Tokyo Police Club indubitably share similarities with their more commercially successful UK counterparts, Bloc Party.

Suddenly sullen Kooks produce a limp effort.

Newcomer electro-rockers produce a hyperactive, ear-decimating album that screams with heavy synth and rhythms, but dies with a lack of inspiration and creativity.

Whatever personality Lewis has is smothered by an oppressive pre-ordained sense of direction: she sounds simply like another cog in an impressive, but, soulless machine.

The record is a less sonically abrasive affair than the album Cave released last year with his side-project Grinderman, but it teems with as many musical and lyrical ideas as ever.

It’s not as nebulous as their last album--and it doesn’t deliver the melodic thrills of Last Splash--but Mountain Battles has personality, spirit, warmth and tenderness in abundance.

These are early days, of course, but some worrying lapses into blustery Editors’ territory aside, Foals prove to be a tricksy, livewire prospect.

If you pardon our French, Clinic’s fifth album is pretty fucked up--and yet it's also their best effort to date.

Kylie's persona infuses the album, even if her vocals do not. As pop heatseekers go, X is a heartbeat away from perfection.

Hold On Now, Youngster is the proverbial promising debut, brimming with attitude, ideas and oomph. We await their next move with interest.

Accelerate is patchy at best, with only the blaring finale, ‘I’m Gonna DJ’, really catching the attention.

The Belfast cowboy keeps on making quality records

On the new B52s album, the group famous for ‘Love Shack’ party like it’s 1992.

Sgt Emo’s Lonely Hearts Club Band delivers a less than thrilling album.

Jack White’s bit on the side return with an accomplished and musically diverse second album.

Even listeners previously resistant to The Kills' studied cool may have to concede that Midnight Boom is a record of considerable energy and excitement.

Great ambitious, hyper-real psychedelia.

Throw away your fashion magazines and join the army, teenagers.

US production whiz hires SFA mainman, perfect pastiche synth-pop ensues.

Zany jinks anew from Hip-hop’s Awkward Squad.

Songs like ‘Sentimental Heart’, a concerto for piano, strings and Pet Sounds haberdashery, suggest this pair are as natural a songwriting team as Karen and Richard.

Hotly tipped Canadian electro duo Crystal Castles deliver the goods on their debut album.

If not entirely out of gas, Green certainly seems to be having trouble shifting gear.

Uber-producer makes sublime soundtrack to documentary film.

Ego Trippin' is a subdued comeback from this once hot rapper.

Young Knives gamble away the ending to a solid album.

Never in 24 years have The Black Crowes either changed their tune or sounded contrived, and they’re getting better all the time in their dependably unfashionable way.

Seriously, Ms Jackson, I invite you around for high tea and you turn up leather clad, groaning, and hollering about touching yourself. Mrs Wilberforce didn’t know where to look and the vicar was most upset.

Veteran hip hop soul princess Erykah Badu's newest creative contribution is ambitious, but lacks the smoothness and cohesive feel of her previous work.

Surprisingly agreeable return from the High Priestess of country kitsch.

Already dated, The Raveonettes 3-D thrills are temporarily diverting, but ultimately provide only the illusion of depth.

This writer is a firm believer that every album you pick up should be a universally accessible experience. Solitude, sanctuary and silence spawn an exorcism of sorts.

Join With Us proves The Feeling are the band most likely to give power-pop a good name.

A powerful collection of passionate, anthemic rockers that will no doubt please their hardcore following whilst winning new converts to the cause.

In almost every respect, Made In The Dark is an immaculately poised record, the poptronica super geeks at last striking the perfect balance between head and heart.

Heartbroken or not, she’s conceived her finest work in years with Watershed--an album that rewards with every soothing listen.

With an album proper to offer this time around, it seems that Johnson is back with a vengeance--fans of his effortlessly laid-back acoustic fare will immediately warm to this strong collection of songs.

Overall this is a major letdown

A million miles from thrash and punk, the twelve tracks here are an unusual mix of indie rock and country, with top class musicianship adding lots of depth and colour.

Think The Cramps crossed with the B52s, with a fair dose of Smog and Cat Power thrown in, and you’ll be in the Sons & Daughters picture

The manner in which the group weave complex musical tapestries is certainly impressive from a purely technical perspective, but you suspect that they were a lot more fun to assemble than they are to listen to.

Vampire Weekend certainly have one of the best band names I’ve heard in ages, although their music unfortunately proves less exciting than one might have hoped.

If the last 10 years have taught us anything, it's that Super Furry Animals march resolutely to their own quixotic beat.

If you're in the mood for something weird, check out this album that fuses psychedelic rock with Cambodian lyrics.

This grand musical quest is often fruitless, and leaves this listener wondering what might have been, had the group demanded less of themselves.

Sprawling America travelogue stays strictly old school.

American slacker act back on track.

Oracular Spectacular is an arresting introduction to the illogical world of MGMT, and is the kind of album that’s a guilty pleasure without the guilt.

Many of the ditties on Unfamiliar Faces bring us right back to the golden age of singer-songwriters.

Cute enough to be mainstream, indie enough to be cool, different enough to stand out but normal enough to be accessible... and sufficiently talented to pull it all off.

The new record sees him pushing his songbook to extremes in entirely unexpected fashion.

Mixed up confusion.

Although there are numerous pointers as to what might have been, had Mary retained greater creative focus, there is precious little to savour here.

For Weezer fans awaiting the next installment, it adds up to a fascinating glimpse into the inner workings of Cuomo’s sweet, strange mind.

The Wu-Tang Clan are undoubtedly in decline, but given the musical peaks they have scaled in the past, there remains plenty of sublime scenery to observe on the way down.

Most of the record is--sonically-speaking, rather than in terms of quality--classic Ghostface, but only a couple of these familiar tracks match the standard set on previous records.

The Swedish fivesome’s trademark sound is so ridiculously simple that you’ll be humming it all day, and with their quirky humour, probably with a grin on your face.

A respectable collection which raises the question: why do the Killers pad their albums out with mediocre filler, when they have at least some decent alternative material to spare?

A sleek melding of soul, disco, techno, Eno-esque ambient, gospel, and hi-NRG electro.

A tight collection of intelligent numbers that, instead of bombarding us with stale rhyming schemes and plastic beats, groove ever so effectively.

Sigur Ros’ songs have a tendency to go on way too long, but the group’s peaks are such that we must cherish them, flaws and all.

A Guide To Love, Loss & Desperation is by no means a bad album, but at the same time it’s hard to see just what all the fuss is about.

The freeform mish-mash of sounds, scratches, samples, styles and lyrical themes is far too much of a mixed bag to have a wide appeal.

For all the state-of-the-art urban production, there’s something distinctly unsavoury about Blackout. And yet, the truly bizarre thing is, the music is top notch.

There is more than nostalgia at work here. Lyrically at least, the cocaine cowboys of yore strive to engage with the modern world’s ills and idiosyncrasies.

This collection sees Levon return to his roots to reinterpret classic songs from his childhood and pay homage to those who influenced him along the way.

Unusually for a Teenager, this album has taken a long time to come.

Pete Doherty has just dropped one of the best indie rock records you’re likely to hear this year.

Unlike his recent output, there’s no overarching preoccupation here, there is only a bunch of good tunes.

Gahan hasn’t arrived at the palace of wisdom yet, but it sounds like he’s enjoying travelling this new route there.

You don’t have to be a fan of the country, blues or folk genres to appreciate the heartbreaking brilliance of this inspired collaboration.

Chase This Light is not a genre-defying album for the history books–-it just gives the impression that Jimmy Eat World are still capable of producing one.

Pull the Pin possesses nothing more than stale and horribly bland rock that will most likely leave even die-hard fans disappointed.

Overpowered is a silvery mirrorball of a record that perfectly illuminates the neon heart of Saturday night.

First impressions are pretty damn good. It’s dreamy, eerie, epic, soaring, soothing, very occasionally manic... and more.

Necessary Evil is bereft of surprises and is pretty much as you would expect it to be.

Widow City is wordy, nerdy, and throws in everything but the hurdy-gurdy.

After thirty years, Souxise's still twice as interesting as three people half her age.

Lennox’s glossy white-soul template does sound a bit dated but she's still impressive when she gets it right.

Fogerty sets high standards for himself and thankfully, he has delivered an album that matches his early solo work.

His take on crunk (which is so generic it feels generous to even call it a “take”) feels flimsy and devoid of hooks, although the lightly Carribean production touches do show a smidgeon of promise.

Beautiful, arcane, unsettling--and that's only the cover. White Chalk isn't so much a record, as a great effort at dragging you into another world.

Foo Fighters’ sixth studio album is a transitional rather than definitive piece of work, but one that sees them growing older with 'patience and grace'.

Intimate, literate and wonderfully executed, Iron & Wine seem to have made one of the albums of the year. Don’t let it pass you by.

With big choruses, pristine production values, sing-alongs, and much lovelorn balladry could it be that Devendra Banhart is about to cross over?

Athlete's third effort Beyond The Neighbourhood goes some way to restoring their initial well-deserved kudos.

Washington Square Serenade is another substantial chapter in what looks like becoming an epic songbook.

Shine is over-ripe with hokey Casio drum machines, soprano sax, and other things that nudge the tone towards easy listening.

Ian Brown’s fifth solo album is about the big issues. And while he's picked all the right targets, lyrically and musically it’s still a bit disappointing.

To paraphrase Jarvis, you’ve got to wonder what exactly Hard-Fi are going to do for an encore--cos this is hardcore.

Trees Outside The Academy is a masterclass of prog drugginess, brimming with sweet melodies and lullaby choruses.

Go on, drink whiskey from the bottle, see if I care. But when you’re done, don’t jump around like gracelessly ageing Bratz dolls playing late-era Kiss and think you’re a blistering she-Crue.

In truth, Into The Wild doesn’t sound like a first solo album. It radiates a confidence and maturity that Pearl Jam have lacked on their recent albums.

Re-hashing a similar formula throughout 12 tracks makes for sour and rarely enjoyable listening.

Shooting people, no-strings-attached sex and being a millionaire has never sounded so boring.

West crosses genres with wilful and speedy abandon, taking the listener on an epic quest where the journey is just as enjoyable and unpredictable as the destination.

Maybe I've become too familiar with what they’re trying to achieve--but right now there’s nothing here to make me instantly love this record.

Bluefinger is probably the sprightliest solo collection of songs Frank Black has recorded to date.