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

From the brief flamenco break in the pummelling ‘Night Night Burn’ and the doomy guttural rumblings of ‘In The Name Of’ to the horns-up thrash anthemics of ‘Distortion’, ‘Metal Galaxy’ is a wild ride that, through its sheer energy, is somehow infectiously accessible.

Will only sound sweeter as summer draws nearer. [19 Mar 2005, p.59]

What White has done with ‘Fear Of The Dawn’, in fact, is row his experimental tendencies back a little, as if to meet the desires of his audience halfway. Unfortunately, that can make large chunks of the ensuing record a confused and purposeless mess.

Breezy and club-ready standout ‘What’s Next’ isn’t too dissimilar to ‘Laugh Now, Cry Later’; the quietly simmering ‘Wants and Needs’, which features a glittering star turn from Lil Baby, evokes some of the more brooding parts of ‘Scorpion’; and ‘Lemon Pepper Freestyle’ is the kind of exuberant freestyle cut that we know Drake likes to close his projects with.

Not quite double thumbs aloft then, but way fabber than it has any right to be.

It all adds up to an overlong, slightly repetitive but ultimately compelling album of two halves.

Missteps are few. Instead of taking a battle-axe to what came before, ‘WOMB’ refines Purity Ring even further. The subtle experiments pay off – even if you may sometimes wish they’d surprise you more.

Experimenting with different vocal registers and taking advantage of how harmoniously her voice goes with live instruments, she’s shared a collection that should leave you itching for her next step. If these are loosies, it’s proof of how top-notch her craft is.

It is pleasant, and largely forgettable.

The Seduction Of Kansas is a fun, dancey funk-punk record that benefits from Congleton’s lightness of touch, proof that you can step outside your comfort zone and maintain your sense of self.

On their third release Asobi Seksu have toned down the fuzz’n’raunch of old and come over all Cocteau Twins-y and mature--not necessarily a bad thing, just quite a bit less visceral.

There are simply too many stodgy slowies. [13 Nov 2004, p.57]

He has some bangers, despite being pretty hit or miss. This second stab at musical longevity is exactly what it says on the label: all over the place. But at this point in his musical career, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

These are well-penned tunes. They just don’t do anything special with them.

Covering so much ground (‘Hydrate’ even bridges dubstep and reggae) means the album lacks a clear narrative or overarching theme.

To be clear, the good outweighs the bad here, but Tinie has lost a lot of the charm that, when he turns it on, makes him so appealing.

It’s only when he plays to his strengths that On My One comes into its own.

Much of this record plays like a tribute to '90s miserabilists Red House Painters, all phantom-like reverb over misleadingly comforting folk tropes.

You'll be comfy, you might spot some pretty things on the hard shoulder, but ultimately it doesn't get you anywhere.

Ne-Yo‘s overly polished vocals not sit well and Preemo’s production sounds uncharacteristically remedial. Sometimes, too, Guru’s absence is a little too noticeable. ... But these hiccups aren’t enough to derail the album’s quest to remind fans why the duo’s name is mentioned amongst the hip-hop greats.

All too often, tracks feel like connectors – carriages to transport listeners between the singles. There’s little narrative, few definitive themes, but there are lots of guests.

It’s hard to find a unifying meaning beyond the beautiful noise or any indication, really, of what a band that’s cut‘n’spliced a plethora of sounds and genre has left to say or do. Perhaps a part two will answer.

Although ‘B7’ could probably benefit from an injection of tempo from time to time, as well as a little trimming – the granular ‘High Heels’, where Brandy raps under her Bran’Nu alias, disrupts the album’s more refined moments – it mostly thrives, thanks to her unwavering resilience, the unique texture of her vocals and the stellar production courtesy of DJ Camper, Lonnie Smalls II and the late LaShawn Daniels.

They pick a traditional genre and do everything in their wicked power to leave it a broken, quivering wreck by the time they’re finished with it.

It’s melodic, competent stuff, but if you’re going to try and push the crazy buttons you’ve got to go full straitjacket, and Liam Finn is just a tad too straight.

Tasteful and perfectly executed, but workmanlike.

It's compelling, and finds new territory.... But it doesn't do a huge amount to lodge itself in your memory