So, the record is not an epoch-defining instant classic. It’s just fine. Occasionally amazing, pretty in parts, patchy in others.

There’s the promise of another knockout. One that, unfortunately, takes the liberty of reshaping past half-baked ideas without really adding much flair to Clark’s otherwise intriguing exploration of fame and femininity.

They haven’t exactly lost their sense of intrigue, it’s just that on Dear Science it all sounds a lot less intriguing.

The beautiful melodies and harmonies don’t actually go anywhere, they just kind of float in and out of earshot, failing to develop or do anything harmonically interesting.

Celestial Lineage may be well crafted and even (relatively) accessible but by eschewing the ideas that coloured their previous work, Wolves in the Throne Room have ended up creating something that's not really black, but rather quite grey.

Weighed down by its own concept and bloated with references, there’s just no room left for emotional reckoning. In the end, we’re better off seeing Daddy's Home as purely an homage to the rich ‘70s funk and psychedelic music scene from somebody who only experienced it secondhand. It’s simply unable to withstand the added complexity of the personal narrative that we were promised.

One of the most frustrating releases of recent times. Tracks meander insipidly, crushed by the weight of a solipsistic “message” and the real moments of quality only serve as a reminder of what might have been.

Wildheart impresses in parts, and Miguel’s vocals are a thing to behold. For the most part, however, it’s a record that struggles to fully hold your attention.

Great art must provoke or inspire you, and I’m sorry to all the folks out there “awash” in Eluvium’s dreamy “soundscapes” of pure “emotion” and “beauty”, but this record does neither.

There's nothing wrong with Lizzo's so-called "genreless," agenda-forward sound (nor did Pitchfork claim that there was, and I'm not one to side with their opinions as a rule), but it does lack a certain cohesion and maturity.

The album definitely has its moments, and the first half is very engaging, but they lose it in the long run.

It's just comfortable and pleasant enough to convince yourself to stick around - never good enough to be satisfying, nor bad enough to be disappointing.

The Black Keys have created a record that they believe is how a rock'n'roll record should sound, but without soul or sex or genuine sweet emotion.

Lyrically Wake Up The Nation is largely inscrutable, while sonically it remains a shambling and ungainly listen.

What I hear is basically a mildly enjoyable set of songs, whose lackadaisical delivery and spacey major second chords could easily accompany my Sunday afternoon nap.

It’s not cynical and calculated enough to be a shameless cash-grab yet it’s not self-indulgent enough to be a vanity project. Perhaps it’s just a stopgap in the catalogues of two big-selling artists; an intended homage to the music that made Bruno Mars and Anderson .Paak. They’re making this music because they like it, because they want to, and because they can.

The rousing, yet equally understated the book on how to change part II brings closure with a welcome luster, though it's not enough to salvage the album's soporific middle half.

Where ["The Bliss"] bubbled and spat like hot fat, its meticulous construction overflowing with polyrhythms, Black Noise seems disjointed and overlong even though it runs for roughly the same duration.

The excellent-to-annoying song ratio on this album is definitely high. Still, their first record was solid from start to finish, and this one smacks so much more of Lennon/McCartney than Kapranos/McCarthy.

One good single does not a great album make, and unfortunately, the rest of the record becomes pretty tedious, pretty quickly.

It’s another intriguing entry into the Charli XCX canon, even if it does feel like more of a stopgap than anything. But hey, right now, that’s okay too.

In Conflict is either one of those records which invite thoughtful criticism, with the repeated phrasings and imagery occurring throughout the record (not to mention the swooningly lush orchestrations) suggesting vast rabbit warrens in Pallett’s psyche worth considering, or render it entirely pointless, given that it seems set on creating something immaculate, and then mercilessly deconstructing its creator.

Europe often finds itself lacking in ideas and sticking to de rigueur jangle and well-trodden indiepop tropes.

A compelling failure.

There's a lot in here that brims with life but, somehow, it never quite unfolds.

The chances Young Jesus take here in a songwriting sense are commendable, and with technical chops to boot. But overall, it's not quite the powerfully compelling, or approachable, experience that Rositter will have you believe it is.

While she's developed her voice in the process, Designer being a shining example of how she showed her many talents with oft-kilter confidence, Warm Chris blends spontaneity and rigidity all at once.

There’s a lot of bluster and enthusiasm here but I’m struggling to identify much in the way of true substance.