While his debut album sounded wonderfully effortless, this one feels effortful in the worst possible way.

If you’re new to Pixies, try this one first, then let the magic of their previous records blow your mind. If you’re already in love with their best work, a dalliance with Indie Cindy can’t hurt.

Boots Electric rarely comes off as transcendent, only really succeeding with prior knowledge of Jesse Hughes' image.

It’s universally accessible, and it’s the kind of pop that has the potential to dominate the charts and win over hearts during festival slots.

These twelve tracks make for diverting and beguiling company for the fifty or so minutes spent with them.

Like most tribute albums, Monsieur Gainsbourg Revisited is a rather hit and miss affair, but it may just persuade people to rediscover a man who was somewhat misunderstood throughout his life.

Anyone unacquainted would be better off buying the original album, enjoying the aural experience of one of Mogwai's best for years and then revisiting what is essentially an add on, albeit one which builds on an impressive base and is an involving and exciting listen in its own right.

How Does It Feel, then, is a second album that reveals a band with plenty left in the tank.

Her debut promised much; Freedom Of Speech sees Speech Debelle delivering on that promise.

Skull In The Ice is an exception; perhaps the most tender of all the songs, it begins with a stripped-down strum and evolves in the chorus with luscious, rich surroundings. It's the sort of crescendo all these tales deserve, but the hungover state of affairs that rings supreme in this record seldom allows for this to happen.

No new ground broken. No glo-stick/daft haircut stabs at credibility. Some old haunts revisited. Shameless? Perhaps. Anyone else doing a similar musical pot pourri to such goofed-out, quality chill? No. as the good Dr described it, this is simply a follow-on from their biggest album UFOrb, which was a timeless classic.

Ultimately, Wild Things is her most consistent and coherent effort to date, surpassing even her debut. It may have taken four years, but the end result has more than justified the wait.

Tomorrow's World appeals to fans of Erasure's later albums just as much as it appeases those who swooned along to A Little Respect in 1988.

A cracking album that holds its own for almost the entire duration.

Those fiercely loyal fans will be very pleased with In Your Dreams, a pit stop in her canon of rock folklore.

The overall feel of JackInABox is summery and light, and the album flows quickly and smoothly from song to song.

As its title rightly suggests, this is a feel good slice of fun best served with a cocktail in hand.

Golden Animals do a remarkably impressive job of conjuring up just the kind of image they set out to do: floppy hatted, Afghan-coated drop outs singin' blue-eyed Blues as the acid gradually seeps out of their veins and into the foothills of the mesa.

The end result is a pleasing, intimate experience by no means out of context with the rest of Gray's catalogue.

Do Things represents an admirable sonic development for May and co. Packed full of songs to wile away summers to come, it feels like an undiscovered soundtrack to summers past as well.

As ever with Diamandis, there’s some decent pop music here, but it seems like we’re still waiting for her to produce that genuine killer album, Diamonds or no Diamonds.

Despite its serious flaws, it is nice to see Eno making this kind of music again since his relative absence in the noughties, and for Hyde it is a hopeful stepping-stone to a productive, engaging solo career.

Few could deny her vocal talents but you can't help but feel the character that made her stand out in a crowded pop room has been diluted somewhere along the line.

Turning The Mind represents something of a disappointment.

CYR may be a good record, but even with its overblown 20-song length it leaves the listener wanting more, given the context of this band’s capabilities.

A hugely enjoyable, relaxing warm bath of a record that easily surpasses the recent work of both its two main protagonists.

Overall, A New Testament is an improvement on Lysandre and demonstrates Owens’ ability to adapt to a multitude of different genres.

Encylopedia is an album that will be either loved or hated; there is little in-between as the narrow line separating catchiness from irritation shrinks to a hair’s width.

Half remembered, half acknowledged, half understood, it is, in short, very subtly brilliant.

The Open Door is an exercise in how not to make a sophomore album (or any album for that matter).

It's not what you'd call pretty, exactly, but there's a hell of a lot of charm and admirable grit to Young's decision to say bollocks to politeness and tell it like it is.

Rather than offering reinterpretation, Malin sounds like an annoying guest at a house party, who despite all efforts to hide the guitar has found it and insists on playing a disparate bunch of songs much to the annoyance of everyone else, none of whom quite have the heart to tell him to stop.

The standard of the songs never rises above the mildly pleasant, and occasionally - as on the self-consciously 'widescreen' title track or the wetter-than-a-fish's-wet-bits Mother Nature Goes To Heaven - it's pat and drab.

But for all its shortcomings, Bricolage is at least well intentioned and definitely well executed--frenetic, tightly instrumented, and performed with aplomb.

This whole album holds together in a way that their debut didn't. It's a bold step forward that commands respect and suggests that they may have some longevity.

Burn Your Town makes a refreshing change from your average debut indie LP for a couple of primary reasons. Firstly, it's showcasing a band who, rather than going down the easy route, actually care a lot more about first impressions than most of their contemporaries. Secondly, it hints that they could grow and mature nicely.

Goldberg, though, ought not to be penalised for his occasional switch of stance and self-leniency: this is an album that may not grace millions of record collections, but may well enjoy classic status in those that it does.

This collection of tracks lacks that vibrancy and spark needed to linger long in the memory. There are a few sunny moments here and there but ultimately it's disappointingly flat.

While not as flawed and over-ambitious as London Undersound or Human, the feeling persists that this is an artist who would benefit from calling a halt to all the grand projects for a while and going back to basics.

It is to be hoped that they will continue to make relevant urban commentaries as they have done prior to this brave but largely disappointing record.

Moonfire is a perfectly nice album, one that would provide a suitable soundtrack to a warm, summer evening. However, if you're looking for something to captivate and engage you, then look elsewhere.

When it finds itself so hopelessly in thrall to lost love, the record can cross a line into mawkish self-pity, the classic pitfall of many a confessional breakup album, and its appeal can then wear thin.

It's certainly fresh but, lamentably, it fails to rival the progression seen on previous releases that grabbed the listener's attention.

Odeon may lack two of the qualities that were so evident and satisfying on albums like Suzuki and No Hassle, namely their smooth consistency and unbroken flow.

It may not rock your world but, against all the odds, The Conversation presents a Texas which you can imagine falling a little bit in love with.

The Orb’s lazy beats count too much on Perry’s meaningless, abstract ruminations, or Perryisms, to add some sort of absurdist (anti-) meaning to a (mostly) boring collection of songs.

Amazingly, 14 years since their last studio album, the clock has been turned back and Big Country have produced an album on a par with some of their earlier work, probably surpassing 1988’s Peace In Our Time.

A functional album it may be but Closer To The Truth does nothing to puncture the illusions which so many love about Cher and that, ultimately, may be the best anyone can expect at this point.

Overall, No Romeo does a good job of laying down some promising foundations and confirming what Solo Dancing had already suggested--that Indiana is far more interesting than most of the uninspiring pop artists dominating the charts at the moment. Where the album suffers is in its baggy running time and lack of standout tracks to match her most recent singles.

Even if their musical influences are still heavily apparent, at least Little Victories shows the band writing all their own songs with growing assurance.

It’s a credit to Hurts for stepping outside their comfort zone and aiming high, but the end product feels as though it was rather a struggle. Possibly to gain more exposure, they’ve made what they hope is a radio friendly record, but which all but obliterates that which won them fans in the first place.

Although it will sound perfect in the arenas of the land this summer, for those of us who were blown away by early tracks like Budapest and Cassy O, there’s a lot on this follow-up that plays a bit too safe.

As a debut album it goes over well, with a convincing display of versatility and quality songwriting that firmly establishes Mabel as a force to be reckoned with in UK pop.

They will remain a formidable live proposition, but Maximo Park's third album has to go down as a disappointment--especially given the band's previous high standards.

What makes this charged debut such a powerful statement is its impeccable flow. From the moment Devil In Me swaggers in like a Molotov cocktail, you know this is going to rock - hard.

Boys And Diamonds is a madcap trek around the postmodern musical landscape of a world on the brink of catastrophe.

This is a commendable album and the two acts clearly work together incredibly well and challenge one another. But the most magic always happens when Prince’s presence is at its strongest.

Ghost Stories is overall a confessional and, as such, you definitely won’t find many anthems a la Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall or Viva La Vida. But you do get a short and sweet nine-track exorcism of demons and one crushed dude who knows how to pen some beautiful, infectious ballads.

Soft Control is an album of neatly constructed soulful pop songs that anyone who likes the artists it references would enjoy.

When you're at Rihanna's level you can afford the best songwriters and producers in the business and sonically the album is generally far ahead of her peers. Yet if Sia's Diamonds is a sultry triumph, its character and uniqueness highlights the ultimately hollow pleasures of much around it.

It doesn't match its predecessor but it's a banquet of sound well worth feasting on.

All too often, overly simplistic melodies meander repetitively as Moffat struggles mightily to stay on key.

This is a solid, if unspectacular, comeback and fans will be crossing their fingers that The Sound Of The Life Of The Mind is a new beginning, rather than a one-off cash-in.

They've produced a solid second album that is sure to succeed for them as long as they can maintain a good level of exposure.

Mars has quite remarkably extracted themes from every one of those shows [The X-Factor], incorporating each into his debut, from glossy, over-sentimental ballads (Talking To The Moon) to an all-out, shameless dispatching of joy (Marry Song).

All in all though, Meteorites is a decent, if hardly vital, album from one of this country’s true national treasures.

There may be a general lack of aggression or grit this time round, but this is more than countered by an impressive selection of songs.

Taken for what it is, Primus & The Chocolate Factory is a fantastically ridiculous release that should please fans of either [Primus or Willy Wonka].

It’s not the worst album in the world, but it certainly doesn’t live up to the acres of hype that have led up to it. It’s just rather average.

Right at the end, they redeem themselves with a romantic little pop ditty that strays into Colourfield territory, with Clarke's scowling, angry young man tones wrapping themselves as well as they can around gentler, less confrontational sentiments. It's the most interesting thing on the album and if they can harness this flexibility a bit more in the future, they might just find themselves lasting the course.

A monumental, spectacular achievement.

Like its predecessor, the Kaisers' second album is patchy, but does have moments of brilliance.

While it sometimes does become a bit too overwrought, those people who found Tori Amos' vignettes so compelling will find much to love here. It helps as well that there's a light pop touch on many of the tracks.

Moby has already said he doesn’t expect anybody to buy this album. Yet it’s likely it will shift a few units due to its high energy and low filler count, though the shouting does get wearing near the end. Once again he has confounded expectations, and the result is an album fiercely relevant to its time.

Living Room Songs may not exceed 25 minutes in length but this is still an album to luxuriate in and one that fans of traditional classical composers such as Arvo Pärt and Henryk Górecki will find to their satisfaction.

Sleep Mountain, the second long-player from The Kissaway Trail, finds the Danish quintet embracing the more sweeping aspects of rock 'n' roll emotional grandeur. And, in large part, they succeed marvellously.

Push And Shove is a decent, solid pop album, but it lacks the sense of occasion and excitement that you'd expect from a band's first album in 12 years.

Futuristicaly Speaking is by no means a perfect album, at times it seems overlong and in places too similar in tone, but it is a solid album that should see Yo Majesty making quite an impression.

Ultimately it’s likely to work best on a cold winter’s night in a remote cottage with just the wind, a raging log fire, a glass of the strong stuff and sad memories for company.

Nelly's latest offering is hopefully the beginning of the renaissance of an artist who most definitely was starting to look guilty of selling out.

It's obvious that they've spent a while cultivating a specific look, but they seem to have only spent half of that time on the album.

It's certainly not a bad album, but for those of us who have followed Truille's career from the start, and have been waiting for this album for so long, it's a disappointing one.

This is the debut record of the year so far, which has effectively raised the bar by which other bands will be judged in the future.

Hurts can do--and have done--better than this.

The Orb and Lee "Scratch" Perry recording in Berlin could have been a disaster but this is anything but.

Blonde is an album for those that miss gaudy nightclubs, huge hairstyles and nostalgia, but not much more.

It's maybe a little older and a little wiser than Junior but it just isn't anywhere near as much fun.

The album itself--whilst impressive in its seamless cohesion--does become rather formulaic in Birdy's treatment of the covers, and therefore suffers from a distinct lack of variety.

Those needing something to occupy themselves with during Annie's prolonged absence from the fold will find plenty to keep them happy (and, at the same time, a little bit sad) on My Guilty Pleasure.

The problem with Birthmarks is twofold: a lack of originality and a lack of hooks.

A welcome return of Jamiroquai's trademark blend of '80s funk and pop sensibilities - familiar, yet refreshingly different to so much of their current competition.

Snoop blends the old rap feel with the new style and adds some things to the mix along the way.

No embarrassing side-project, Let Them Talk turns out to showcase heartfelt and sensitively handled musicianship from one of our finest all-round entertainers.

Be that as it may, it is the band's recent failure to effectively collaborate, and for these 11 tracks to properly mesh, that has fostered the mediocrity inherent in A New Tide.

Throughout ARTPOP signifier upon signifier is piled on top of sometimes brilliant melodies, creating enough room for breathless readings of Gaga’s ‘art’ certainly, but failing on the more basic level as engaging pop music.

Hayes has hedged his bets, and it shows. Somewhere amongst these 25 tracks is probably a halfway decent album. It's just swamped.

Broken By Desire To Be Heavenly Sent generally plays it safe, assuming the schtick that’s got Capaldi this far has more mileage in it, which gives the album a competent, workmanlike air.

It is a valiant, but ultimately fruitless attempt to add to the already brilliant back catalogue of the Ramones.