Fink stays close to the sonic templates of both Now It's Overhead and Azure Ray, but has less impact than either.

Their most lukewarm effort. What was, in their early days, delicious in its languor is now turgid and inert, struggling for hooks with only the most tepid sense of melody.

A.M. may pick up some takers for fans of both protagonists' main bands but there is little here that will tempt the casual listener.

The curious would do best to avoid, and die-hard Robbins fans better advised to watch one of his multitude of films.

There is no doubt that Prism will do exactly what it’s been created to do (sell millions, provide the backdrop for a lucrative tour and make a lot of money for a lot of people) but it’s safe and cold where it should have been daring and involving.

There are enough excellent moments on War Stories to judge it a success, but there's another sense of missed opportunity hanging over the album.

It's a perfectly satisfactory album, but save for one or two moments of brilliance, there's nothing here that will keep you coming back for more.

Seven Rainbows is too limited to reflect the globe-trotting wanderlust of this character, Alice Gold. It's too tame to namecheck her wishlist, too insipid to do them justice.

This feels like an unnecessary and slightly cynical afterthought, much like a lot of pop music. It isn’t necessarily all bad in terms of quality. But it is utterly dispensable.

This is basically the sound of 2003 with the addition of up-to-date electronics. There’s nothing you won’t have heard before, which is a big part of the problem with Collapse.

Ultimately, although the softer, folkier moments merit attention, the album does linger in parts and really could do with a shot in the arm to lift its energy levels.

Yet another unimpressive, tedious release.

All this adds up to a qualified success, but it will certainly split opinion among his fans.

New drummer Alexis Nunez adds a percussive edge, but much credit must go to hip-hop co-producer Inflo for this fresh lease of life.

There are some noteworthy moments where brilliance is glimpsed, but this album seems to be maintaining the status quo rather than sparking a revolt.

A quiet, easy confidence in their abilities and a collection of productions straddling just about every dance music touch-point from the past 25 years.

While it lacks the finesse of the band's previous work, somewhere in amongst all the bluster, soul-searching, adrenaline and anger, the record carves out a space where everything seems to fit together.

Entertainment, though, sounds tame by anyone's standards; and by eschewing their seedy, sweaty origins in favour of clean-cut pop, they've dumped those elements of their act which made them unique in the first place.

Nobody is trying to do anything too contemporary here, and the slight remove these musicians bring to creating contemporary Ross music means we often get a pastiche of her earlier material. It’s effective, but the danger is that it veers tantalisingly close to sounding like an ironic tribute. And so, the album perhaps fares best in its simplest, and most sincerely constructed moments.

It's gentle enough to be background music, lively enough to be worth listening to for the sake of it, and certainly an impressive achievement for a 21-year-old's debut.

Few other modern musicians are as adept at taking such a tried and tested genre and making it utterly their own.

At 22 tracks, its formulaic and mechanistic approach begins to wear thin at times--there's just too much going on to properly digest it all--but as a compendium of chart-ready fodder, Nicki has honed in on precisely what works for her with remarkable ease.

Ultimately, it's an accomplished record that makes all the right noises (in the most literal sense), but it lacks the final wow factor to push it into true greatness.

He doesn't ever disappear too far up his backside, instead keeping an attentive ear on what his devotees might still want to hear.

Closing track The Dogs (featuring Moby himself on vocals) does stretch things out somewhat, it doesn’t spoil the notion that Innocents, while maybe not the creative renaissaince hinted at, is Moby’s best album for some time.

Fixin' The Charts comes with a lofty goal: to grind down the blemishes that mar the rock face of the popular music mythos. But to attempt to "fix" history, to paint over its wrongs with a broad, sneerish stroke, is a gross mis-step in the career of one of anti-pop's savviest purveyors.

So the songs merge into one, and the parts add up to less than the whole. And taken as a whole Future This is a bit much.

It's a moment to rejoice on an album that just feels flaccid in comparison to the youthful debut.

It sounds a bit like they're trying too hard, trying to be too clever in their pursuit of "technicolour joy".

Although long-term Dashboard fans will miss the more fragile moments, the new, big, epic sound is one that suits Carrabba.

Replete with tacky production and recycled ideas, its few merits are stretched to near breaking point.

A Joyful Noise is the sound of Gossip taking their love of dance floor pop to its natural conclusion with their most obvious and accessible album yet.

As a whole, Glassheart is listenable, with a few ups and downs in terms of the quality of the tracks, but does tend to keep to a very steady keel of mediocrity without much deviation.

Too often though these stabs at versatility end up as clichéd impersonations.

World Beyond ends up worth a listen if you happen to be someone who likes ’80s synthpop and classical music in equal measure. Whether there’s much here for anyone else is moot.

Breaking Up may sound tinny, it may grate occasionally, and vocalist Russell The Disaster's voice may well get on your nerves after a while - yet you'll be hard pressed to find another record this year with as much soul and honesty as this one.

Shifting perspectives and clever juxtapositions are all over this album, Middleton and Shrigley have created an album that on the face of it appears to be simple, but there’s untold depth here, as well as some endlessly creative swearing.

Diplo's original production work is the real joy of this compilation though, and probably the crowning gem is 'Solta O Frango,' from the sublime Bonde Do Role album.

Ultimately, there are some really strong pop moments on here, but they’re overshadowed by inane, inert, insignificant drama-queening of the highest degree.

The feisty personalities and powerhouse vocals have stayed intact, making it even more of a shame that the very essence of the group seems to be absent on London With The Lights On.

A statement for all of the limp new rave pretenders to pack up and fuck off, a return to form rarely sounded or felt so exciting.

To be blunt, much of Smoke + Mirrors is horrible to listen to. And yet, one can’t help but admire the band’s ambition and, on occasions, their apparent lunacy.

One man's pop is another man's weirdness. And weird, The Third Hand certainly is.

I'm not going to pretend I know anything about dance, and the experts out there might be thinking this album features the 'tune' of the summer, but for a former Simian fan, this is nothing but a huge disappointment.

The slower songs do have the effect of balancing the album. Even some of the upbeat tunes, usually The Little Ones' strength, are sometimes in danger of veering from endearing into cloying.

This is perhaps not the classic Definitely Maybe has become, but with their army of live followers accumulated since Christmas, combined with that ready made clear charisma and cocky confidence--if anyone can revive Manchester, it is the Courteeners.

For them, you feel, everything else is incidental--by-products of an already winning formula. For at the heart of each of the songs here is a touch of resonance--the kind that all the best pop records have.

There's not one duff moment during the album's 50 minutes - it's pop music to be treasured, loved and listened to for years to come.

While the melodies are stodgy and predictable, the lyrics don't help a great deal.

If you've approached Herbert's music before you'll already know to expect the unexpected. If it's your first time, use all the surround sound you have and revel in the power of free musical speech and a fantastic update of timeless jazz styles.

The album may start well, but there is very little on the record that will last long in the memory.

On the whole Start And Complete is a singular and fearless album that conveys significant emotion, rewards repeat listens, and shows what can be achieved when a band's approach to music is defined by bravery and vision.

This album provides a gateway to a spine-tingling and thought-provoking experience which more than compensates for the intermittent poor man's Bjork moments.

It's those lyrics that make much of this second album such a disappointment.

It seems that the first principles that got Aeroplane their quality remixes--a real sense of atmosphere, and slow disco-house beats that might be regarded as 'cosmic' in some circles--are only fleetingly glimpsed. Deluca has proved that he can comfortably write in a number of different styles of music--but on the next record it might work better to stick to the ones he has truly mastered.

Aided by conductor and arranger John Wilson, who coaxes a first-rate performance from the London Classical Orchestra, Ocean's Kingdom is an accomplished if unremarkable foray into an unfamiliar medium by the ex-Fab Four polymath.

The sense of a missed opportunity lingers.

Weird it may be, but when CocoRosie get it right, as with the cutesy pop and dark piano melancholy mix of Lemonade, or the beautiful ethereal balladry of the title track for example, they are unstoppable.

This is music that originates from the soul, but it is delivered in an entirely soulless fashion.

For all its flaws, it remains a tremendously fun record. But artistically speaking, it’s woefully weak.

A few of the tracks have a moment, usually a chorus, that you might want to play back a few times. But like Editors, taken as an album there's nothing unique, rewarding, or even merely engaging enough to be worthy of another spin.

On Magna Carta... Holy Grail, Jay comes off as even more pretentious than Kanye.

An album that could have built on the promise of the last, and instead dilutes it in an almost certainly vain pitch for chart success.

Despite some bland detours into the middle of the road, there are still enough good moments here to remind of her talent.

This is a quality piece of craftsmanship and there isn't a weak point on the album.

The best parts of A Head Full Of Dreams are where the band cut loose and play around with expectations.... However, those who hate Coldplay with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns will also find plenty to grease their wheels on A Head Full Of Dreams. There’s the lyrics for a start, which are almost universally terrible.

When the band does not explore their influences as assertively, their music blends in a little too closely with that of their peers.

His 11th solo studio album Low in High School is a mixed bag of brilliance and dross. There are some genuinely interesting new explorations while other tracks are deeply disappointing. Disconcertingly uneven, yes, but not safely predictable.

Despite the occasional lapse into MOR sludge, this is mostly the sound of a band back on form.

The problem with Tides End as a whole is that it all sounds a bit like a blander, toned-down version of every electro-rock album released in the late Noughties, and unfortunately for Minks, five years isn’t long enough for people to get nostalgic about a certain sound.

The lameness of the words would be forgivable if they were paired with music that provided any kind of pleasant distraction. But across Happy People’s 10 tracks, the band prove themselves incapable of writing a single decent hook.

[Majenta is] an album that brings the influence of Prince on his music to the fore. It works well, with a healthy funk quotient present throughout, going with some lyrics that might make a grown adult blush but which stop short of being too risque.

When it’s on form, Reasonable Woman is proof that Sia can still hit those high marks like she’s always been able to. The trouble is that there’s just not enough of those high points on this record.

It’s not that it’s terrible--and credit should go to them for being so adventurous--but this might just be a makeover too far.

It may lack the standout hits of the band’s earlier material, but the record does at least have the direction and purpose that has previously been missing.

The intricate lines are admirably realised, but now and then a more solid drum beat or hook wouldn't go amiss.

The dabbling with country music overall, however, is rather hit and miss and the distinct lack of variation over several tracks won’t help sell this album in large quantities. There is enough here though to satisfy those die-hard fans.

Oh, inverted world, you’re not as much as fun or as interesting as we hoped.

While what Clean Bandit are doing is incredibly interesting, it’s probably premature to say that they’re harbingers of musical enlightenment. They may, however, be the heralds of super-duper/boogietacular parties across the summer.

Like fine steak, Born Villain is at its best raw and bloody.

When the music peaks this is an enchanting listen, but it's unlikely to win the band any new converts.

Somehow, the expected drama or crescendo never quite arrives, and we are left with an overextended auditory shrug, sadly emblematic of the rest of this strangely unsatisfying album.

As an album, it doesn’t break any new ground--it doesn’t try to. What it does do though is sweep itself up in a groundswell of beautiful, heart-tugging nostalgia so strong it’s as if 2003 lies just beyond the window again, shimmering in the haze of the morning dew.

In the final analysis, The Whip need to focus more on the dynamics of the dance floor and less on looking cool for the covers of inkies.

In the end, Keep Calm And Carry On is a forgettable, throwaway stopgap, a dog-eared blast of mediocrity in the career of a mainstay band.

Mr Oizo is not a man with a long attention span, and that shows as each track zips between styles and moods relentlessly, entertaining but sometimes maddening.

While the album is polished, Kassidy rarely take themselves out of their comfort zone. It's a decent album, but much like its predecessor, it's nothing to shout about.

Evolution Theory is an album that has a base level thrill to its highlights but it is an ephemeral thrill that is fleeting on record, and there’s the sense that these songs will work best in the live environment where Modestep will excel.

Exile is found wanting when they try too much to be the stadium band rather than allowing the drama to play out.

It is no necessarily a bad record, but it is seriously lacking in memorable moments, which is a crying shame considering how good Oceans still sounds.

Earth Grid does what it does and maybe that is the sole objective, an obtuse experiment in the metrics of engagement. Some will undoubtedly put this on headphones, stare into the middle distance and find a place that only Osborne can open for them. Many will ignore it.

Stupid, clichéd, utterly ridiculous for sure, but done with so much pizazz that you can't help but fall for its charms.

He infuses Relapse with occasional sparks, but fails to transcend the same tired themes--except, of course, when he becomes Marshall Mathers, the Recovering Drug Addict.

This Modern Glitch is a decent album. The problem is that The Wombats have a reputation as a better-than-decent band. This new offering isn't enormously different to what's come before.

Here's hoping that the pleasant-at-best Yeah Ghost is but a wispy, passing apparition, and not a haunting omen for similarly ineffective work in the future.

If you like Billy Corgan for his knack of writing a radio-friendly song with a heavy dose of angst, then you may not enjoy TheFutureEmbrace. Yet give the man credit for moving on and signalling a clear break with his past.

La Liberación is not a new lease of life but perhaps a glimpse of one - if only in moments, if only in one track, there still seems to be enough to keep them going. And on those good bits alone, they're worth just one more chance.

Exorcised of the dud tracks, Unbroken is a streamlined pure-pop winner, but ultimately it cannot measure up to Lovato's contemporaries.