There's still signs of the nutso techno loony who prompted NME to invent the term 'drill'n'bass' back in the mid-'90s. [14 Oct 2006, p.35]

Shangri La is basically more of the same, and for many of his fans, that’ll be more than enough. It would be a shame, however, if it was enough for Bugg, too.

Despite overwhelming evidence to support the notion that he should quit vocal duties forever, he continues to labor under the delusion that his cochlea-shredding falsetto sounds like anything other than Prince with his scrotum in a vice.

Uneasy and scratchy, and powered by hefty beats from producer Justin Raisen, ‘No Home Record’ is a restless listen.

Cabic's alt.blues vocals sometimes sound disinterested, but they merely act as a device for the music to take over the listener. [1 Jul 2006, p.36]

Bad As Me has to rank as a disappointment, since there are no surprises to match Real Gone's sepulchral funk or Orphans'... breathtaking sweep.

It’s skillfully realised, but feels like a soundtrack missing a movie.

‘True’ is the only real misstep on the record’s first half: a preachy self-love anthem that feels like it might’ve come together without Marina thinking how the lyrics sound when sang out loud, but it’s quickly passed over when ‘To Be Human’ arrives.

Of course it's pretentious, but the blend of reading-group rock, goth showtunes and gold standard hamming from Willem Dafoe and Steve Buscemi is surprisingly compelling after a while.

While there’s a comforting familiarity that comes with all things Suede, it’s wonderfully shrouded on The Blue Hour by a very new, romantic and alluring strangeness. These are not hits to shake your bits to. Nor will these beats shake your meat. Rest assured, Suede remain the beautiful ones, but are just looking for beauty in ever more curious places.

Here is the ultra-Keane album, with tinkling, histrionic, arena-ready piano motifs™, soaring, emotive vocals™ and songs called 'Day Will Come', 'In Your Own Time' and 'Silenced By The Night'.

It’s a slow-burnin’ collection that’s certainly less immediate than their debut, and often feels like a retread instead of a progression. But that doesn’t make songs like ‘Friend of Mine’ and ‘Song For Ty’ any less enjoyable, as Elrich’s and Kazacek’s songwriting bond appears stronger than ever.

It might lack the raw appeal of Kendrick's 2011 mixtape 'Section.80', but it's also a big-budget reminder that the 25-year-old hasn't forgotten his roots.

While it's an impressive document, it can’t quite recapture the nocturnal intimacy of ‘Nothing Else But This’ and ‘Dream’.

Much as there's no getting away from the fact that this is basically one long remix, it's much better than the car crash we all predicted it would be.

If soft-hearted London folkies Noah And The Whale aren’t quite as deft with savoury rice, they’ve got the knack of balancing heart-melting, pupil-dilating ditties with words of chill bleakness down pat.

Beneath their notorious humour, 11th studio album Coaster is less angry than previous political witch hunts, but Fat Mike and co still love to offend.

Fool’s Gold might mine a rich vein, but they rarely forge anything more than mere tourist trinkets.

He’s managed to morph his frustrations of the world into engaging and frantic material that packs serious spirit. Yet another album we’ll have to wait to see live.

It’s the ‘meh’ shruggable moments of filler around them that dog the consistency of ‘Wallop’. There’s not the high-octane fuel or direction to take the record to the heights that it so constantly teases.

An odd album. [13 Aug 2005, p.58]

So unashamedly beaming with the spirit of 1991 that it should be wearing a flannel shirt and a woozy expression. [22 Apr 2006, p.41]

It's not so much that [they] sound a bit like The Rapture so much as, occasionally, they seem to be running off Xerox copies of specific Rapture songs. [29 Jan 2005, p.58]

Don't start here before the essential LPs... But once you've fallen in love (and believe us, it's inevitable), this is a mesmerising next stop. [17 Jul 2004, p.48]

An older, wiser, more mature and more accomplished Thrills but -- to be honest -- the heart of 'Let's Bottle Bohemia' could quite easily have been made from the leftovers of 'So Much For The City.' [11 Sep 2004, p.54]

The most interesting moments on ‘Deleter’ arrive when the band embrace ’90s dance in all its euphoric, Technicolor glory. There is still plenty here for fans of the band’s more melancholic, anxiety-ridden electronica, but there’s some much-needed escapism to be derived from getting lost in Holy Fuck’s tripper soundscapes.

Their charm lies in the feeling that below the faintly twee, wistful, synthy exterior beats a feisty riot-grrl heart.

As things stand, it too often feels like a watered-down version of what Jack White peddles.