'Walking With Thee' is barely forty minutes in length, but feels about half that length - not because it flies by, but because throughout, it barely feels substantial.

A record that occasionally shows steady growth, but this potential remains largely untapped.

There's two ways for the devout Dandys fan to approach 'Odditorium...' . 1) it's their 'Kid A', a brave blunder into a new creed of experimentation into which they will hopefully one day re-work The Tunes. Or 2) what they really wanted to make was a week-long jazz opus played entirely on dying cats, but the record company made them put some proper songs on it.

Each of these six songs is named after a traditional Norwegian dish, and together they cook up a satisfying if unadventurous snack.

It’s not something you’ll be hankering to press play on repeatedly. Not that it’s bad music: excuse the pretension, but it really is an experience; one that would lend itself better to accompanying Jaar’s physical art installations than a standard album listen.

There are some bangers that you’ll know, such as ‘Manic Monday’, which was written by Prince for The Bangles, whose singer Susanna Hoffs lends some warm guitar and vocals to match Armstrong’s silky sentimental side. It’s the perfect soundtrack to lazily whiling away the monotony of quarantine.

However successful the whole endeavour (¡Dos! and ¡Tré!) might end up being, ¡Uno! can only be judged on its own merits, and those merits are somewhat erratic.

A release packed with bangers and choppy breaks.

There’s no question that Herring still writes songs capable of evoking strong emotions, but this time around they can occasionally feel too twinkly and repetitive. What’s missing is some risk-taking; unpredictable production flourishes that could better reflect the overall mood of the album and all the ambiguities that accompany a major life change.

Although it's smart, it also feels safe compared with the thrilling records Clark has made before.

Patience is impressive, for sure, but The Invisible still leave us wanting to see much, much more.

Not a misstep for Eno, but not quite the best of both worlds, either.

A ‘difficult second’ album this is not, but the big set-pieces are left wanting. .... Regardless, there’s ample to consider, decode and treasure from an artist who consistently makes poring over the lyric sheet line-by-line as much fun as the finished product.

Nobody's pretending this lot balance on the razor-sharp blade of the cutting edge. Even so, their orchestral whimsy presses the 'lovely, bordering on twee' button.

Like the syndrome named after the titular city, you’ll fall for these tunes with repeated exposure, but you’ll live without them once you’re free from them too.

In turns, it's searingly honest and brutal... with interludes where everything turns fluffy. [19 Aug 2006, p.35]

Well-meaning and positive, ‘Zoom In’ is the aural equivalent of wishing somebody a ‘Happy Hump Day!’ over email, while wearing a daft grin. For all its flaws, this is a hard record to hate.

These clear, plucky songs may not be terribly adventurous for the most part, but they do feel like the ambitious work of an artist broadening their scope.

X-Press 2 are like a dancefloor Oasis; great at pleasing the crowds, less good at innovation, and fatally weakened by their reverence for washed-up old rockers.

Oczy Mlody is the sonic equivalent of a deserted space-ship adrift in the cosmos, with Coyne as the lonely repair-bot dusting the diodes. A psych rock Passengers, then, rather than Barbarella.

It sounds very pleasant.

The uncluttered production always feels reasonably on-trend, but too often these songs just aren’t catchy or inventive enough to be truly memorable. The result is another pretty decent album that doesn’t quite ignite.

Rather than a fresh blast of wizardry, ‘Extreme Witchcraft’ is more of a feet-finder for our times.

There's little on PSB's album that matches the big twizzly dunce-hatted glory of their 'Very' peak. [20 May 2006, p.33]

It’s not quite the revelatory departure we might have hoped for, and has the rich but unfocused feel of something worked on perhaps too long with obsessive fervour, but it’s also subtle and interesting; an intriguing soundtrack to an era of change.

Occasionally brilliant ear food for when you’re just drifting off.

‘Monthly Friend’ might not be the progression we were quite hoping for, but there are sparks of more refined songwriting and tunes lifted by a bolder voice. An artist who’s so admirably dedicated to their craft is certainly one to keep an eye on.

Only ‘The English Summer’ and ‘Pink Lemonade’ bear much resemblance to the antsy, fidgety post-punk The Wombats made their name with, and both end up falling somewhat flat. In its place are the sleek, synth-laden likes of ‘Be Your Shadow’ and ‘Headspace’ --precision-engineered for mass appeal, but no less effective for it.

He’s named after his father’s best fishing fly, but the pastoral folk moments on Stephen Wilkinson’s fifth album of chummy electronica pale next to the glut of nostalgic yearning.

Those three seconds of stuttering electronica simply take their reputation for leftfield experimentalism too far. Thankfully, such wilful pretension buggers off, and the rest is a more quality-controlled set.

This clash of sweetness and discordance can be irritating.

When the disparate influences mesh properly--as on the irresistible ‘Fool You’ve Landed’--they find a very happy medium.

The musical landscape has changed since Fall Out Boy’s Warped Tour days in the mid-’00s, and so have they. As Mania shows, it’s probably for the best.

The hardcore will find ‘Live In Liverpool’ too light while new converts would be better off delving into the treasure trove of old albums.

A 30-track nonsense-o-paedia of speed-metal twatabouts. [9 Apr 2005, p.58]

They needed to up their innovating significantly but haven’t, leaving All Hope Is Gone above-average.

When Kane rises above that tentativeness, as with the rousing and charismatic title track, the effect is engaging. But for the most part, this solid but unchallenging album is a step towards nowhere in particular.

Elect The Dead is both impressive and bewildering--almost as if SOAD's wildest excesses have been standardised.

It all sounds immaculate, but lacks the memorable lyrics and direct hooks of Papercuts’ pop forbears.

It’s the sound of a former trendsetter, settled happily into adulthood, doing his own thing, following his muse, comfortable in his skin. It’s a pleasure to hear.

What’s My Name dares you to continue listening, to see if you can make it through its first song without spontaneously combusting from second-hand embarrassment, a spectral groan of “Grandaaad” escaping from your ashes as they sizzle and singe. ... But perhaps opening with such a heinous song is actually a genius move. In isolation, they might not fare so well but, after that, nothing else sounds as bad.

While frontman Matt Davies' transition from apocalyptic yoof-preacher to hoodied motivational speaker will definitely leave listeners with an extended sense of self-belief, the winsome angst that once drove songs such as "Streetcar" has all but disappeared.

It’s equal parts witty and serious, poppy and knotty, cracking wise one minute, then demanding you sit quietly and listen carefully through some complicated soul-searching.

This retro sound is no surprise as Echo & The Bunnymen producer Hugh Jones is in control, and he infuses No Fighting In The War Room with a sneering urgency. It works, but only in spurts.

This may well get those girls on the dancefloor but it crucially lacks the subtle depth to give it that all-important soul.

While TIM is unlikely to win any existing EDM-deniers over, its addition to Avicii’s back catalogue will come as great comfort to both the fans and family of the late DJ.

Their first new music in three years, is a cohesive listen.

It’s a shame the saccharine musical backing too often makes it hard to empathise.

There's little warmth other than a palpable meeting of minds of its creators, whose culture of experimental collaboration is only to be lauded.

Spring King are at their restless best when Musa--who sometimes vomits on and just-offstage from exhaustion--sounds uncomfortable.

There's two sides to Nedry. One is given to taking faintly voguish reference points, lopping off the sharp edges and smoothing out the kinks. It's pretty, but weirdly bloodless....The other is less polite....Message to the band: ignore your nicer side in future.

Though Gary Barber's half-spoken, oh-so-London urchin coo brings a little quirk to proceedings, for the most part Native To is a pleasant but not memorable listen.

BOATS II is your standard 2013 Southern hip-hop record, complete with ticking beats (‘Extra’), Auto-Tune (‘So We Can Live’) and eye-rollingly explicit lyrics (‘Where U Been?’).

Unfortunately, despite some nice tunes, the formula seems a little, well, formulaic. [11 Nov 2006, p.43]

SVIIB is a fitting eulogy for a musician and a band ever connected with both.

Yes, the record can sit a little awkwardly between being nostalgic and current – given her enlisting on next-gen stars for a hip-hop soul collection – but the take-the-power-back narrative really makes these songs shine.

Sadly, he only briefly reaches the heights of his best Gorky's work. [18 Feb 2006, p.36]

When you constantly remind the world how great you were, it rather detracts from the good stuff you're still capable of.

Ironically ‘Jordi’s stand out songs are the ones lacking almost entirely in guest star pull – instead, in these moments, they fuse ambitious, wide-screen arena-pop with messier, more complicated subject matter and Adam Levine’s feelings and experiences over the last three years. It’s here that Maroon 5 break free of paint-by-numbers pop, and unearth introspective clarity instead.

Over the album’s 12 tracks, Stefani doesn’t mope once--in fact, a lot of the time she sounds like she doesn’t give a s**t. ‘Where Would I Be’ and ‘Send Me A Picture’ say it with Disney dancehall, while ‘Me Without You’ is the closest she comes to balladry, singing “I don’t need you/not a little bit” over polished trip-hop.

The record shines during these more upbeat, fun moments. ... The album is less successful when Cabello tries to show the side of romance where you’re falling head over heels, or doubting a relationship.

Propelled by a glossy indie sound hell-bent on dragging the band up festival bills, opener ‘Hometown’ expresses this best. ... The problem is, such weighty ambition is left off this album, which too often finds them content on taking the easy road.

‘Sunburn’ still acts as a love letter to the place he was raised in, however, allowing Fike to return home not only to the relentless humid state but to himself.

He excellently lends Coldplay's 'The Scientist' a terse fragility, but less successful is a sanitised, Sheryl Crow-featuring version of Tom Waits' 'Come On Up To The House'.

‘Love Goes’ does possess a handful of pop- and radio-friendly tracks, but at its core its Smith’s knack for sap and soul – and their singular, chilling vocals – that forms the base of the record. When it comes to songwriting, Smith oscillates towards what they know.

You may well be charmed by Ghost Outfit’s acidic battery; but there’s so much going on, you may have trouble remembering how their songs go.

'Algiers', their seventh album, is far less surface-level appealing, but the sad twang of a pedal steel and Joey Burns' rich lyrical imagery draw you in, and depth and craftsmanship is slowly revealed.

When she steers away from pastiche and fully delves into cataloguing the mundanity, pomposity and sheer ridiculousness of grotty Little England, she’s at her best as a songwriter.

Metal Resistance shines brightest during tracks such as the epic, melodic ‘Amore’, which draws more heavily on J-pop. For the most part, though, its adherence to the aforementioned formula can be quite boring.

Too often, however, Flory is prone to overcomplicating matters, and tracks like ‘In Time’ and ‘Get Down’ wind up too governed by the soulless stamp of the laptop.

The resulting noodly beats might have pricked ears in 2007. But in 2012, with Flying Lotus set to redefine the LA scene with his keenly awaited fourth album 'Until The Quiet Comes', it's not quite enough.

A handful of great songs might not be quite enough to sustain a new listener, or placate an older one. ‘Gigaton’’s saving grace? There’s plenty of malcontent here, even if Vedder leaping from amps might be a thing of youthful memory.

Pierce’s creative and personal rebirth are evident throughout, but a return to the trappings of earlier records makes for a relatively limp second half. ... Overall, though, The Drums sound closer to what Pierce had envisioned all those years ago.

At least his grimmer outlook has inspired some equally raw music.

While it’s stronger than the messy ‘Born This Way’, Artpop feels little more culture-quaking than a good collection of fun, silly, well-crafted pop songs.

The first REM album to really disappoint. [2 Oct 2004, p.60]

What these tracks are, though, are lovingly programmed, laser-dappled, preening--thanks to Sampha's buttery soul voice--and glossy reduxes of late-'90s two-step and twitchy post-house that should be filed next to James Blake and Jamie Woon.

Selecting a few old R&B bangers, he’s created some tracks that will be on playlists for years to come. Tory Lanez has modernised cult hits that are, in some cases, nearly two decades old. And despite the use of these classics, the album still feels like his own.

Moments when his former wretchedness is recognisable rescue the album.

Its mixtape nature means it isn’t yet the concise album Keel Her might one day produce, but the breezy likes of ‘Go’, ‘Riot Girl’ and ‘Don’t Look At Me’ are tuneful pop pastiches in the vein of Dum Dum Girls and Ariel Pink.

‘I’m Doing It Again Baby!’ is a fine album; it’s fun and sweet, if a little bland. It’s a pristine pop record that takes few risks and leaves little room for error – though it might be more interesting if it did.

As usual, if you scratch the surface there's a lot more going on than you'd initially realised. [20 Jan 2007, p.31]

Across 31 minutes and just seven songs, Poliça are impeccably focused on ‘Madness’, packaging up their first decade as a band into a neatly formed, bite-sized package.

Total couldn't be more mid-noughties if it came dressed in a geometric hoodie, and the result is a chopped-up, sample-heavy stew that's a whole load of fun if the Tales Of The Jackalope shebang was your Hacienda.

While the nine-year break has seen the duo barely switch up their instrumentation--Warren Fischer is still blasting drum machines and moody synth underneath Spooner’s vocals--the band’s friend and new producer, R.E.M.‘s Michael Stipe, seems to have generally smoothed the scruffier side of the duo’s compositions.

That’s what’s frustrating here--although, like Waits, he’s obviously a truly poetic lyricist, the instrumentation is much more engaging than Henry’s placid voice.

Sadly, the promise of desert-rock heaviness is, if anything, underplayed.

What compensates for 'Keys To The World''s shortcomings... is that voice. [21 Jan 2006, p.33]

‘EBM’, then, goes some way to bringing the seasoned band back to what they do best, all the while pushing things forward.

The album, frustratingly, proceeds on a perplexingly flat note. Clocking in at 14 songs, one wonders if the ferocity of ‘Grooming My Replacement’ could have completed a memorable ten-track collection, with the final few tracks lacking that consistent cutting edge.

Though this is her most creative record to date, the lyrics stick to safer territory.

While ‘The Darker The Shadow’ is ambitious, packed with witty, insightful commentary on the human experience, its conceptual focus allowing plenty of scope for creative flourishes, it ultimately lacks the incisive punch of his earlier songwriting.

Though these are often beautiful and uneasy songs, too many of them feel rudderless.

Not a bad record then, but one that's debased by the disappointment of one of the UK's bright hip-hop hopes selling soul rather than surprises.

While these might not be Nilsson finest ever songs, it’s nothing less than a joy to hear him singing again.

It's a consistently engaging combination. [18 Feb 2006, p.35]

He ought to save the apologies and descend into full-on self-loathing mode more often.

Despite a handful of lacklustre moments on the album, ‘Everything Else Has Gone Wrong’ permeates the band’s trademark sound with fresh ideas.