While each of the band's EPs were like short, sharp gut-shots, Vile Child feels diluted in comparison, and as such is a record that shows plenty of promise, but not one that will change lives.

In short, on Hymns there’s something close to an excellent EP in amongst some of the very worst things ever to bear the Bloc Party name.

‘Small And Silver’ is a welcome break around the halfway mark, when their stock in trade is replaced with unsettling bass and an off-beat production. However, it’s only a hint of a promise to explore new territories and doesn’t go far enough to vary the album.

It ultimately falls between two stools - not giving a true portrayal of a Villagers live show, and failing to mix-up tracks enough to justify this ‘re-imagining’ of older material.

The music lacks the meditative quality of similar works like those by Philip Glass. In place of this, tracks like ‘Sunshimmers’ and ‘The Amazon: The Highlands’ produce a warmness that makes the album an agreeable experience, an experience that does not ensnare the listener’s attention.

In their bid to capture the essence of their bluesy, garage rock, Cage the Elephant have effectively managed to lose the quirky personality they once had, and whilst Tell Me I'm Pretty is far from a homogeneous record, the tracks do have a tendency to bleed into one another, particularly on repeat listens.

There's a great Rick Ross album in here somewhere. If only the boss had abstained from some of his extravagant habits and used his editing sheers more cuttingly.

If Deenmamode tempers his idiosyncrasies just a little, allowing his music to breathe better, the results can be even more profound.

It’s clear that Coldplay retain their thirst, their passion for making music--it’s merely a shame that it results in such polite noises.

YACHT have consciously positioned themselves as intelligent conceptualists, not wanting to adhere to what's expected of them, and that makes for an interesting amalgam of deep themes set to brazenly outlandish pop styles.

Like acid (which, again, he never touched) this record is illuminating, often inaccessible, often scary and most people would hate it. But it's still one hell of a trip.

Ultimately, as a standalone record, Nothing feels somewhat incomplete.

Yes, the production is razor sharp, the beats are skewed and often very loud which makes them feel important, but in reality, it's all a façade; an image.

Hurts have always been pretty unabashed about their mainstream ambitions, which is fine, but as they explore them further, it becomes easier to strip away the affectations and see them for what they truly are: a cheesy pop band.

The real issue is that in a genre filled with imitators, many whom Deerhunter no doubt inspired, we need a bit more bang for our buck. When the oddities on this album ride so high they should have let complete weirdness take over.

Like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, La Di Da Di too often feels like a soulless automaton tearing around on autopilot. If only it had a heart.

It's a record which feels like a grower but never manages to click.

Sadly much of the rest of Music Complete is by-the-numbers New Order, and revisionary as opposed to revolutionary.

Even an all-star cast can't save Caracal from its restrained atmosphere and overly polished production

The whole set comes off like a collection of Future songs--with some Drake verses clumsily tacked on as an afterthought.

Many fans will still be happy with the change that Beauty Behind The Madness has brought but some will surely feel the album has nothing to offer except immediate accessibility for the short attention of the mainstream.

The whole album somewhat lacks the same energy, punch and pure magic that The Black Keys have.

Like a lot of their back catalogue, Keep The Village Alive is an enjoyable and solid, if unadventurous rock record anchored, as always, by that tremendous voice.

Artistic development and risk-taking is to be applauded. With risk, though, comes the possibility of mis-steps. Sadly, here, this is what it feels like Tamaryn's done.

No, No, No is as sweet but as filling as an after dinner mint, and sadly it's probably dinner this album should accompany.

This sense of rejuvenation is somewhat stunted by the inclusion of some Fratellis standards. The results range from the exhilarating 'Baby Don't You Lie To Me!' to the tediously dull plod of 'Rosanna'.

The only reasonable offering on 'How Does It Feel' is the multi-layered and kaleidoscopic lead single, 'Painted'. Elsewhere, it's the kind of standard by-the-numbers electro-pop that's likely to soundtrack your next visit to the local department store.

Lianne La Havas has grown up, branched out, written some devastatingly honest songs, and presented a highly competent album.

Despite the overarching quality of the album, its continual, dirge-like range of instrumentation can become a little stifling and songs risk blending into one another.

Overall The Secret History (Volume 1) is a well constructed and complete portrait of an early Pavement, but with the release's main audience being the avid fan (and with all these tracks available on 2002's 'Luxe and Redux' reissue of 'Slanted...') this leaves only the mad and the keen with a turntable who'll truly want it.

As a primer, it's pretty effective and the performances are occasionally absorbing, but it's hard to imagine anyone other than the most ardent completist getting excited about it.

It's not completely unfair to say that Déjà Vu won't be joining the pantheon of great albums any time soon.

We really want to like Lantern for its originality; its bravery and its attempt to grasp a genuine uninhibited euphoria that isn't easy pull off. Sadly it just misses the mark way too often and leaves you with fleeting glimpses of what could have been a very exciting album.

The plethora of guest vocalists (J'Danna, BIXBY, Okmalumkoolkat, Heavy D. & the Boyz) means things stay relatively fresh, but more often than not, it's not enough.

They've birthed a catchy and danceable summer record which shows plenty of promise but falls short of something great.

These 10 tracks continually buckle under the weight of Flowers' torrid lyrics, mind-numbing cliches, and woefully derivative song structures.

It all feels a bit too calculated at times, though when he ventures into the realms of floral Kinks-y psych pop on 'Mystic Mile' or the slack Beach-Boys-via-Mac-Demarco style surf of 'Never Gonna Hold You Like I Do', there's a promising glimmer of the discrete and intrepid artist he could be.

The album is littered with so many clunky lines and cliched conspiracy talk it almost becomes laughable, but the main problem is with the narrative itself which makes next to no sense at all.... Luckily, a good sizeable chunk of this album is good enough to stand alone, stripped of the high-minded concepts.

Denmark's Kölsch repeats the trick of 2013's '1977', hanging on the coattails of the EDM set with a less extravagant set of fireworks but with plenty of instantly recognisable and effectively crafted signposts and set pieces.

The songs that do aim to be bigger however, simply don't stand-up against their previous work or the mellower parts of the album.

As a collected body of work At.Long.Last.A$AP is far from dreadful, but taken as a whole it lacks the elements of depth and star quality that--having set the bar incredibly high with his debut--many expect from A$AP Rocky.

The upped slickness does mean the album offers little in the way of the provocative, though, so you may be disappointed by Breakage's leniency, and a wrath that's merely implied.

Multi-Love undoubtedly reveals Unknown Mortal Orchestra's willingness to reinvent and innovate, yet it's still beset by some of the difficulties that have featured in their previous work.

Producer MJ (of Hookworms fame) and the band intended to strip things back and become more economical with their sound. While they certainly have achieved this, in this instance it has arguably starved the songs and disallowed them the space to breathe.

It's a microcosm for the muddled thinking that holds Ludaversal back.

With Polar Bear being fully paid-up jazzers, there's more of an understanding and utilisation of dynamics, which add to the pervading mood, yet the overall feeling is one of ennui.

Diamandis is using her music to discover who she really is. That said, by the end of Froot, we're still none the wiser.

The Scene Between is a happy remedy to a cynical industry and scary, un-groovy world. One listen and you'll be transported back to your teens--when some sunshine and a little dance would cure all.

A blunt genre deserves a blunt assessment so, for what it's worth: in reflecting his mixtape interests, Brodinksi is well on his way to mastering one of the year's most disposable albums.

Soft Control is a carefully crafted debut that comes from a very real place and shows what can be achieved when you keep pushing forward.

Although there's nothing exactly groundbreaking here, Policy packs plenty of personality and attitude.

At times the lyrical component can leave you cold.

Asymmetrical and pitched up and down at any given moment, Miscontinuum is an unwavering data stream whose moments of relative clarity still press on your temples like a tightening vice.

A bizarre little record, Music And Words was seemingly kicked off in 2007. With a seven-year gestation, it would be nigh on impossible to maintain a full sense of coherency, but the twin artists just about manage it.

The speed-rock splendour of ‘Lowtalkin’’ put to one side, the band’s career prospects and longevity probably lie in the strained emotional hypnotism of the more muted, more self-conscious moments.

Since that reboot 12 years ago, they don’t really know what they want to be. So they try all things, and only succeed at some.

For the most part, though, this seems like a step in the wrong direction: a Nicki Minaj album from somebody who’s thoroughly fed up of being Nicki Minaj.

While there’s nothing particularly original or ground-breaking about this debut, CATB is a band that’s mastered the art of writing tunes that connect with an audience, and at a time when commercial rock is, apparently, at a particularly low ebb, that could serve them very well.

It’s the ninth studio album to bear the Pumpkins brand, and probably the seventh that wouldn’t find a single track making most fans’ side-of-a-C90 best-of. But it delivers what it promises: songs by Billy Corgan that sound enough like the ones you recall loving as a teenager.

Serious though he may intend to be, through the combination of Williamson’s Mr. Angry rants and Andrew Fearn’s tinny keyboards, Sleaford Mods do have a tendency to sound like a bit of a novelty.

In general Sirens is listenable and catchy, only it plays to an unexciting scene that is largely turning (like the victims of a Gorgon themselves) stagnant.

Eight songs, many of which feel too long; recorded in eight cities that don’t really leave their unique mark on the sonic side of the experience; each with a guest who is, at best, an apparition dancing in the shadows of the spot-lit stars; yielding eight largely forgettable arrangements that won’t make a dent on any fan’s all-time top 10.

The songs are largely beautiful, the vocal performance is mostly impeccable and the recording generally captivating, but so was its predecessor.... not quite as good live album.

It’d be interesting to hear what this band comes up with if they stepped away from a doomy signature sound, but right now this is an assured album and a satisfying follow-up.

Swift’s vocals are triumphant, soaring, wild throughout--she is a fantastic singer, and 1989 does showcase her ability to attack a track of any style and claim it as her own, even if the ultimate results feel like a compromise had to be found to make the final cut.

This is hardly music to quicken the pulse and there’s no escaping the sense of sameyness over the album’s 40 minutes.

The mask of the brooding troubadour doesn’t quite fit: the LP is marred by below-par, uninspired vocals and rudimentary lyrics.

While the sheer breadth of Wait ‘Til Night can’t fail to impress, the album lacks certain cohesiveness. That said, there’s an honest creativity here that ripples through proceedings.

There are some surprising hooks amongst predominantly ugly arrangements, and its ambition is admirable, but Plowing… proves woefully lacking in coherency, and fails as its makers’ next evolution.

It’s by no means a bad record, but won’t be the trap pioneer’s most memorable either.

The ’80s sci-fi pastiche meets early-’00s girl power wears thin over 11 tracks, but there are still moments for the dancefloor.

On the whole Encyclopedia is a bit of a misanthropic drag.

Clocking in at almost 72 minutes, Sukierae is a bloated, if lulling, listen.

Accomplished again, then, and greatly engrossing throughout. It’s just lacking that crucial aspect of singular appeal to stand aside from a fiercely competitive pack.

With more attention paid to plucked triads and syncopation than packing any sort of resolute punch, This Is All Yours just can’t see the wood for the trees.

From opener ‘Cheap Talk’ onwards, this is never anything but the purest DFA1979, served flaming hot. Which was just fine back when--but it’s definitely a disappointment to not hear the band even hinting at an expansion of their stripped-raw sound, just deep-groove bass and heavily hit drums.

This is principally a marriage of simple, forlorn fretwork and O’s deliciously otherworldly vocals: impossibly, she manages to sound simultaneously seductive and indifferent; emotive yet also strangely detached.

The sugar is here, but teeth will get itchier.

They’re worth the minor missteps along the way.

Lyrics like “I’ll stay young to be saved” (‘Be A Kid’) come across as self-indulgent and frontman Sam McTrusty’s reedy vocals get lost in menacing tracks like ‘I Am An Animal’.

Drenched in trademark rosy glow, it’s all tender and consolatory.

The pair still aren’t in that DFA1979 category of combatively brilliant, just yet.

EX will neither enliven classicists nor win new fans. We need challenged by this artist, who normally thrives on doing exactly that.

While at times lacking in lyrical insight, Fink’s ability to maintain an atmosphere, to build up gentle, soothing bubbles of sound, is largely unmatched.

The undeniable influence of Krautrock in the drone, dirge and motorik beats interspersed with passages of ambiance make for a deliciously diffused, shimmering, summery psyche salad.

Peter Katis’s production can at times strangle the band’s live thrash.

So the bleakly beautiful is still there, but the flashes are sporadic.

There’s nothing inherently bad, but the whole venture feels akin to buying a Lamborghini and then driving it in a way that will maximise fuel efficiency.

Playful and melodic, Clash suggests that you take this on a Norfolk country ramble ASAP.

Meteorites is the sound of a once-great band bursting into flames on re-entry.

Older, wiser, still rocking: Mould’s sounding as electric as ever.

There’s a lack of precision, with a flabby middle section finding ‘Begin To Begin’, for example, looping aimlessly. Yet when it hits home, Reality Testing more than justifies Lone’s tag as one of the most flexible, dextrous producers in the game.

Apart from perhaps three exceptions, most of these tracks get lost in their own elegant, introspective and lovelorn swirl of tedious easy listening.

Although the material demonstrates Vek’s undoubted talent, Luck can’t quite match our hopes--or, indeed, the quality of its predecessors.

Hardly essential, then, but Unplugged is a fans-pleasing release that serves as a reminder that songs with great longevity needn’t always be played loudly.

With an energy and ambience that ebbs and flows in waves rather than exploding in peaks and crescendos, this is edgy, kaleidoscopic lounge music for the Digital Age.

Separation is writ large across the themes of Ghost Stories--and knowing what came next in Martin’s personal life, perhaps that was always to be expected. What’s not is just how lifeless so much of this material is, how instantly forgettable these songs are.

Where previous Colourmusic albums were spiky, unpredictable things, this set often feels content just to wallow in an amorphous sonic soup.