A fair and fine experiment in folk that sees a more mature and worldly Lynch gently come to the fore.

While it's unlikely to garner them a new generation of fans, as an exercise in generating fresh fodder for their festival sets it's effective enough.

Hive Mind doesn't quite possess the same strength as what has preceded it.

The changes aren't especially radical, but they're noticeable--and it frequently feels like Vasquez has nudged over a line he might have done better to shy away from.

For all this record’s gesturing towards pop directness, it is sorely lacking in impact and in memorability.

Adrian Thaws is not without its moments.... Elsewhere, it’s a story of misfiring ideas and botched experiments.

Instrumental Tourist is unlikely to be viewed as anything more than an unimposing footnote between solo records.

This is two albums in a row now that were basically a bit boring, and she needs to sort it out soonish please.

Despite DeGraw’s earnestness and the many good ideas that are in there, SUM/ONE‘s sense of free rein results in something garishly over the top--a bit like reversing your cases when trying to write a serious point.

MDNA runs the gamut of quality from ghastly to mediocre to brilliant, but it's not the unmitigated disaster that many feared.

Coupled with a diminished knack for melody and slower (r'n'b-aping) tempos, conveying a vaguely subdued mood, the difficult Fragrant World just isn't what most people would consider fun.

The album wants to be eccentric, but it severely lacks personality.

On Pluto, Future does his best to build a coherent album around these hits. He succeeds; the problem is that it's too coherent.

In Our Heads seems acutely lacking in personality, meaning or the ability to evoke, in your head, anything other than a vague urge to dance.

Lucifer is a very pleasant listen, but then so are The Wailers, without Bob.

Leila's awkwardness doesn't pay off here: this time round, it's almost like a disguise for lack of inspiration rather than greater depths.

On Evolve or be Extinct he spends an uncomfortable amount of time simply sounding doddery.

Despite her Instagram and “turnt-up” references, the bounce brought to the album by of-the-moment hitmakers like MikeWiLLMadeIt and Hit-Boy and her undeniably personal subject matter, the record just doesn’t have the same candid, bold edge that characterised Beyonce’s huge statement.

Spun out over a sometimes painful hour, NYC, Hell 3:00AM is a mess of an album that, despite a questionable concept, still has plenty of genuine highs.

There are much worse records out there but at the end of the day, and somewhat ironically, it's just much too kind.

In My World is a counterpoint to McQueen’s recent work: while the introduction of vocals reveals another side to Matthewdavid, the humour--too often overplayed--is its weakness element.

It's as if by having every tool and style of every era and nation available to them at the press of a button has stripped AC's world of its mystery; as if there's nothing more to discover.

Tanlines's debut comes across as well-meaning but overly earnest, overly-invested and trying hard to do many things at once.

The problem is that the vocals sound generic.

Instead of updating his sound and style for a contemporary audience, Prisoner of Conscious comes off as a series of half measures.

Only when they tip the 'dumb' into an absurdism, in bouts of monotony or mindlessly devolved weirdness, do Metz sound anything like punk, or indeed art. Herein lies the retardation.

Unfortunately, whichever way you try and dress it up, frippery and kitsch alone isn’t enough to carry this album.

Indie Cindy plays just like one of Black’s solo efforts, but with better session players: good, yes, but never great.