The choice, folks, is all yours. Would you like The Thrills? Or would you prefer some excitement instead?

The 'Idlewild' experience is mostly regrettable and one that will leave you feeling cheated.

It's not easy listening, it's scarcely fashionable,... and, to be frank, it's not exactly the best advert for Joel's generally estimable talents.

About as disappointing a follow-up as you could ever imagine.

‘Up At The Lake’ lifts the best bits from pop’s past and melds them into a largely agreeable, but ultimately underwhelming, classic rock album.

There's nothing that catchy here - Manson seems to have used all his best hooks already. But it's not terrible, and it sounds good LOUD.

Too often tracks drag us down below the high standard an artist like Beck Hanson has set himself. Red Hot Chili Peppers outtakes with some harmonica and vocoder balanced incongruously on top are frankly not good enough.

These songs are full to the brim with ideas and a charming naivety - but there's a major hurdle that ultimately compromises the enjoyment: the vocals.

Lyrically the record is less cringe inducing than 'Escapology' but Robbie has been let off the leash for a while in this respect, and while sometimes he can be funny, he needs people to tell him when he's being trite and just downright embarrassing.

On first listen 'Harmonies For The Haunted' seems slight enough to be a collection of b-sides and discarded songs from the first album.

'They Were Wrong, So We Drowned' is a remarkably assured second album, and considerably more audacious than its predecessor, but it's a far from flawless affair.

It sounds like a dog howling over a Sepultura record. No, worse. It sounds like Fred Durst.

It's a clever, chic and defiantly underground record, alright, but it's guilty of trying too hard when clearly it doesn't need to.

An attempted retread that feels more driven by commerce than conviction and suffers as a result.

As unremarkable and average a comeback as humanly possible.

This album contains unprecedented levels of female vocal annoyance.

See, there're a good few cracking singles on here, but there are also occasions when her wistful classicism leads her down blind alleys.

While a few get close, not one remix here stands up to the original on 'Guero'.

MSTRKRFT have essentially made an album of great productions and remixes and then forgotten to invite any artists or records along to help them out.

Alas, 'The Cost' is closer to the Noughties ipoddery of 'sensitive' folksters like Damien Rice or James Blunt than a Fleetwood Mac or a James Taylor.

The lack of a linear structure results in the individual songs banging against each other logjam-style, with the unfortunate effect that 'Fab Four Suture' begins to grate.

However essential it was to make, it just doesn't feel essential enough to keep on hearing.

This has little future funk, but lots of Swizz beats-styled Casio Rap and contemporary chart dancehall. Which is lame.

Think Pavement with a shake of Grandaddy and a little dash of something else low-key and lackadaisical and that's Quasi.

Obie is, underneath all Eminem's bullshit, a nice emcee, old school, so when Em gives him a beat with some soul, he comes through.

And so it goes on sonic cliche after awful lyrics after terrible synth settings after lazy drum beats after... well, you get the picture.

They have made this album many times before and one assumes they will make it many times again.

The sad thing is, even at her most mainstream, Bjork's always been truly artful, but, in this case, she's merely painted a vulgar picture.