For a debut album it’s accomplished stuff, though like the Manics before them Anthems is not without its stodgier moments.

There’s a solid groove to most tracks, with no digressions to the Court of the Crimson King, or democratic opportunities for weaker members of the commune to sing.

It has the feeling of a band progressing in their own rights, under their own terms.

It's not an album fans of Prekop's signature drowsy vocals and woozy choruses are going to warm to instantly. Not that it's entirely unapproachable--far from it, there are luminous passages and lulling, almost cartoonish refrains to be found among the synthetic scree--merely unexpected.

On one hand, this [move to a much smaller, California-based independent label] represents a gentle lowering of expectation. On the other, however, it's given Bilal space to explore what he does free of the stifling expectations of a label trying to work out what they can sell, and to whom.

While Blood Red Shoes displayed a more erratic style back in 2010 on second album Fire Like This, this third feels formulaic – highly thought-out and polished.

Sigh No More sees four-piece Mumford and Sons strike out for equally distinctive territory, carving out a mostly winning--if nigglingly naive--debut that deserves an audience to match its impressive convictions.

Paisley's at the top of his game – but he's capable of better than this.

Crisis Works is accomplished, polished in all the right ways (it sounds good without the grit at the heart of the songs becoming obscured), but perhaps lacks the soul that a musician's primary project might be instilled with.

A little of this niggling frustration sticks, but for the most part Exister subsequently reveals itself as a more positive, uplifting record than its predecessors, adding something new to the band's eight-strong studio album canon.

As methods go it can be messy, but it also throws up some interesting hybrids.

The album unfolds an immeasurable amalgam of genres and inspirations, all fused together in a diamond-encrusted bubble of futuristic, day-glo hip hop. The energy is palpable, the pace rarely lets up, and personality pervades throughout.

It's perhaps a bit long, and there may be too much repetition for some – but persist and Drokk is quite the engrossing, and sporadically discomforting, listen.

All things considered, Gold Dust works as an introduction to Tori Amos, though an imperfect one. It should also persuade a few lapsed fans to get reacquainted.

If this were an EP, it would be captivating--Everdell's voice is certainly commanding--but, spread out over 11 songs, it loses some of its hold.

This third studio album struts in on a crest of rollicking beats and wearing the kind of snarl that even in this new century is likely to delight fans of balls-out, raucous rock‘n’roll.

No-one will be disappointed by a Glee album which includes "Don’t Stop Believin’"--their chart-eating cover of the Petra Haden arrangement of the Journey song; or "Alone," or "Gold Digger." But it’s a shame there wasn’t room for their Winehouse-approved upgrade of "Rehab;" or the stripped-back swing at Bel Biv Devoe’s "Poison," as performed by the show’s all-male vocal group Acafellas. These would probably have lifted the second half of the CD, which loses some of the sparkle and joy once the barn-storming "Somebody to Love" has finished.

The Betrayed is not an underachieving record. It sweats hunger and ambition, and while it’s not flawless, it’s a success on their own, aggressively populist terms.

Such is Sitek’s influence on the record that it takes you a little while to get to know the real Miranda. While initial listens find her songs somewhat opaque, they gradually open up to reveal their emotional depths.

Its most successful examples retain some Radiohead DNA, but reconstituted into a new form.

They have delivered another album which is at least 70% corking. It's just that they're much better when on stage, playing these tracks while scaring the life out of you.

Think of it as a solid foundation to build something more unique from and it's a triumph; or, better still, don't think at all and let it tickle several sonic taste-buds in a single sitting.

It is dreamy and languid, warm and inviting in turn; a soulful work by a talented young singer-songwriter that hints at a bright and beautiful future.

While there's much to marvel at, not everything convinces.

After this striking highlight ["Stick to My Side"] Black Noise glides into a slight lull that persists through the Underworld-like fidget of "Satellite Snyper" and the disappointingly anonymous electro house of "Behind the Stars," which shows that when Weber promotes rhythm ahead of melody the effect can be underwhelming. It’s with the album’s final trio that things return to the high standard of the first half.

It's a knowing retread of what works and what's expected--but boy, that's no problem.

As has been noted before, bands such as We Are the Ocean currently exist in a crowded market. Maybe Today, Maybe Tomorrow should give them a firm foothold in it.

It’s all quite understated and beautifully played, and any shortcomings in the material are more than made up for by Drever’s peerless singing.