Placebo have been plumbing the same vein for so long, they've slipped into self-parody and come out the other side with their lipstick all smudged.

He's no Marcel Proust, but full credit for producing what's an unusually thoughtful album in contemporary pop music terms. Even if it is a bit morbid.

All told, while not every track has the immediacy of 'Lies' or 'Recover', there's not a weak one among them.

Sandoval's voice remains an indescribably beautiful thing, while David Roback's guitar provides haunting backing.

It'll do for a fleeting one-night stand, but Mechanical Bull isn't the rekindling of a romance that we'd hoped for.

It’s probably just a little too icy and detached to blow up in the manner of The Weeknd, Jessie Ware or similar indie R&B success stories, but Pull My Hair Back's pop sensibility renders it the most obviously accessible thing Hyperdub have released for a while.

It’s a more honest, human, realistic--and totally wonderful--guide to life.

It’s a self-important album, but an accomplished one.

The album’s first half is fantastic.... The album’s second ‘suite’ is mellower and less consistent.

Musically it’s not a huge departure from Subiza, but if it ain’t broke there’s no point fixing it.

Farewell to Condale, the ’80s teen-flick soundstage for Summer Camp’s brilliant rom-pop 2011 debut; welcome to the slick ’90s house club of their equally impressive second.

Up there with Cash’s ‘American’ series this is not. But 48-year-old Lanegan is a classy bastard, so he just about gets away with it.

MGMT might be an uncomfortable journey at times, but it’s also a transcendental one you’ve never been on before.

The Manics’ 11th album is a subtle, satisfying record that showcases their continuing ability to soar, albeit without digging anywhere near as deep as their politico-punk-pop totems, 1992’s ‘Generation Terrorists’ and 1996’s ‘Everything Must Go’.

Of late he’s adopted a sweeter, eddying Americana, and Dream River takes a turn to lush country-soul.

Its only disappointment is the absence of Roots rapper Black Thought to joust with him.

This 10th album lacks such bite [as 1999’s single Flame].

Mainman Rick Froberg might be midway through his fifth decade, but he and his cohorts can still make one hell of a racket.

There’s not much sugar to sweeten the pill, meaning Trap Lord is often one-note and depressing.

As a whole it’s a bold, beautiful and uncompromising record.

Nine of the ten songs are named after friends, and they’re samey and indulgent.

Salute the heavens, then, that the result is an absolutely belting 10 songs.

Throughout their debut album London Grammar walk a fine line between haunting and boring.

Arctic Monkeys’ fifth record is absolutely and unarguably the most incredible album of their career. It might also be the greatest record of the last decade.

It’s a dark, smart and thrilling debut.

It’s bread and butter blues-rock, packed with lyrical anachronisms and clichés, but it’s done well.

This is not the carefree record Splashh were expected to make, but it is all the better for its dourness.

He doesn’t want to be a powerhouse rap star. Doris may alienate people looking for him to be that. For everyone else, this is a powerful record.