On paper these might sound like mad genius, but Daft Punk somehow misplace the wit and the light touch that’s pretty much their trademark. Instead, these long epics become somewhat tedious and there is a strong whiff of egoism and self-indulgence.

A few good ideas emerge, but are then repeated endlessly to the point of sheer boredom.

Their last studio record saw them in upbeat, energetic form, and whilst that playfulness is still present at times on Elwan, there is a conscious grounding too this time around.

There’s just not enough of that unhinged brilliance across the board unfortunately; a little more weirdness might have led to something wonderful. As it is, this is a assured debut, but lacking any real surprises.

Sometimes Simon suffers from a sort of elder statesman's churlishness or cynicism (like a musical version of Grumpy Old Men), which is not entirely appealing, and some of the songs seem a little under-developed. There is, however, enough here to suggests that new Paul Simon albums should be bigger events.

Disjointed, imperfect, tender and raw, at the final reckoning it sits as a fitting epitaph.

It’s true that he’s certainly earned the right to pursue his artistic vision. It’s just a shame that this only partly inspired slog isn’t a little more, well, entertaining.

No longer the challenging, lo-fi music of yore, what has arrived in its place doesn't have the individuality or character to sustain longer lasting interest.

Former Pulp bassist Steve Mackey eventually ended up producing the record, and he gives Pierce’s various sonic wanderings space to roam, but sadly it’s an amble of a circular nature.

Closing track Happy Now even dares to pick up the pace and is a reminder how good Uchis can sound when she mixes things up a bit. A few more moments like this to break the homogeneity of Uchis’ songs next time around would be most welcome.

The music is plainly listenable, the progressions are often entertaining and the lyrics are intricate. For fans, the minor evolution and heavier sonic palette may whet their appetite, but for anyone in search of a new revolutionary energy in the realm of indie rock, steer clear of the throne room.

At best, it sounds like an honest re-fashioning of comfortable old sounds. At worst, it sounds like a forgotten Christine McVie solo album.

Halfway through a song like Blouse (think Our House by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young but resolutely uncatchy) this reviewer begins to yearn for the Clairo that worked with Danny L Harle and Mura Masa, though Sling is an album that at least works on its own terms.

With the lightweight numbers up front and the centrepiece dominating the lacklustre cast around it, the album is surely one of the most uneven and unsatisfying in recent memory from Callahan.

The opening half sees him attempt something a little different with mixed results, the second half seems him return to more familiar ground with only moderate success.

The idea that synthetic beats only serve to sterilise is ridiculous and passé – but while they show potential for something really interesting here, they do have the effect of cooling and sterilising an otherwise warm and welcoming record.

A signature sound is all well and good, but in the future the duo would benefit from indulging their inventive side more.

Daniel Lopatin’s eighth album as Oneohtrix Point Never finds him splitting the difference between the synth-based abstraction of his previous albums and a more visceral, abrasive style. While neither of these are bad templates to work from per se, the result is an album that doesn’t know what it wants to be.

It has the feel of a transitional record; having proved to himself that it’s possible to pair up heartfelt songs with sometimes incongruous music, perhaps Lekman will hone this concept further in his future work.

Their blend of the parochial and multi-cultural with a hint of dark mystery combines to promising effect here.

Northampton’s Child has a brilliant trap-style beat which comes with one of Slowthai’s better performances, as if being more autobiographical implicitly encouraged him to find his own voice. But these moments are too few and far between to save a record that reveals the whirlwind of hype around Slowthai to be not much more than invisible garments on an arrogant emperor.

When RAYE is self-consciously rebelling against the mainstream it results in some of My 21st Century Blues’ worst music, whereas on the best tracks we hear an artist who fully deserves this victory lap and more.

Coping Mechanism is full of feisty attitude, blaring guitars and rhythmically intense drumming, and sees Willow positioning herself as the edgier Olivia Rodrigo with mixed results.

It's reminiscent at times to what pal and label stablemate Will Oldham did on Bonnie "Prince" Billy Sings Greatest Palace Music.

It all makes for a captivating listen or a dreamy forty minutes, whatever your preference - though a possible failing can be found in only occasional glimpses of the human soul.

It doesn’t quite always work, but it is a promising reinvention.

As has frequently been the case with later Yo La Tengo albums, the surface appearance of this music is deceptively simple. Delve beneath it, and the artistry that has fuelled the group for three decades gradually reveals itself.

They may never reach the heights of 20 years ago but England Is A Garden shows them to have reached a level of reliability, consistency and competence that many other bands would gladly take.

The fondness for schmaltz gets a bit overwhelming, and the album is only great in patches.

Undoubtedly it's a very effective dance record, and in a club everything here would sound great. As an album, though, HEALTH//DISCO is encumbered by the very tracks that have birthed it.

Perhaps if each song were half the length, the fun, easy-listening element to PBJ's music would be more clear-cut. As it is, Writer's Block proves a real struggle.

There is a fine line between catchiness and tedium on Grassed Inn, and the formula doesn’t always work.

While there’s no denying that when they hit their default groove – as on To the Nth, for example – GoGo Penguin are a mightily tight, impressive unit, this album does leave you wanting more from a very talented band clearly capable of greater things.

If only her music might just occasionally match the freeform, flighty, extravagant nature of her words.

Some moments here do veer into the more predictable end of indie-rock territory.

It stops short of SMD's effort by quite a way, but it's a fine and much welcome showing for a pair of self-professed amateurs.

At times The Decemberists sail close to being an horrific hybrid of They Might Be Giants and The Coral - all arched eyebrows and accordions.

Your Future Our Clutter is a tight, coherent, rock-out album--and it's great to see some discipline back in The Fall after years of scrappy offerings.

Partly cartoon, part Sesame Street, and with a healthy dose of consequence-free childish threats and violence, A Cold Freezin' Night is a welcome distraction to the meandering electro-drone that populates the rest of the album. But from here on in, it's a case of the law of diminishing returns.

Hardy's undeniably a talent, and Songs Lost & Stolen is a tasteful, better than average folk record that many aficionados will enjoy, but it lacks that extra ingredient to make a lasting impact or reach a broader audience.

Whilst Psychedelic Porn Crumpets remain an attractive proposition, this outing would perhaps suggest that they’re starting to cool off a little after the hot, toasting stage they enjoyed with their first two releases.

It is a polished sound, one the band does very well. The musicianship is solid and the mixture of high-energy vocal performance with the instrumental post-rock passages is uplifting and at times enthralling.

Anyone who wants a nostalgia rush back to the Commotions days may be disappointed with On Pain, but for everyone else this is an effective indication of an artist steadily on his own path, and doing very well out of it.

Most of the time, it's run-of-the mill soft rock.

Heartache has inspired countless songs and albums over the years and if nothing else Old Flowers shows how humans will continue to turn to music for comfort in times of sadness for many years to come. These songs have clearly provided solace to Andrews and it’s likely they’ll do the same for others in similar need.

Comparisons with his subsequent work are inevitable and this feels like a disappointment when put alongside the more accessible likes of Donuts.

The Family Afloat reveals itself as a record that is promising, enchanting, and imbued with a wry optimism that at times is tangible.

All things considered, Unseen feels like a missed opportunity for The Handsome Family. It’s by no means a bad album and one established fans will undoubtedly enjoy, but essentially the band are on auto-pilot when it would have been great to hear them go up a gear.

Djourou sees him continue this trend of musical mergings, although this time it is the inclusion of vocalists that provide the main points of difference.

Major Arcana is certainly not a perfect debut and does have some flaws, but it succeeds in establishing Speedy Ortiz as a band with promise and scope to build on.

There's a feeling that This Is My Demo is just geared too much towards the commercial audience.

Crack-Up is, in its way, just as exhausting a listening experience as Pure Comedy.

If a devil-may-care attitude is the album’s strength, it also can be a weakness. Songs hit or miss by chance, the product of unmoderated experimentation which can so easily become indulgence.

Mercy may have a few forgettable tracks, but an artist with John Cale’s long and varied history will always find a way to intrigue the listener.

This New View is pleasant, but a little more of the old fire would be welcome.

With The Age Of Adz, Stevens may simply be trying too hard.

In their search for pop perfection though, they do actually hit the mark a couple of times; it’s just a shame that the best moments mostly appear at the album’s commencement because they far outweigh the vast majority of what follows, meaning you could be tempted to drift off in conversation before the album’s conclusion or, worse still, fall asleep.

Fans of David Sylvian will doubtless appreciate the elegant compositions and Sylvian's self-indulgent but soulful insights, but there is little to entertain the casual listener who may be better off back cataloguing Tom Waits and Nick Drake and realizing that they are not the same thing.

Have We Met is one of Bejar’s most interesting so far. But the grating oh-so-indie-look-at-me lyrics bash against the beauty of the beats. Maybe, just maybe, Destroyer should focus on soundtracks from now on.

There’s no real new ground being broken on Agora, but it does make a good entry point if you’ve not been acquainted with Gilberto’s music before.

While it’s sometimes a bit too unassuming for its own good, King Of A Land does well to remind the world of just what a legendary songwriter Yusuf/Cat Stevens is.

There are some songs, such as Deadly Valentine, that just seem to fall a bit flat, and considering that’s there’s only 10 tracks, it seems to be an oddly lengthy record. Yet, like most of Gainsbourg’s work, it oozes class and, at times, it becomes startlingly beautiful.

It’s a slightly uneven collection with some weaker tracks, but nevertheless its creators remain artists whose ability to construct slinky, agile grooves with a dark underbelly is still well worth seeking out.

Even Spoon's nice sounding (albeit always obtuse) lyrics can't make up for the generally flat music here, and with Transference, Spoon's undeniable swagger has taken a considerable hit.

This is an absolute delight for a fan, but hard to recommend for anyone else. Of the entire back catalogue, Side Effects seems like the slightest of their albums, but at least its hottest moments go some way to countering how underdone the whole thing seems.

Justin Vernon has succumbed to his most inane impulses – and released a selection of unseasoned, lightly scented pleasantries that neither hit or miss. They just are.

The punkier title track stands out, as does the ferocious No Surrender, both featuring in their breakdowns the standout riffs from the album. But too much of the rest is lost in a barrage of blast beats, bluster, and bludgeon.

A tough collection to make friends with, Denies The Days Demise can infuriate and delight in equal measure, often on the same track.

It might not be the explosion many were hoping for, but Progress sees Take That exploring and experimenting.

It seems a blinkered record, which can be admired for its defiantly non-commercial stance. It won’t win Fearless any new fans, and may distance Death In Vegas into more of a cult concern. All well and good if that’s the intent; otherwise, perhaps it’s time to draw the curtains, get some vitamin D and thumb through that ‘guest vocalist’ address book.

Splitting I Don’t Care Pt 1 and I Don’t Care Pt 2 into two separate tracks makes sense; one is jerky and aloof, the other stumbling and awkward, and they make nice companion pieces. But putting the two tracks either side of the aimless piano noodling of Hank’s Theme is a mis-step. That said, there are some excellent songs here, like the bristling, melodic Viper Fish, the frenetic Cracker Drool and the brash Country Sleaze.

While he’s sounding as bold and varied as ever, White’s songwriting feels a little less focused, with tracks like the seven minute opener and single Genuine Hesitation and Take Your Time (And That Orange To Squeeze) tipping over into self-indulgent dirges.

As it stands Water is a transition record, signalling a direction of travel but inconsistent and frustrating.

At times this recording is compelling, entrancing even with its sheer beauty; occasionally though it drags.

Legacy+ shows two sides of the Kuti coin that, while inevitably reflecting and respecting the history of Fela, also show his restless quest for the future and what that holds carries on with subsequent generations.

This is a debut that is, at times, rewarding and marks out Huerco S as a producer to watch.

Fever Dream won’t change the world, but it may seem like a slightly more comforting place as you listen.

Cowley has crafted a coherent, carefully planned suite of music here with a strong conceptual framework and a remarkably consistent sound.

While Mordechai falls just short of providing that ‘sit up and take notice’ moment many of us have been waiting for, there’s certainly a lot to admire about Khruangbin – not least their formidable crate-digging skills.

With Lost Songs, Trail Of Dead certainly have their hearts in the right place; sadly, though, that's the best one can really say about this album.

Hold Time goes one step further by drowning the whole caboodle in a bizarre new sound that incorporates cheesy synthetic-sounding strings, a hint of Phil Spector as well as that resolutely unpretty croak.

Most of the songs have plenty to give in these spheres, so for fans this can be viewed as a qualified success, if never quite approaching previous highs.

Despite its occasional uplifting moments, the overall feeling you get from Ultra Vivid Lament is indeed a lament for something better, something briefly promised by Resistance Is Futile despite its title sounding more Borg-like than Star Trek character Seven Of Nine.

It is in reality a bit boring, a bit generic, and a bit aggravating.

The band seem to be far too familiar with the sonic designs of The Incredible String Band and Comus. Espers II sounds more like a lovelorn impersonation of the music than a radical exploration of its possibilities.

There is a great deal of music here that showcases Ahmed Gallab's musical dexterity and skills as an arranger, however it is slightly unsatisfying as a cohesive and lucid album.

Ultimate Painting is certainly no big hitting, all powerful heavyweight champion of the world, it’s far more of a flower waving pacifist.

Nathan Fake is technically skilled, and on tracks like Hawk his creative verve really shines, but some kinks could be ironed out on this rose-tinted trek.

Perhaps National Ransom is less a randomly selected almanac, and more a series of vignettes that could potentially have relevance to any particular time and space. Costello is, inventively, trying to make musical antiquarianism a radical pursuit.

Plum does little to rock an established boat. Going forward, consistency is the key Widowspeak must aim for, because if you took their top moments from across all five albums then you would have an absolute classic on your hands. Plum needed a larger smattering of their best capabilities to warrant repeated listens.

Adulkt Life prove middle aged doesn’t mean middle of the road.

The final few tracks have an appealing sense of character to them, harnessing the potential of organic and programmed elements intertwining. The rest of Eyeroll is so abrasive that it’s hard to love, but fans of experimental electronica could certainly do worse than give it a listen.

Aside from several unwanted bumps in the road that fail to impress at all, he has at least managed to produce something that resembles an echo of past glories in a few places.

Heterosexuality is in many ways bold, both stylistically and in terms of message, but what goes missing in its weaker moments is akin to the ghost in the machine: that compositional spark which would elevate the record beyond the sum of its parts.

Stretched to album length, Haim’s shtick grows repetitive and the music is too frequently solid rather than inspired.

If the album spent more time doing what it’s good at we would have a classic on the level that Stormzy seems to be aiming for.

The summery feel and gloriously messy pop sensibility are at times great fun, but with something that is so derivative, it is hard to get too carried away without getting an urge to switch this album off and dig out the originals.

DJ Rashad indulges in his own tastes and viewpoints, ultimately creating an album’s worth of songs that are exciting on their own but exhausting and at times dull when listened to from start to finish.