There is certainly something interesting about it, but it’s also a bit hard to embrace wholeheartedly.

This is a record that feels alarmingly lacking in purpose from a band whose glory days are now a good decade behind them. This one is for completists only.

If you found Sleaford Mods too thuggish or laddish for your tastes, Key Markets won’t change your mind.

There’s a lot here that’s nice, but nothing that really screams out its demands to be listened to.

An album which starts feeling a bit dense and chewy halfway through.

This album is full of emotive and nuanced performances, the aches of her heart resonating powerfully. However, the sheen and the bombast of much of the production reeks not just of a kind of entitlement, but of desperation.

Although Success is a very solid album, from a band that have already proved themselves consistently capable of churning out suitably bad-tempered and obtrusively loud material, it’s hard to feel it’s anything we haven’t heard before, which makes it far more underwhelming than its generally high quality content suggests it should be.

While moments of greatness emerge, there's a unfortunate limpness to proceedings that undermines otherwise outstanding songwriting.

A little more clarity wouldn't have gone amiss here and there, but there's enough on offer to bring curious listeners back for repeated spins, which is just as well, as More Faithful is definitely a grower.

Accomplished yet instantly forgettable--a most fitting curtain call for such a confused endeavour.

While the instrumentals service Barnes well, when guest vocalists--once a hallmark of Leftfield’s work (John Lydon’s vocals on ‘Open Up’ still feel perfect)--the album broaches less solid ground.

While the longstanding fan may indulge them the odd misstep, it’s a little bit jarring when they produce something which by their own high standards is, dare I say it, a bit underwhelming.

Peel back the façade, and you’ll find two white dudes parroting phrases and stealing time-tested tricks to sustain the rebel mirage, to cover for the fact that they have no clue what they’re even talking about.

It’s a good record, it honestly is. But good grief, it’s a hard one to be excited by.

Wilder Mind is incredibly one-track, so much so that even on your first listen-through, you’ll likely already feel like you’ve heard closer ‘Hot Gates’ five or six times in the past hour.

It’s not enough to make an album that blends inoffensively into the background. Psychedelia is supposed to be mind-bending, not just some minor flavouring to add to your very average indie-pop songs.

For the most part, Bush is another re-hashed and tweaked Snoop album. It is expanding into new territory, but delivering the same result.

There's nothing wrong with making demands of the listener, but there's little to no reward to be found across these eight increasingly alienating compositions.

It's a pleasant enough experience on the whole, but could've been so much more--and that is what's so frustrating with Rituals.

The album only features nine tracks, but somehow still contrives to feel over-long and lack cohesion.

As the record progresses, however, it’s hard not to feel that the band are using the same tricks over and over again. This not only makes the second half of the record intrinsically less vibrant on first listen than the first but also undermines earlier tracks on repeat listens.

Away from the lyrics, there’s a nagging feeling that, like The Only Place, California Nights isn’t going to blow too many people away with its mostly familiar-feeling content.

Although there’s a vogue for the vintage production techniques and comfortable imperfect noisiness that pervades the record, it doesn’t always do American Wrestlers justice.

Disquiet, the group’s fourteenth album, is their most direct and to the point release in some time.

No Pier Pressure shows just what too many cooks can do to a Beach Boy's broth.

Too much of Not Real is nondescript and dull.

The comparative simplicity of these songs makes this a more of a compelling curiosity piece, rather than the explosively satisfying--potentially classic--albums that both of these bands have in them as separate artists.

The band ensure they make music, which matches their aesthetic: airy, welcoming story-telling indie folk, which just happens to be painstakingly well considered and recorded. Ultimately though, where all this world building and curatorship comes to fall short is where it matters most: the songs.