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 finds the band cruising along the middle of the road, with occasional interesting detours.

As with everything The Indications do, ‘Private Space’ is incredibly listenable, yet for all their efforts to expand their sound, they still rest often on the formula of old.

Eloise’s attempts to gently push her sound outwards are admirable and promising. There’s a disquieting hint of sourness to the distorted layers on ‘Take It Back’, while ‘Vanilla Tobacco’ is peppered with moments of record scratching. They may be far from revolutionary, but the fullness of Eloise’s new vision vibrates in these tender details.

This isn’t a bad or a lazy album, and Elbow are too good a band to ever be dismissed, yet one can’t help but feel they could push their envelope a bit further.

Despite its dips, there are plenty of strong reasons here to keep Dinosaur Jr from extinction.

There's a good single album here in need of editing.

It's not quite diminishing returns, but more a sense that Oldham's going round in decreasing circles.

‘Love, Damini’ had the potential to be the biggest record of Burna’s to date, full of heart and rhythmic passion. But it falls frustratingly short: too often the tunes are repetitive and, other than the aforementioned highlights, don’t show much progression.

Where it works best is that clear marriage of anger and aspiration, interwoven with Furman’s melodic drawl, musical tenderness and reverb. In parts, though, ‘All of Us Flames’ is an example that sometimes less is more.

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.

‘Talk Memory’ is technically proficient but all too often the record lacks the playful spirit and brash confidence the band carried themselves with in the early days.

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]

Genre-bridging should excite, thrill, agitate; yet... Hood are--still--hipster-miserablist Pet Shop Boys fans threatening suicide during rainy countryside walks. [15 Jan 2005, p.43]

Perhaps its issue is that it’s quite hard to feel anything throughout its running time beyond a sense of general malaise.

While ‘Old News’ also has a light, airy quality – every note of ‘Roadrunner’ is imbued with a deep melancholy. While it might not provide the same hit as the jubilant likes of early hits ‘Boogie’ and ‘Gold’, Brockhampton are still masters of tapping into a mood, and it’s an immersive trip as a result.

The guitarist and his normally hands-on producer are facilitators, with Tzur as the star. That might upset Radiohead fans expecting a stop-gap, but shouldn’t detract from an what's a largely immersive record.

It’s testament to their power that an average Isis album is still pretty good.

Okkervil River comes into its own when he forces some particularly oblique and unique strategies into practice.

This is, primarily, experiential music, meant to be enjoyed communally at their ear-splitting live shows.

The album’s lyric booklet is very bare, offering little explanation. Sometimes this spare approach works, sometimes not.

The rapper’s attention to detail is undeniable – but serving up a pile of rhymes, rather than full-bodied songs with snappy hooks, can be boring no matter how skilful you are. Even the star-name features can’t really lift this skippable sequel and its samey songs, which is a shame, given Benny the Butcher’s proven penmanship.

Though not quite closure, ‘Lost Wisdom Pt. 2’ is the sound of Mount Eerie reaching clarity.

Named after a fabulist, yes, but still not quite fabulous.

No-one could accuse this Portland trio of skimping on sarcasm--even if it is the kind of sarcasm that dribbles likes a student rallying against capitalism as he pulls in to a McDonald's drive-thru.

Cash deserves better than this. In fact, he deserves to be left in peace. Some things should just be left alone.

Allowing bonus points for successfully merging personal lyrics and shuffling beats without once evoking lazy trip-hop, she still too often confuses blandness for adult sophistication.

Ultimately, the album is weighed down by its very gentleness. [30 Apr 2005, p.64]