While calling Fishing For Fishies stale at first may be a bit harsh, it becomes pronounced once you consider the adventurous image King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard has carved out for itself over the last five years. With this passive listening experience, rarely was I ever intrigued by the band’s songwriting.

1989 is full of cliches, but the truth is that we wouldn't expect them to not be present anyway.

An uplifting and varied listening experience, if only some of the other tracks didn't have a habit of passing you by.

There's nothing bold or groundbreaking about Let's Wrestle but it plays to its strengths. It's almost what you expect it to be, but not quite.

There's some great individual tracks here, but they need their next full-length to be less Jekyll and Hyde and more Laura Palmer and Maddy Ferguson.

Though undoubtedly a handsome package, the experience of Lease of Life as a whole feels somewhat insubstantial; its impact is elusive while any real staying power is negligible at best.

While it is a solid, if unspectacular debut with promise for the future, it's difficult to fight the feeling that Before We Forgot How To Dream is an album which hides behind big production because it is afraid to be intimate.

Unfortunately, aside from a couple of other stronger tracks (‘Gonna Get Better’ and ‘Towers and Masons’ – one of Brendan Canning’s contributions), the rest of the album isn’t something I have a desire to return to.

The standard of hook is pretty consistent for the whole album, and there's very little that could be described as filler. It's just that, considering that the whole seems like an exercise in similitude, it's not that easy to get excited about.

Sadly, the songs on the back half would sound much better as instrumentals. I miss the incoherent wailing of their 00s output. The Guillotine remains a somewhat worthy listen via its front four tracks.

Dwyer’s band are still the masters of genre-leading and genre-defining garage-psych-founded mayhem but Face Stabber veils that slightly behind bloated long cuts and a lack of standout individual tracks.

Bottle It In does enough to keep himself and his fans happy, but it leaves waiting those of us that wish a bit more from him.

The album suffers from a bit of an identity crisis, it is an honest album as the name suggests but it seems Future has difficulties in being an artist who feels the need to balance his street upbringing with his skill at writing, what are essentially, hip-hop love songs.

In Colour breaks no new ground to be sure, but as an accessible crossover record it does a perfectly serviceable job. It's light, breezy and pretty, as ephemeral as the exhilaration of clubbing without really evoking the thrill of it all.

There's nothing particularly wrong with Mass Gothic. There's clearly a compelling artistic voice in there.

You can’t listen to the music found here without dancing, which is a blessing and a curse. It’s fun at first, but eventually you’ll need a breather.

There's a cracking EP in amongst the tracks on Boys, but no shortage of filler, too.

Crutchfield is baring her soul and just about every song shows some signs of greatness. It comes up short, but not for a lack of trying.

This album is just a few puzzle pieces shy of being great, and that’s a damn shame.

Much like funsize Snickers bars, there's a gooey joy to be found in the brevity, but especially for us this side of the Atlantic, there are bands who have improved on the formula of twee-punk/whatever you want to call it.

Lost Girls is fundamentally disappointing. It is an album devoid of originality from an artist who should be reaching for the stars instead of looking back into the murky past for inspiration. No doubt it will sell by the bucketload, but then people like Coldplay and voted in the Nazis so what do they know.

It’s his weakest effort to date. His range of voices, from his familiar craggy baritone to a hesitant pitch-shifted falsetto (on ‘Echo’) are made to do all the heavy lifting because Dear the producer is too content with letting tracks spin their wheels and sputter to a halt.

While, undoubtedly, it took a lot of time, work and engagement to put it together, it still comes across as a throw-away release in their catalogue. It sounds like a band just switching on the recorder and jamming for a little while, then putting out some tracks.

Jassbusters is an unusual album in that it’s not quite unusual enough.

Khalifa’s persona isn’t nearly ready to hoist up what’s essentially a double album, and, yet, this is largely the most focused and invested he’s sounded since Taylor Allderdice.

James and Roddick clearly have their sights set on mainstream success, but are instead in danger of sounding like one of the many pretenders that their first album spawned, rather than smart, subtly innovative band they once were.

Ye is an ambitious misfire.

Rhythm is a collection of great ideas, improperly organised and occasionally poorly executed.