This self-titled album is never less than pleasant, but only rarely is it truly memorable.

Tennis may have sailed a great distance to bring about the inspiration for Cape Dory, but a similarly epic voyage of composition would have yielded far better results here. As it stands, it's remarkably unremarkable.

If at times the impression left is too breezy (the elephant in the career that is You’re So Vain sounds almost embarrassed to be here), at others it’s extremely potent.

Kid Sister is certainly on the right tracks, but Ultraviolet is a sadly patchy affair.

You could argue that A Joyful Noise is the album Madonna should be brave enough to make. But it might also be the case that it's the album that Gossip should have been brave enough not to.

Ecstatics proves to be only half the album it thought itself capable of being.

A few surprisingly wishy-washy string-synths aside, it is, as always, hugely impressive but disappointingly cold and forbidding.

It's just that there's a bit of an identity void at the heart of the thing, a lack of personality.

There's still the charm and energy and all the qualities that made us fall in love with The Go! Team in the first place. But it's like a child who's recently learned one song: cute the first few times, but even the most lovable things eventually get tiresome.

Whether Goodbye Lullaby was all a tad over thought, or whether she's just holding back, the finished product falls significantly short of Avril Lavigne's own capabilities.

Second album Waking Up is a set of polished arrangements so middle of the road they make Snow Patrol sound like Animal Collective.

If you're drawn to Battles' nimble melodic turmoil and general musical messiness, you may find some of these electro excursions to be hard work.

There was a question mark over whether Hamilton's muse would have been better served by adopting a new moniker to go with this band. It's not a question of him stepping away from an impressive legacy, rather giving him the freedom to fully explore his creative urges.

As it stands, the rich resources Acheson has at his disposal are sadly compromised and the orchestra is indeed hidden rather than exposed.

He's delivered a sincerely meant yet curiously staid and pedestrian tribute.

Unlike, say, Memory Tapes though, Bundick doesn’t burn straight for a memorable hook, the pop elements of Causers of This trickling slowly from a frame that’s shaped primarily upon forms usually spied and assimilated by artists operating in more dance-savvy circles.

Portamento is simplicity redux, to the point of composing songs that sound too alike, and too like the last album.

The consistently diverting changes in style across the album are fine--the wonky 80s shoulder-pad pop of The Outsider is nothing like anything else here, for example. But over 13 songs of Sparks-voice and many similar staccato piano riffs listeners may feel bludgeoned by Marina and her slightly overbearing presence.

Remember Who You Are is the sound of a band not so much rediscovering their past as recycling it.

His improved state of mind, and the superior production on some of the tracks, does bring the music on occasion perilously close to the RnB blandness to which this is presumably supposed to provide an alternative.

Mojo sees Petty steep himself in Americana again, adopt a live-in-the-studio feel, and generally rock out. The results are initially quite perky, as the band crash and charge through songs, but after a couple of plays everything becomes rather dull.

Player Piano is a musical jacket potato: satisfying but never amazing.

There's nothing radical here, but revolution isn't all it's cracked up to be.

As it stands, cumbersome arrangements and a tendency to coast weigh heavy – diluting the finished article from one of real, enduring merit to a patchy, only sporadically wonderful album.

Marley fanatics will surely welcome the appearance of this release, but the fact of the matter is that it pales in comparison to the other live material already available; for a truly representative artefact, stick to Live!, Babylon by Bus, or Live at the Roxy.

While the other songs, intelligent pieces of art that they are, may intrigue, it's disappointing that only one song here compels us to really feel anything.

It's actually quite hard to decide whether Complete Me is a dreadful pile of over-processed, overloaded frippery, or if it's a work of genius. It could purely come down to whether you've got the stomach for it.

All told this is a decent effort, but one to approach with caution if you're after something a bit different.