The range of influences on the album ensures this is a rather uneven listen, unhelped by the cast of vocalists.

'Mauve' isn't a bad album. It's competently made, it's mixed pretty well. It's done well. But it's been done before, and better.

While all the elements are there it seems far too eager to drift into not only the background but also into itself, with it turning into musical wallpaper and into one, long indistinguishable track with worrying ease.

Last year’s ‘Long Black Cars’ was already leaning in the direction of old school rock ‘n’ roll, but they fully embrace it here, and all the better for it (save for a few songs that could’ve done with less guitar solos, more Larkin-via-Cocker observations).

For the majority of tracks, they succeed in their goals. It’s only when looking back at the whole picture, somehow the pieces don’t quite appear to fit.

Resort allows their promise to be condensed into a single release, and if a debut album follows soon, the momentum could take them to big things.

If it could be more dynamic, there’s no doubting the precision of the songwriting, as each track digs its way into your brain, lodging itself in the shadows.

Anybody yearning for reinvention or experimentation is going to be let down, but the fact that Building a Beginning remains so in thrall to Lidell’s soul heroes suggests that perhaps such drastic action wouldn’t be a good idea anyway.

A lot of it, like album closer ‘Homesick’ featuring none--other than Coldplay’s Chris Martin, feels overthought and calculated. It’s a shame because those moments where Dua Lipa truly shines are those moments where she was allowed to just be herself.

There are fleeting moments to enjoy. But while aiming for something epic in scope, the five-piece have again delivered an album that will keep wheels turning for another few years.

It’s sharp and serious but without the navel-gazing feel that sometimes makes ‘Appalling Human’ a difficult one to truly get stuck into.

While at times ‘Violet…’ shows Lana’s fine lyrical prowess, quotes primed for Tumblr captions, most of the time it’s more sixth former trying their best to impress at their first slam poetry event.

On ‘Baw Baw Black Sheep’, Rejjie Snow reaches for a more conceptual take on his laid-back sound, but stumbles on the execution.

The instrumentals are less head-on, giving way to subtleties that are new for WWPJ as intricate guitar lines meander alongside the vocal melodies, the touchpoint with the rest of the band’s back catalogue. The less dense sound swings between lightening the tone and turning it far more melancholy.

It’s either aural comfort food, or all just a bit, well, obvious. It’s written to a formula for sure. But it’s one that’s served them well, nevertheless.

There are plenty of good ideas across ‘Suckerpunch’. It just could’ve done with fewer bad ones.

Rkives doesn’t shed any light on Rilo Kiley, there’s no standout defining track that was flippantly consigned to a b-side or the vaults. Instead, it’s a collection which provides more satisfaction than surprise.

Winding orchestral flights propel ‘Innocent Weight’, in part redeeming an effort that covers little in the way of new ground, while timely lyrical takes command attention yet lack the frequency to shake off neighbouring songs sinking under their own unwieldy mass.

For a group whose best moments are when they teeter on just about every edge imaginable, it's just... boring.

The first half is exciting, accomplished and compelling--but then it wanders absent-mindedly into nondescript territory after the midway point and doesn't navigate its way back home.

Much like that fancy sports car, Turn Blue is big, bombastic and very well made. Just, at points, a teensy bit ostentatious.

White Hot Moon is unassuming. It doesn’t start out or end with a defining statement but somewhere along the ride, the grind of day-to-day life is drowned out in a synthesis of reflection and fuzzy warmth.

Foo Fighters’ ninth is, then, more interesting than one might’ve expected.

Consider it a curious concept explored by two-thirds of the group that perhaps shouldn't distract you from revisiting 'The Grind Date'.

All in all, it’s a melodic, sprawling record to wig-out to; and one that means that Clear Shot hits the mark indeed.

What seems to work best--in the fact that it stands out from other pop-punk solo artists--is the more hypnotic, vintage cuts.

Nothing within the album paves way for the future--instead, it feels like an exercise in honouring the past.

This is an album that asks for patience, and only on occasion is it duly rewarded.

On the whole, the album makes for difficult listening and it's hard to engage with.

At the end of The National Health, you won't be disappointed, but you won't be itching for more.

On the one hand, Brutalism feels less bloated than any of its predecessors, and a number of sharp production touches ensure that some of its tracks are excellent. ... On the other hand, the album is missing some of The Drums’ lo-fi charm.

An accomplished debut but surely only the mere beginnings of a promising career.

Like many other soundtracks, ‘Fantasy’ creates a mood - nostalgic; euphoric - and there’s a clear thread throughout that ties these thirteen tracks together. But soundtracks are also often intended to feature in the background, and ultimately ‘Fantasy’ too easily fades into it.

Undoubtedly there’s riches to be found here but the treasure map is harder to follow than ever.

There’s undeniably magical moments here, and taken in small doses it can be a cosmic voyage. All in one go though, its sheer scale can be as daunting as the vastness of what lies beyond the stratosphere.

She hasn’t managed to effectively distill her many ideas into something that sounds cohesive After seven years away, that feels like a bit of a let-down.

This is a maddened work that deals with its own conscience; a debut grappling with heavy topics and conquering them.

Branching out musically is a bold step that pays off in flashes, but the riff work in ‘Welcome to Hell’ and ‘Jailbird’’s brief guitar solo confirm that, at heart, Crocodiles are strongest with guitars in hand.

When so much of what Juanita had written for Until the Lights Fade clearly involves a folk-rock flavour, it’s a shame it wasn’t fleshed out accordingly.

Powell’s music is for sweaty, unconcerned nights of utter debauchery--the kind of whirlwind Saturday night where there’s no way you’re getting home until at least midday. This makes listening to the album as a whole a frankly exhausting experience.

‘Petrichor’ is a passion project, all about indulging the kinds of whims that don’t fit the Hawk and a Hacksaw mould. On that front, she’s succeeded.

Despite the album featuring several enjoyable moments, though, the listener is left feeling that it’s somewhat rambling and unfocused, and could possibly have benefited from the band leaving themselves more time for their ideas to gestate.

At times the record may not hang together, but it makes up for that in its colour, its audacity, and its unabashed sense of pride at giving just about anything a go.

Too True is a decent enough album and one which ends more strongly than it begins. But it isn't as good as 'Only In Dreams' and because of that, it can't help but feel a bit underwhelming.

This is a fine piece of synthpop that is a good addition to the collection of any fan of this genre.

More questions than answers, more problems than solutions, but with just enough moments of sheer brilliance to justify it as a release.

None of this feels enough to truly deserve that futuristic tag, but maybe this new set-up just needs time to find their own MO? In the meantime, we’ve got another great single to add to that hypothetical greatest hits.

Forever is just a little bit tedious, quite repetitive and by the end, unfortunately, thoroughly forgettable.

Despite some stellar production and sparkling pop moments, it feels like there’s been little evolution in the duo’s sound in the five years since ‘Another Eternity’.

These are tracks that could easily be ballads slipped into a Hot Chip record, but where there they’d be bolstered with synths and programmed beats, here they are stark and knowingly bold in their simplicity.

Glasshouse isn’t exactly groundbreaking. It could also do with being about half its mighty 17-track length.

Despite the missteps it’s What the World Needs Now’s ability to sound energised and fresh which makes it an album that you can’t dismiss.

Each track here, from the Argentinian horns and swaggering funk of ‘Angels / Your Love’ to the offbeat drumming and joyous vocals (courtesy of soul legend Charles Bradley) on ‘Grant Green’, it’s like a meticulously stitched patchwork of musical discovery.

There are some cringey bits, the title track relying a little too much on well-trodden punk tropes, the vocals ‘Still Breathing’ not as vulnerable as the lyrics might warrant, and ‘Youngblood’ a bit of a mis-step. If punk’s 50th anniversary has shown us anything, it’s that many old rockers grow old, go soft and give in. On that count, if not all, Green Day are faring pretty well.

This time, with their newest album, the band seem to want to give something back, and whilst obviously somewhat dark at moments, it comes loaded with joyous and celebratory sounds.

With room for refinement this isn’t LFY’s crowning glory by any stretch, but it’s a purposeful record that shows a trio holding on to the makings of something quite special.

It’s hard to ignore the inconsistency and feeling that something’s lacking from its second half. That said, the rough-around-the-edges charm and guitar-packed indie give DMA’s a great starting point on this album.

Blood, like ‘Woman’, is honest. It’s an endearing expression of sexuality.

TEEN’s sonic approach is chaotically diverse throughout and this very much feels like an album of two halves; when it captures the alienation and isolation it strives for, though, it soars.

It's just a little more grown up.

While its inconsistencies might betray the circumstances of its creation, it’s comforting to know that The Go! Team’s defiant experimentalism remains undiminished.

Featuring some fairly rudimentary drumming, and predictable solos, this is the musical equivalent of 'painting-by-numbers'.

It's good--but not great.

Sic Alps is an often fine, often frustrating listen which only succeeds when some flesh is applied to those skinny Californian bones.

While not exactly the wildlife-soundtracking level of Nan-friendly safe his day job has reached, it’s largely default Jónsi, just with a few more effects.

‘Are You Fucking Your Ex’ has none of the melodrama its title suggests, the question holding about as much weight as ‘did I leave the bathroom light on?’, and ‘I Got Hurt’ sledgehammers the line “I got hurt… and it didn’t feel good”. For a songwriter who’s so loved for finding poetry in the quotidian, for saying so much with so little, it’s just a bit basic. Maybe if he’d allowed him - and us - to wallow a bit, he’d have had more of a point.

For every moment which drifts slightly, there is another where they toss the superfluous and it all returns to tremendous, streamlined pop.

‘You Better Run’, while perfectly adequate, has the aura of ‘pub back room’ to its chugging riffs; it’s fine, but it’s largely filler. In general though, As You Were is almost certainly the best thing Liam’s offered us since he parted ways with his big bro.

The last third of the record is more streamlined, with the sweeping, subtly metallic ‘Kill Or Be Killed’ offering a welcome throwback to the days when Muse were at their best, but it’s not enough to redeem this all-too-OTT offering.

Seven albums in, they’re not so much shifting the formula as refining it and waiting for cult stardom to creep up on the scene.

Comparisons are all well and good, but ultimately Making Time’s strength is in asserting exactly what Woon specialises in. After so many years away, a reminder was much needed.

Inevitably, in this bursting collection of high energy rock, the album loses its bite towards the end.

The real charm of this record comes in its additional moments of character; the spoken-word interruptions (‘Do Something’) or soundbite introductions (‘She Wants Me Now’) which somehow tie the album together even more tightly.

‘Unlimited Love’ certainly won’t win over the naysayers. As the laid-back funk and wordplay of ‘Poster Child’ attests, all their usual tropes are present and correct, meaning whatever your view on the Chili Peppers, this record will only confirm it.

Your Friend’s unusual combination of the ultra-real with the unnatural world of electronic manipulation makes for a slightly unsettling final product.

He’s created an admittedly imperfect but nonetheless loving ode to some of the greatest milestones in electronic music.

The electronic beat of ‘METALIZM’, with its winding guitars and chanting vocals echoing their melody verbatim, comes over a little too recent-era Muse than anyone needs. But what, on the surface, is mostly a fun, noisy collection does also offer an infinite rabbit hole to dive down.

With highly catchy choruses on ‘Heart of Mine’ and ‘Deliver It’, it’s obvious that the band can deliver the pop sheen they are known for. But while reaching for style, it is only by exception that they achieve their usual substance.

The result is a largely mixed bag of lyrically intelligent but sometimes slightly weak songs, all with a distinct air of the celestial.

Put it all together, and listening to Savoy Motel’s debut in its entirety can leave you struggling, wondering if you’ve accidentally left the album on loop and yearning for something--anything9--that doesn’t begin with a bassline boogie.

Though the writing is clever and at times funny, the whininess and constant soul-searching shuts the audience out, and anyone deciding to stay is bludgeoned again and again with his relentless wet sentimentality.

As usual, it features some reliably masterful beat work and production, but, at the same time, falls somewhat short in becoming the grand defining statement that its creator was intending it to be.

All in all, the blanketing lime-lit production, the in-your-face ’60s nostalgia, the five-sugars-in-the-tea gooiness of it all may be too cloying for some, but Miles Kane has been so upfront about these musical influences, and for so long, that one can only admire him for so faithfully embodying them.

Only rarely can the listener form more than an ephemeral bond. ’Keep It Tight’ and ‘Friend Like That’ have an all-for-one gang mentality akin to chats with old friends. Unfortunately, it otherwise feels like watching strangers from across a dance floor.

Uncle, Duke and The Chief is a chirpy affair that’s very much in the vein we’ve come to expect, even when there’s a sadness permeating the lyrics.

Billie Joe and Norah’s frolic into the Everlys’ back-catalogue makes a rewarding listen and serves its purpose mighty well: to retell an old American classic that deserves re-telling.

Drop your expectations of freak pop from another dimension, and there’s plenty to like.

Sunny Hills is at its best when it keeps things simple, with the taut ‘Dreamer’ the clear standout; perhaps next time, All We Are won’t throw quite so many ideas at the wall, because few of them stick here.

Jassbusters is the album of a musician who has been around the block a bit, knows what he wants and more importantly how to get it.

It's punk rock by the numbers.

On paper, Junto (Spanish for ‘together’) should make for an eclectic, flag-waving affair--but sadly many of its disparate parts blissfully miss the mark.

Go Fly A Kite is a likeable album, but it sounds like Jet at its worst times and like an American alt-rock band past their sell by date at its best.

The irony is that perhaps in trying to grow old a little too gracefully Jimmy Eat World have lost some of the youthful exuberance that so endeared them to us in those heady days around the turn of the millennia.

It doesn’t always quite hit those high notes, but the pair have set out to create a sometimes elusive feeling of connection. Its sheer scope alone means there’s likely to be something here that will undoubtedly resonate.

There aren’t quite enough hooks to unite some of the more exciting experimentalism, but when SHIRT does throw them it’s not certain that they land.

bounty is a record that, whilst great to vibe out to, kind of feels a little stitched together piecemeal.

There’s a further sense of spiriting when harps show up on the tracks ‘Limbs’ and ‘Take Him In’, and ultimately this album succeeds as an ominous exercise in atmosphere.

At best, it's eccentricity gone wild--there's no shortage of weird noises creeping in throughout--and at worst, just confusing.