BUMMER is an album where cleopatrick excel more than they struggle. Their sound could do with a little streamlining, but for a debut LP, this is a bold and at times very enjoyable effort.

As it is, the highlights just about mitigate the lack of surprises, making it a Red Fang album with a bite that doesn’t grip quite as much or as hard as we’ve been used to.

There are times on Scaled And Icy where things just feel a little safe. Overall, though, Scaled And Icy is a good record which balances out the occasional underwhelming moment with flashes of brilliance that could only come from its creators.

A composed and well-thought-out record, Life In Your Glass World doesn’t exactly shatter expectations, but what it does showcase is a talented band operating with a fully-fledged confidence and faith in their craft, and that’s more than fine by us.

So far, so good then. It’s a takeaway reinforced by most of the album, in fact. ... Where Let The Bad Times Roll will likely divide opinion is in the mid-point, three-track swing of the aforementioned, ice-hockey-goal-music swagger of Coming For You, the bookending, rocked-up cover of evil orchestral classic In The Hall Of The Mountain King, and the embarrassing dad overshare of We Never Have Sex Anymore.

While the first half of Is 4 Lovers takes a jackhammer to old, if still relatively fertile ground (hey, why have one song called NYC Power Elite when you can have two?), the second half dials down the pulverising and amps up the pulsating on less frenzied, more electronic songs such as Love Letter and Glass Homes.

There are no surprises here, it simply feels as though they’re picking up from where they left off from seven years ago; if you’ve ever listened to one of their albums before then this will feel instantly familiar.

The Lunar Injection… is too long and could easily be trimmed of material most diplomatically described as ​‘non-essential’, particularly the little instrumentals/sample-laden wig outs between tracks. The rub is, of course, that these short sonic mood boards are often the bits where Zombie tries something new.

Trauma Factory’s straight-up rap moments are more hit-and-miss, with the likes of exile and upside down feeling coherent enough but lacking in bite, demonstrating how nothing,nowhere. sounds best when the musical backdrop is thicker and leans more into the heavier side of Joe’s sound.

While at some points their aversion to easy melody and obvious structure hoists them by their own petard, there’s more than enough strange stuff here to quicken the pulse and capture the heart.

FLOWERS for VASES / descansos continues what Petals For Armor started in showing just how much of Hayley Williams we still have to get to know as an artist. The Paramore question mark continues to hover, but here Hayley has once again shown that there’s more to her than one band.

Mr Wilson has travelled all over the musical map, but appears to be more direct in wanting bigger results this time around. Is it better than what he’s done before as a result? Not always, but it’s the next blockbusting step from an artist who’s always done things on his own sonically strange terms.

After a while the hell-raising wears thin, though, and Luke’s jugular-bulging yells start to sound indistinguishable between songs. But when the Nil’s no-holds-barred approach comes good, it’s glorious.

Neither Boris nor Merzbow are particularly known for their music being concise, and of course this opus is no exception — clocking in at almost 90 minutes it takes its sweet time making its point. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as they unhurriedly pick apart their previous material it provides fresh perspective and an opportunity to rediscover.

Weird! is a collection of good moments disappointingly hidden under an avalanche of sugar.

NOTHING, a band noted for their none-more-dour demeanour using a black hole as inspiration might be a little too on-the-nose for some tastes. At a time when hope feels in scant supply, wade into the blackness of these waters at your own discretion.

The main selling points of this album are a sleek production job and the technical performance of vocalist Conor Mason, who once again proves himself to be in possession of some serious lungs. The problem, however, is that despite the surface sheen, too many of Moral Panic’s songs fail to really go anywhere.

A reminder of how fun music can be. Sure, it’s not as joyous as Morbid Stuff, but for a stopgap to keep fans going in these bewildering times, it does the job nicely.

It’s a fun, if not unusual listen, that ploughs deeper into the band’s flirtations with synth-pop and electronic experimentation. It’s lacking in the enormity expected of a celebration of 25 years of existence and this is not necessarily a bad thing, however, as it’s a further example of Ulver’s ability to push the envelope and keep their music fresh and exciting.

NOFX’s take on Frank’s tracks turn them into turbo-charged So-Cal workouts without really having to do too much to them beyond playing them really fast. Frank’s contributions, meanwhile, see him doing a raucous version of Bob and Perfect Government in his own charming manner, while his take on reggae number Eat The Meek is smart and sharp.

Ultimately, Bush devotees who lived through the alt.rock ‘90s will find much to love about The Kingdom. But it is also an album delivered with Rossdale’s customary style and panache, not to mention tunes that sit elegantly alongside the likes of Everything Zen and Swallowed.

A sensory overload that doesn't let up. [28 Mar 2020, p.51]

At its best, Hvman:||:Natvre has the impressive magic that has made Nightwish one of Europe’s biggest bands. But there’s a feeling this time that for such a big concept, things haven’t gone quite far enough.

Much of the album is minimalist in its approach, allowing Jonas Renkse’s vocals to guide the way against a kaleidoscopic soundscape of soft melodies that feel almost ethereal.

A strange, unruly offering. The momentous, squalling dissonance of the curtain-raising Reducer seems to signpost where they’re going, but then they spin off into a twisted, eight-track labyrinth.

Across 12 tracks, it does get a little samey, but then again, individual songs aren’t the entire point here. This is a record that creates an atmosphere around itself, a world of its own, without sounding twee or like something from a real ale festival. A curio, maybe, but a heartfelt and skilfully realised one from a genuinely unique artist.

They deliver a raw brand of garage-punk that isn't exactly new but remain fresh in these hands. [14 Mar 2020, p.73]

For the most part, Ice plays with middle-age, cranking up the grumpy-old-man persona he established on 2014’s Institutionalized with tongue-in-cheek glee and riding it through the exploitation movie excess of Thee Critical Beatdown.