Whether you take to Pratt's reedy, quavering vocals (think Vashti Bunyan or Joanna Newsom) is purely subjective, but the way she changes up her register to suit a song's vibe helps bring colour to a fairly flat palette (which only includes the odd dab of organ and clavinet).

Unlike Manson's previous records, there's no real guiding concept here, which is probably for the best.

Occasionally their influences come through too heavily, and the album would've benefited from one or two fewer songs. Still, a hugely pleasant listen.

The production is shinier, which some might hear as poppier, but the overall feel is too quirky for the mainstream--and sometimes too twee for her own good.

Although the album's frenetic energy doesn't quite match that of their breakthrough (whether they like it or not, 2008's Visiter will always be their benchmark), it's a solid new direction.

Throwback factor aside, there is a lot of shameless fun on offer, though little imagination. But what they lack in originality they make up for in hooks and enthusiasm.

At times his vocals sound too distant in the mix and overpowered by guitars (No Device), but singing any more forcefully would undermine the peculiar comfort that most of the record maintains.

Absent Fathers doesn't offer much in the way of answers--it's more a snapshot of a process.

Where the album falters is in his overly ambitious and affected vocals, which fall on the waifish end of 80s new wave.

Mangan's emotive voice is as assured as ever, and his socially conscious lyrics penetrate. Add in a stark, disillusioned tone and sluggish tempos and it makes for an overly serious listen.

While some songs veer too far into slick pop territory, most are balanced.

This festive album of mostly original songs has something for everyone.

Consistent, yes, but not the king yet.

Had The Pinkprint included 12 songs rather than the extended version's 22, it could have been a classic.

They certainly keep up appearances on their 15th album, their troubles not for a second interfering with these 11 songs, the longest of which lasts three minutes and 41 seconds.

That free-form fury is a critique of the tendency to look for precise meaning in music, thereby devaluing the visceral and the emotional. But the most menacing part is the words uttered at the beginning.

It's a cool premise, but despite the ambition and guest musicians on each song, Sonic Highways sounds like every other Foo Fighters record.

When they let their experimental impulses coexist with their pop instincts, the results are strong enough to overshadow the occasional misstep.

Still their strongest effort since The W, but Wu-Tang Clan exhaust their fans' good will and nostalgia without a classic to show for it.

Even though the songs are full of warm analog synths, a strong sense of cold melancholy and anxiety permeates even the most upbeat electro-pop moments.

The quieter moments that give his voice less to compete with are more interesting.

He stays true to his reputation for unconstrained madness.

Where O was direct, raw and sober--cold and real in its confessional heartbreak--MFFF is aimlessly wistful and therefore more difficult to connect with.

While several other songs get overly-orchestral. Sometimes the strings work really well, though, like on Lonely Desolation, fuelled by plucked violin.

What stands out more than the production is how consistently solid the album is, and how effective the lyrics and songwriting.

Nothing here is going to become a live-show staple, but after an underwhelming covers album earlier this year, fans will be pretty happy with this solid collection of original works.

Closer Oh Bummer, sung by drummer Greg Saunier, is a straightforward moody rock song--at least for the first three minutes, after which a striking doomsday-meets-Thriller breakdown erupts, reminding diehard fans that the band members are still weirdos but also keeping fair-weather listeners at a distance.

The quietness is also the project’s greatest weakness. At times, it leaves the album feeling incomplete or intrusive, as if we’re peeking in mid-thought.