Ghostly pop transmissions from buzzy Brooklynites.

Solid and stolid live album from glam punker turned roots rocker.

Anastacia’s voice--once described by a critic as a ‘human air-raid siren’--is still hard to love: when she reaches for the trembling high notes your first instinct is to duck under the table and lock your head between your knees.

After an eight-year hiatus, these hard rock legends return to the music scene with a banging album that has just a little less bite than others past.

Lucinda Williams provides instruction for those who feel fucked around and fobbed off at 40-something.

The Little Ones are, for the most part, pretty melodious producing indie pop fun with touches of Afro-beat, maybe, possibly!

Former Be Good Tanya delivers modern americana nugget.

Cutting to the chase, this album is full of Rihanna b-sides that sound like a carbon copy of everything in the charts right now and are completely personality free.

A rackety, sing-along sound from a band on a largely undefined mission.

House-arrested rapper defends his realm.

Hobo Journeyman enlists the help of Nick Cave, KT Tunstall and Ruby Turner to deliver winning album.

Dear Science, has all the euphoria and cosmic soul searching hinted at but not delivered on by lesser chancers such as MGMT.

There’s quite a supporting cast on Jenny Lewis’s second LP. Elvis Costello makes an appearance, Zooey Deschanel, Jonathan Rice and M Ward all pop by.

New mexican drone rock duds. Tune free zone.

Woodly prog rock for weird beards.

Welcome return to form from nineties stalwarts, not much has changed with this tenth studio album but if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Michael Angelakos, aka Passion Pit, brings us a temporary electro pop classic.

Hard-working hat-wearing ‘Had A Bad Day’ songwriter Daniel Powter’s third album is a bit of a mess when all’s said and done.

Metallica certainly have a lot to prove with Death Magnetic, the follow-up to 2003’s "St. Anger," an album which divided the critics and the band’s own audience.

Triumphant sophomore offering from butch Vig-produced punk-pop outfit.

It’s about time. Electronica merchants Fujiya & Miyagi, formed in 2000, have finally come up with a winning formula eight years into their career.

For just under two decades, brothers Bubba and Matt Kadane have spent the majority of their time together crafting as near perfect slices of sonic Americana as they could.

What the record lacks in lyrical insight, it more than makes up for in charm, so settle back, open a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and make a toast to the good times.

It’s a case of “been there/done that/snogged someone I shouldn’t have to this track on Saturday night” – and by and large the scene is starting to collapse in on itself.

This album leaves no doubt that the former Beach Boy is now fully recovered from the 1967 nervous breakdown that effectively stalled his career for decades.

Despite boasting another stellar line-up of guest vocalists, James Lavelle’s dance-rock project once again fails to convince.

The catchiest tune on The Block is ‘Summertime’, and in dignity terms it’s Cohen-meets-Waits compared to their hyperactive teen-pop of old.

Howe’s duet with Neko Case on ‘Without A Word’ is the star of the show though, boasting a gorgeous melody that owes a lot to Gelb’s Tuscon roots.

Men out of time, The Verve were a neo-psychedelic jam-rock outfit who got fortuitously swept up in the Britpop boom and stumbled upon a timely form of Big Music.

Bad-boy rapper fails to raise his, er, game. There is something peculiarly insecure about The Game (AKA Jayceon Terrell Taylor).

The various elements are spun like syrup round a spoon; creating a deliciously moreish concoction, the sort you’ll want to dip into time and again.

While their peers pander to the mainstream, the masked musicians continue to honour their scene by staying true to their roots while broadening their sound.

Comprising 11 beautifully varied trad numbers, The Rocky Road is a big-hearted tribute to the enduring power of Irish folk songs.

More shouty rock and party anthems from the valleys.

Charming debut from flirtatious Scandinavian popette.

Stereolab learn to stop being boring and love the pop.

If you take a chance on just one record then make sure it’s Take Me To The Sea as it’s possibly the underground triumph of the year.

This slight, shrill and, ultimately, underwhelming debut album has its moments.

A definite sense of fun permeates Conor Oberst, with the singer allowing himself to indulge a few whimsical idea's.

Sharp, incisive, funny and at times even heart-rending in the context of some beautifully-judged rag/country/Dixie-land songs.

Dismal offering from would-be R&B Lothario, this 14-song supposed sexual odyssey is more like a soundtrack to a day in the life of Mr Bean than Hugh Hefner.

Surprisingly radio-friendly System Of A Down spin-off.

Sounding, for the most part, like a Stars In Their Eyes version of Cat Stevens, the album lacks variety, imagination and charisma.

Youngbloods triumph with unpretentious pop.

Donkey is the mediocre second outing Brazilian electro rockers CSS – will it show that they have more substance beyond being a mere good-time party band?

The second in command of the good ship Broken Social Scene, for quite some time he’s been in the shadows of the band’s co-founder Kevin Drew.

As you might expect from a bunch of Springsteen-loving misfits, Stay Positive is delivered with a generous amount of their now trademark skewed cynicism.

Ho & bling free rap of the highest thought provoking order.

'Craig Nicholls’ mob spectacularly fall from grace.

The fact that Hammond can’t actually sing that well is rendered practically obsolete on this album; his hazy drawl may not be the strongest in the world, but it suits these songs just fine.

Lovely promiscuous electronica.

Perennial underachievers once again fall short of the mark.

Maybe Carl was the talented one after all.

Hercules And Love Affair may be a party, it may be a disco, but it sure ain't no foolin' around.

The ghost of Marvin hovers over debut by Digi-Soul merchant - sensuous dancefloor fodder with an evocative voice.

Icelandic eccentrics grasp for greatness.

Two heads aren’t necessarily better than on! Fire Songs isn’t a terrible album, it’s just a little too sweet and safe for this writer’s ears.

Erudite, Whiskey-Soaked, alt countryish maverick just keeps getting better.

Chris Martin and co. return with another album guaranteed to rock arenas across the world.

Katy Perry's second album offers minimal creativity or originality, but there are several likeable tracks--despite their turgid, juvenile and bordering-on-offensive lyrical content.

Twee-sy tiger! Omaha act mix up their newest record with more attitude but still stay true to their original style.

Lovably noisy baltimore scallywags come good with their second effort.

A tiny step forward for indulgent Leeds outfit.

You get the feeling that, in the long run, Diamond Hoo Ha is destined to be remembered as one of the lesser works in their canon.

Southern rock merchants capture the energy of their live shows on accomplished fifth album.

Canadian firebrand loses her spark.

Gifted MC loses the run of himself without Mannie Fresh.

Jakob Dylan's debut effort, Seeing Things, is a bare bones acoustic record showcasing the talent of the son of Bob.

Production superstars The Neptunes get back to penning their own tunes – with highly impressive results.

Dazzling sophomore effort from New York singer-songwriter.

Not much has changed in the futureheads world as, post their major-label career, they bounce-back with independently released third album.

Electro Pop maestros return after three-year hiatus.

Rivers Cuomo and co. deliver another scintillating collection of punk-pop – with added experimentation.

Slinky but less than earthshattering debut from buzzy manhattanites.

Impressive full length debut from enchanting Seattle-ites.

Sleek but insubstantial fourth outing from R&B songstress.

Chicago duo ride to the rescue of hip-hop--on pimped up BMXs.

Phillips’ vocal style is of the quietly devastated Erin Moran/Aimee Mann school, backlit by Bacharach-and-Wilson-ish arrangements on ‘Another Song’, ‘Little Plastic Life’ and ‘Flower Up’.

R’n’B lothario sings the praises of monogamy on patchy fifth album.

A&E isn’t a reinvention for Spiritualized, but while that might be a disappointment for some, the comforting embrace of familiarity shouldn’t be underrated.

Cyndi’s lost touch with the zeitgeist a bit, and parts of this sound like she’s trying to keep up but this is generally a really good record.

Nouveau synth-pop and shoegazer drones mightn’t seem like the wisest bedding for Tom Waits’s compositions, but Scarlett and Sitek know exactly what they’re doing.

Will Oldham gets back to the country.

Inoffensively bland offering from US indie pop outfit.

Would be blockbuster from the Jack Johnson it’s really not okay to like.

And as folksiness, indieness and bittersweet mournfulness set the tone, it also becomes apparent that this is much better than the words ‘folk’ and ‘indie’ on their own suggest.

Couples is by no means a terrible record, I just preferred The Long Blondes when they were young, free and single.

In a surprise move, Alex Turner goes back to 1966

Craig David's back, and in fairness, he makes a decent fist of it. However, David is hamstrung by trying to please both critic and fan.

Certain artists are blessed with the ability to say something poignant and meaningful with their music. On the evidence of this eopnymous record, Gavin DeGraw is not one of them.

Neil doesn’t do things by halves. His words and melodies are, like Roy Orbison, Cecil B De Mille scaled. That said, there are more than a few points where he misses the mark.

Shine remains a terribly average r'n'b album that occasionally flickers with possibility, but never burns brightly enough to matter.

Long awaited comeback from Bristol trip-hop outfit proves worth the wait.

Overwrought second album from Glaswegian indie quartet.

The sassy Swede gives Madge something to think about.

Hard Candy sounds bloody expensive, but has precious little to declare except an infatuation with its own reflection in a nightclub mirror.

Ultimately, this is less a fully-formed debut than the tentative first few steps of a promising artist still finding her way.

Hook-laden agitprop combines with slinky beats on outing number ten from The Roots.