There’s a consistent sense of déjà vu that accompanies every melody, a pleasant sense of cosy familiarity, but also a like-ability running throughout.

Just as the pair’s ability to create moods with just their guitars is impressive--it’s a bit much over twelve tracks.

An album worthy of repeated listens but limited by its inability to adapt and enrapture a change of pace often just representing a drop in quality.

They’ve still yet to find that album that feels complete. While their eighth album, Wallop, isn’t quite it, it’s the closest they’ve been for quite a while.

It’s not routine or mundane, but the second half of the album represents a disappointing fade in if not quality, excitement.

There are some meandering points on Caer, but Lewis Jr.’s sobering narrative on piano finale ‘Runaway’ ends things on a poignant high-note.

All things considered Chuck Inglish hasn’t offered enough that’s new or high quality enough to truly make a mark.

Strange Creatures limps and sags habitually, never quite succumbing to Drenge’s wishful potential and ruthless attempts at crafting the idyllic garage-rock their previous releases showcased. It’s a shame when the promise never quite delivers.

Two Gallants’ rulebook may be dusty, weathered and well-worn, but there’s a familiarity to what they’re doing that can’t help but make We Are Undone a thoroughly enjoyable listen.

It's a record that lacks the structure and order needed to make it into a cohesive unit, one that can be listened to beginning to end without skipping tracks.

It isn't quite as defined or as consistent as his work with Gang Gang Dance, but through persistence it certainly comes close.

Express Yourself is an excellent return showing that Diplo has saved enough creative juice for himself and, despite the whole host of guests featured throughout, the EP feels very much like Diplo's party.

‘A Goood Sign’ never really goes anywhere and gets a bit lost in its murky pool of synths, while ‘i.v.’ doesn’t add much to the record. But overall, the falsetto of Mockasin and the electronic sounds of Dust marry perfectly into something stunningly weird; the kind of marriage where’d you wear multi-colour suits and dresses and tuck into an inflatable cake.

It’s simply the mark of a record that’s captured them exactly as they are at this moment in time. Although it’s tempting to call Instructions a ‘fascinating document’, it’s probably more accurate to settle for ‘rad record’.

There is a lot of polish to Moaning, to the point that it’s carried off almost with a bit of a swagger.

Had the duo chosen their vocal contributors more carefully, Divine Ecstasy could've been something special. Instead, we're left with an exciting showcase of potential and a few legitimate 'avant-bangers'.

They promised a great leap forward, and this isn't it.

Maze Of Woods occupies a different plain, a more embryonic one that finds its stand out moments in a subtler way.

By playing it too safe, Animal Nature isn’t worth recommending. It’s just sort of fine and that won’t cut it.

Spend the Night With is rough around the edges, but it thrives under this approach.

It’s hit and miss, but Here’s Willy Moon kind of does what it says on the tin.

It’s nice enough to pass the time with, but certainly not a staple record worth revisiting time and time again.

Something’s Changing isn’t without flaws--‘Soak It Up’’s shuffling tempo jars, whilst the orchestral leanings of closer ‘I Can’t Change It All’ are at odds with the rest of the record--but it sees Lucy Rose easing into the next stage of her career.

For the most part the Angels charitably continue to breath life into a ragged genre with a looseness and playfulness that belies their serious business name.

There is a naïve charm to their rudimentary rock and 'Tosta Mista' is a sporadically great introduction to those charms.

Aspects of the record come off slightly muddled.

While each track is meticulously crafted, you can’t help but feel a sense of familiarity and perhaps repetition settle in the last half of the album.

On occasion you may feel that Trailer Trash Tracys could benefit from keeping things a little simpler, but fans of the band’s first record have plenty to enjoy here.

It’s all largely inoffensive and wholly listenable. Which is fine, but we’ve come to expect more from La Roux.

Lenses, despite its four-to-the-floor tendencies and impeccable imagery, falls flat.

Eucalyptus is a dense and challenging listen, but while it might alienate post-‘Merriweather Post Pavilion’ converts to Animal Collective, it might bring back those who loved ‘Campfire Songs’ but have felt disenfranchised since.

If there are faults with the record (aside from the mis-step of the fairground organ-esque 'Waltz), it's that while it works well as an album, it almost works too well with tracks all-too-often passing without leaving a lasting impression, with some of the shorter songs not always being given the space and time to develop as you'd perhaps expect them to.

Competent. Completely forgettable.

Kyla La Grange still has a voice you want to listen to, but two albums in, it seems like she’s still searching for the best music to set it to.

As a taster for her imminent third album, Emmy has newly positioned herself, distancing herself from the ‘anti folk’ sound she once claimed with 2009 debut ‘First Love’.

Cold Pumas peddle a kind of post-punk that’s long since been done to death by this point; it takes real ingenuity to find a way to imbue this particular template with genuinely new energy, and on this evidence, they haven’t found that yet.

Language could afford to lose a few numbers--particularly the low-energy likes of ‘Body’ and ‘Girlfriend’--but there’s more than enough evidence here that MNEK is a potent force in his own right.

A mixed bag.

When compared to each members’ regular output, there’s not a lot to take seriously here. That’s quite all right though.

Titus Andronicus have always melted together the music of their heroes, but this time it feels completely without inspiration.

A patchy debut effort.

TV en Français is more a more muted outing.

By all accounts, it’s in the crucible of live performance where this duo excels. But put on record, it all feels a bit lost in translation.

While they do make for a well-structured collection of songs, individual tracks are often disappointing and the result feels like a half-hearted series of Doctor Who; its audience sustained more by thrilling trailers and the promise of fulfilment than any real substance

The Tourist isn’t ‘the worst’, but it’s far from the journey its designer hopes it to be.

Thieving like a magpie from his own box of tricks, there’s no denying that Gallagher is a songwriter from the very top of his class.

It flits from doomy death marches to frenetic, fuzzy psych rock freakouts like the fantastic ‘Choco Plumbing’, while indulging in some quirkier elements including a stomping cover of The Beatles ‘I Want To Tell You’ and a sweet, Casio keyboard run-through of American standard ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’.

Weak and boring are never words we’d have ever thought apply to Poppy’s music, but alas here we are – hoping for the ‘Zag’ to come.

Falling somewhere in between the sophistication of Everything Everything and the flamboyancy of Maroon Five, it isn’t until the halfway point, and ‘I Feel the Weight’ that the familiar chill of previous releases is restored.

Last Night On Earth is filled with guitar licks that manage to sound ferocious and friendly at the same time, marrying a slightly avant-garde persuasion and tight focused songwriting with something instantly warming.

With its muggy, lo-fi atmosphere, Be Your Own King works best at its most carefree.... [But] The tail end of the record does come to a bit of a standstill.

Granted, it doesn’t always quite connect, and it probably won’t enter the Green Day canon, but it’s a bit of fun all the same.

His sophomore full-length is at times uninspired and leaves an emptiness in the gut.

V For Vaselines has been released a few months too late, for V For Vaselines is a summer album.

It's a 'take it or leave it' kind of record, but invest in Cut Copy's deranged aims and it'll feel like being part of a free-spirited cult.

Unfortunately, this slightly more mainstream vision is consistently obscured, making Innocence Reaches a frustrating listen.

But like a fine pastiche, the presented elements are enjoyable, but there's a detached lack of soul and ardor.

In a rush to grow up they seem to have left behind some of what made them so excellent in the first place.

The frustration comes from Stains on Silence's propensity for a feeling little bit too rough around the edges, unfinished almost, despite it’s reworking.

It’s hard to overstate how aggravating it is to hear somebody who once stood as the dictionary definition of “less is more” fly so flagrantly in the face of the mantra that made him.

Though ‘Mama’s Boy’ won’t exactly be changing the alt-pop game, it certainly might convince you to text your ex after one too many glasses of wine.

Real Lies’ debut effort instead puts forward a group who’ve clearly agonised over every detail of their early ‘90s aesthetic, and forgotten about the songs in the process.

While their hooks are huge, there are moments within Limitless that seem too polished.

The refocusing of his songwriting has led to undoubted growth in SOHN’s work, but that stunted sense of adventure leaves moments that fall between the cracks.

It may be easy to enjoy at the time, but this third full-length leaves no lasting impression.

Genres fall by the wayside as krautrock melts into a studied and dense electronica, and pulls either towards the tenseness of post-punk or the hazy surrealism of shoegaze.

They do truly make a beautiful noise together. That said, vocals can't account for everything and, in an album so marked by its makers' laryngeal input, it seems as though the rest got a little neglected.

Intentionally overwrought, brash, and totally different to anything she’s ever done before, Lady Gaga’s Joanne doesn’t quite nail the artistic frankness she’s aiming for.

We’re left with a contrast that never quite works. Instead, it’s where the concept is applied metaphorically that ‘Van Weezer’ finds some green shoots.

While intriguing and often beautiful, it’s also a little frustrating. There’s a sense that this is only half a story, half a tale told.

‘The Streets Where I Belong’ appears to aim for ‘80s FM radio nostalgia, while the title track hints at cod reggae, ‘Forever ‘92’ borrows a smidgen of shoegazey guitars and ‘The Bomb’ a touch of trip hop. But with a lack of immediacy, paper-thin production and no discernible hooks throughout, for anyone still humming ‘Chewing Gum’ or ‘Heartbeat’, it’s a disappointment.

Javelin's sense of ambition is certainly commendable, and despite its shortcomings, Hi Beams still provides some examples of dizzyingly odd pop.

After a difficult few years, Snowdonia proves that a steady hand and a playful surf-rock riff has seen Surfer Blood through the darkness and out the other side.

It means that AOKOHIO never quite feels as cohesive as Wolf apparently intended it to be, so it’s a good job that the album’s emotional themes do such a good job of providing a throughline and backbone instead.

It's nice, if a little lightweight.

Musically it's very much as you were, country-tinged alt-rock, a little punkier in places, a little less scared of making a racket.

It’s hard to tell if the first half of Miracle Mile is really better than the first, or whether it’s just that a kind of boredom sets in at some point during a listen, whether it’s your first or your fifth.

Two average tracks out of nine starts to feel like too many and leaves you doubting whether the rest was quite as good as you thought.

They're drifting between The Killers and Two Door Cinema Club in a sea of meaningless tunes with no depth whatsoever.

'Out Of The Black' represents that failure [to push their sound forward].

In short, if you're a Dashboard Confessional fan then you'll find plenty to enjoy here. Full-blown pretty-boy emotion dished out by a musician as adept at pulling the heart strings with big, simple feelings as anyone you might care to name.

Darlings is warm and expansive and sexy, and feels like a more intimate affair than his debut, 2007’s ‘Spirit If...’.

It’s a bit like listening to someone attempting to fit a round peg into a square hole. But while he might have occasionally bitten off a little more than he can chew, there’s still undeniably some moments with serious bite here.

As a lyrical and moral experiment it’s touching and does what it sets out to; as an auditory experience... not so much.

Julia’s vocals are still the centre-piece here but they take a more playful turn and, at nine songs long, the record serves as a short but promising introduction to a band still in their relative infancy.

Honne’s crystalline, Mura Masa-esque beats will see them through--though only as easy-listening, nothing more.

There’s plenty to discover here on a diverse record that takes a lot of interesting turns, and while there are some unsuccessful moments, there’s also plenty for indie-pop fans to get their teeth stuck into.

It’s a lot of… well, not much; a studio folly of sorts, (unsurprisingly) impeccable in sound but meandering without direction for the most part.

'Magic Hour' is an album that equally frustrates and enthrals. The collection of excellent electro pop tracks show the band still know their way around a melody but the album is let down by a few too many tired and morose ballads and witless appropriations of chart successful sounds.

Sure, it loses its way about two-thirds through via the meandering ‘Every Guy Wants To Be Her Baby’ and ‘Memories’, but there’s always the suggestion that it’s sort of the point.

The tracks are less punchy than before and perhaps more subdued, though this is the sort of music that needs to be immersed in and often takes time to truly appreciate.

Too often This is Acting is steeped in unimaginative cliche, and leans too heavily on familiar pop tropes in a way that her previous solo albums did not.

It's almost as if the songs were constructed by way of algorithm.

Doherty’s latest solo effort sounds very much like a solid Peter solo album; rambling studio chat snippets, mentions of Arcadia and all. You know how it goes.

Minus The Bear may have returned to the style that made their name, but there is still enough mileage in that sound to ensure that 'Infinity Overhead' is a marked improvement on their previous album.

Sure, it’s a sound that at times can be guilty of slipping into little more than a background beat; the kind of thing you’d half listen to at two in the morning on Kiss100 cruising down a deserted motorway. This is not necessarily bad, just evidence of a sound that reflects the era it embodies.

The record doesn’t achieve a great deal in saying anything new. It’s far from a disaster, though. ... The main issue with Amnesty (I) is that Crystal Castles needed to say something different.

Gardens + Villa undoubtedly have many toys at which they're more than adept at manipulating--just a shame there aren't better songs for them to adorn.