats are the only thing going anywhere on Stranger, while the vocals seem as drunk and rambling as ever, devoid of memorable similes or even coherent subject matter.

Blossom's debut record isn't short on marketable material, but its impact could certainly have been enhanced by a more ruthless pruning.

Their problem is there are other bands doing this kind of thing better (Black Angels, we’re looking at you).

Too many of the tracks dissolve into an atmosphere-for-the-sake-of-it sludge, yanking you into consciousness only every once in a while.