Meandering atmospheric intros and outros, with lyrics that often just repeat the same verse ad nauseum, overshadow what could be, at times, shorter, snappier songs.

Kasabian and their brass-necks have long since appropriated The Music's mantle of anthem-whoring psychedelic horsemen and there's barely a moment over the course of 12 tracks here where they contest that.

Greater things may well be in the pipeline for The Kooks, but this is sadly lacking in anything to fall - or indeed remain - in love with.

It's a dubious album whose chief innovation is a guest appearance by Nelly Furtado.

Airplay or not, however, he's also sounding seriously dated.

MSTRKRFT make a racket that's impressive at first but eventually the echoes of it return to bite them.

For now at least this is the sound of a band trying to do too much at once and sinking under the weight of their heroes.

With their abilities to self-censure and decide at what's fundamentally good gone seriously awry, the results are more likely to induce a rolling of eyeballs and suppressed sniggers rather than gasps of admiration.

For the most part, "In Case We Die" tries so hard to be fun it is almost no fun at all.

One meandering ballad follows another, each one overlong and labouring under the illusion that emotional profundity is more important than a decent tune.

Music that is designed to smother, to sedate, to lull the listener into a soporific state of boredom.

Awesomely anodyne, breathtakingly boring and crushingly clichéd, â??Astronautâ? singularly fails to take flight.

Before I Self Destruct needs as many bells and whistles as it can muster, because the music isn't going to cut it on its own.

There are moments where Usher's old charm and vocal velvetiness briefly resurface and remind the listener of what a bright talent he once seemed....But these highlights are rare, and Raymond vs Raymond mostly sounds as shallow and unappealing as its singer.

This collection of shimmering-smooth, synthesiser-led beats and lazy gangsta rap posturing isn't worthy of the once great Snoop.

Combined with the slick, predominantly live band set-up here it makes for some dreadfully clunky moments.

Their third, Happiness Ltd, is a sulky teenager, and about as attractive and engaging as that suggests.

Anyone looking for some spicy R'n'B to follow up Pink's fantastic breakthrough hit, 'Most Girls', will be sorely disappointed.

Frequently, it sounds like the band have spent most of that time labouring to make their fifth album as monumental as possible. Where once they swung, however ironically, now they plod. Slowly. Ponderously. In expensive lead boots.

Good or bad, everything here sounds like a lesser version of someone else.

"Riot City Blues" starts fairly poorly and gets progressively worse.

What pulls this album back from being anything but revelatory, however, is not only the typical lazy rock the band are purveyors of, especially 'Fire' and 'Fast Fuse,' but also the diabolical lyrical content that's employed throughout West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum.

A record that surgically removes all trace of sensuality and replaces it with calculated, mechanical, by-numbers bump'n'grind action.

The World Is Yours is one of the year's worst albums.

Had they imploded in some bizarre gardening accident following the release of 'Danger! High Voltage' all would be forgiven. That single still sounds classic and retains the power to get Aunt Peggy off her seat at the wedding reception..... However, the rest appears to be have been cobbled together in a matter of hours.

Musically, it's a mess.

It's a cruel world in which a Nelly sells more records than the Blastmaster KRS but what 'Nellyville' makes abundantly clear is that its creator won't be leaving a fraction of his foe's proud mark on hip-hop once the dust settles on the frantic promotion of this record.

It's hard to imagine how Hands All Over could have been any more underwhelming. In truth the only exceptional thing about it is just how average it is.