It's dumb for sure, but knowingly so, and its incessantly upbeat vibes do provide something of a lift.

GEM is far from a masterpiece, but it's the work of an intriguing young artist still shaping a distinctive voice. It's hard to know if the pleasure is in listening to it, or imagining where she might go next.

Leaves listeners sadly wondering where a less-troubled Amy might have been able to take her incredible talent.

Stone packs all the power you expect, but her control misfires enough for some of these tracks to never quite click as they might.

Repeated listens to Let's Go Eat the Factory reveal a paucity of the pithy lyric and classic riff on which he's [Pollard] built a deserved reputation.

When Melua reveals this sensitive side she's amongst the best artists in her easy-on-the-ear field, and she could yet surpass several of her own idols. But The House contains enough forgettable filler to suggest she's some way off delivering a career-defining canon classic.

Though not without merit, the overriding sensation is one of empty melodrama.

It's a palate-cleanser for sure, and whatever lies next for Everett, you have to hope it's a little more emphatic than what's on offer here.

Though clearly as replete with imagination as they are with personnel, Broken Social Scene would benefit from the attentions of a less indulgent producer.

By the end of these 17 tracks the head is heavy with images of the Smash robots battle-rapping against a crew from whatever planet The Clangers call home.

There’s no real ‘wow factor’ to Talé despite its star guests. But it’s a loveable enough effort.

La Liberación is so fixated on exhibiting its sense of fun that it forgets how to finish ideas in the process.

Martin is just too instinctively amiable to muster the passionate furies that animate the best of his genre, and too quick to deflate whatever momentum he does gather with a joke.

This utterly unnecessary but partially satisfying "complete" (says the sticker on the sleeve) singles collection manages to fall at the first hurdle by not including their first (and best) 12" from debut album Definitely Maybe, the shameless cocaine elegy Columbia.

The wooziness is reflected in Adam’s voice, which is whisper-soft, quiet and nasal, like a man whose parents sleep lightly and have to get up early for work. All of which makes Ocean Eyes a frustrating listen, or an enchanting one, depending on your stomach for meadow-skipping whimsy.

Harcourt is a singer of uncommon charm, and Lustre is a welcome reminder that when he's on top of his game--which he is for roughly half the record--you'll want for little else.

There's just too much noise here, and not enough cohesion, for a singular identity to sing clearly.

This album’s calling card, Sea Change, starts so well that the rest of the album fades in its shadow.

An impressive and varied second album, but one underpinned by noticeable troubles.

"Quite listenable" sums up most of Future History.

Ross and Reznor receive A grades for effort, and commendations for their execution of this most-malevolent of soundtracks; but Dragon Tattoo is such an exhausting listen that one might well switch to the music from Arthur Christmas before the fine, Ferry-penned finale comes into view.

What emerges from such silliness is the pleasing sense that the duo had a blast making this record. Listening to it is also fun at times, but just as often it's damned hard work.

Yet, something's missing. An emotional engagement, perhaps, because they sometimes seem positively embarrassed to play from the heart.

This is all grandeur without any grace.

Ultimately, despite its makers' impressive credentials, this debut long-player is destined for the homes of listeners with more Basshunter in their collection than Burial.

Their sense of adventure seemingly knows no bounds, yet when, after six leisurely minutes of jazz-rock noodling, 11.11 suddenly segues into a passage of Cuban folk singing backed by a lone drummer, the strong whiff of pretension might hang rather too heavy in the air for some tastes.

If there's a problem here it's how personal this album is, how bleak and heartbroken its protagonist appears. This is not music romanticising heartbreak, but the very sound of heartbreak itself.

For the most part this album, while as slickly produced as the classic pop it references, only faintly smoulders without igniting.