Their third album finds them immersed in light-hearted, yet imaginative hop ‘n’ soul, Parliamentarian funk and the fiery chants of lead single ‘This Way’.

It’s Kweller’s lyrics and voice that do it though; joy and melancholy combined to deliver pop as uplifting as Weezer and rock that’s as unsubtle as Kings of Leon, with anti-folk and Merseybeat along for what is a thrill-filled ride.

Never happily slotting into any template demanded back in their home town, MM are nearer to some wondrous mish-mash of Pavement and Beck; closer in harmony to The Flaming Lips.

Jules’ talents lie closer to the downhome folksiness of Cat Stevens, enlivened by an eye for detail previously thought the sole preserve of Elliott Smith.

Striped of its proto-emo veneer this is sterling stuff, which - although fraught with angst - is run through with a mellow, humbling tone that is as infectious and accessible as it is true to hardcore’s staunch code of ethical values.

Like an air-bushed Slint re-emerging with Stereolab as their chief influence, Blonde Redhead engulf their guitars beneath so many keyboard tinkerings.

It’s worth ploughing through the strange to get to the beautiful, disturbing, fucked-up ‘Venus In Furs’ though, worth the full five stars all by itself.

For the first time in nearly a decade Cypress Hill sound like they’re really enjoying themselves, just like they were in the beginning.

Reveals Sam Beam to be a songwriter of exquisite talent and enviable inspiration.

[His] most spellbinding LP to date.

Young pretenders beware: this old dog isn’t so much learning new tricks as inventing them.

The melancholy on offer barely gets above the level of sixth form poetry, and though Wilson tries to sound impassioned he comes across as strained.

So horribly untrendy it’s a new-black must-have, ‘Milk Man’ is the essential oddity of 2004, and a more-than-worthy successor to 2003’s magnificent ‘Apple O’’.

This is like saddling up with a fearless, interdimensional astronaut; fasten your seat belts.

Their country-sagged beat-focused rock remains, which, coupled with some sumptuous keys and Andy LeMaster’s notoriously unnerving range, reveal Now It’s Overhead’s startling magnetism.

This is a rock ‘n’ roll album in the same way that ‘Fun House’ was a rock ‘n’ roll album.

No affectation, no pandering to fashion, just good old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll. How refreshing.

‘When It Falls’ is not an immediate album, it’s a slow burner and one day, after countless hours playing it in the background, you’ll hear something that makes you turn it up; that’s the moment that it hooks you.

There’s nothing even remotely punk-funk here, instead conventional structures are stretched, shattered and re-assembled.

His carefully constructed tales are accompanied by a warm intimacy, the folky-edge only reinforcing the emphasis on the stories.

At eighteen tracks it comes close to outstaying its welcome, but it doesn’t.

‘Liberation’ is the most damning indictment of the Bush administration yet recorded, and it’s all subliminal. Magnificent.

A collection of chaotic - yet charming - avant-pop rooted in Japanese culture both martial and precise, like letting blood in a rock garden.

There’s something here that most - if not all - will find thoroughly refreshing and enchanting.

This is deep, rich, slightly unnerving and very very beautiful music. [combined review of both discs]

‘No You C’Mon’ is more schizophrenic but equally satisfying, ranging from dinner jazz to bursts of discordant piano boogie.

The trouble is, fine guitarist though he is, he too rarely demonstrates his skills, content to cruise on a simple melody.

This is uncommonly powerful music, created from common instruments.