This is certainly the kind of music punk had to be invented for. It probably won’t make it onto the Radio 1 playlist, but don’t be surprised if something from Stiff pops up on Mid Morning Matters.

The problem is that Ferg fails to provide a coherent musical vision to go with these compelling reminiscences.

The Free Nationals’ supreme musicianship is unquestionable, but they more often than not seem to require an outside presence leading from the front to really bring it all home.

Laura Marling, six years Emmy’s junior, sounds far more worldly wise, and there’s a sense of naivety, rather than innocence, that stops the album being as Joni Mitchell as it thinks it is.

At one point, Presley claims, he and Le Bon used the sound of a frog’s ribbit for an instrument. It’s here where Hippo Lite verges towards sounding like music that was only ever made for its makers, rather than an outside audience. In a quest to discover simple living free of consequence, Le Bon and Presley can, at times, get lost in their own little bubble.

The result: essential listening for members of the Lambily – Carey’s famously loyal fanbase – and an intriguing, sometimes fascinating artefact for everyone else.

Grey Britain has important things to say, but due to the lack of any direction or mission, it allows itself to be eaten up by the anger that fuels it.

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

Tracks like 'Bacaroo' and 'Sailing Bells' deploy the sort of lovely string arrangements that sweep you off your feet and have your knickers on the floor before you even notice your cold bits.

In parts Riz's flow is slightly awkward, but his rhymes are tight and full of razor-sharp quips, and the production is slick and energetic.

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.

It feels distant and phoned in.

Having now racked up multiple albums of tastefully burbling electronics and inscrutable guitar oddness, Instrument still suits the term: rarely does it ‘rock’ at all, so TRR may as well have progressed beyond it. It’s by no means without merit, though.

For all the flash and flair, the freshest, most intimate moments here are the result of holding back.

The result disturbs something of the original's gauzy ambience, but there are some fine refigurings.

Melodically there’s consistent bombast – the record opens with ‘Stepdad’s wonky sound, sounding like an orchestra disco epic played on a Fisher Price keyboard. ‘Miami Memory’ becomes a slipperier prospect when Cameron’s usual ironic schtick reappears.

Although as tuneful as ever, tracks like 'Alice The Goon' and 'Peace And Love' reflect these tumultuous political times with a new and surprisingly vicious sonic edge that even they probably didn't think they could muster. [25 Mar 2006, p.37]

Best enjoyed off your face at a festival and forgotten about the next day.

Its DOOM quota is surprisingly small. ... But is the record good? Unquestionably. Is it fun? Very.

It's relentless, occasionally breathless but always absorbing. [4 Sep 2004, p.73]

They may be strutting right down the middle of the road, but they look pretty damn cool doing it. The Soft Pack make being A-OK into something to be proud of.

The result is an eccentric grab-bag of styles and influences, with enough harps on it to keep Joanna Newsom fans happy, and even a retro 4/4 beat dancing in on the aptly named ‘Disco Compilation’.

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

FLOHIO’s willingness to embrace a number of genres and sounds in her music — from 2000s grime to house music — can only be a positive thing, and ‘Out Of Heart’, a body of work that does show promise, serves up a refreshing take on modern-day rap. There’s still room for improvement, though.

The album peaks quite early – perhaps with a few tweaks to the tracklist, the new stars of YSL could have had a little more time to shine.

Given the period of separation we’ve had from them, it feels a little phoned-in in places and lacking cohesiveness.

‘Quarter Life Crisis’ moves between moods that translate to bright, Day Glo colours (‘Kid Genius’) or dark goth accents (‘Die Alone’). But the former can often turn grating.

This is instead a solid collection of outtakes, rather than a full display of their songwriting muscle.