Forty-four years as a recording artist have not diminished Parton's sass.

Lindsay’s wonky music, meanwhile--he plays most of the instruments--benefits hugely from the strength of Marling’s voice and persona. The only bum note is that there isn’t more Lump to treasure.

The record does lean a little close to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road at times.

Quietly dramatic and, at best, lyrical.

On first listen it’s a little difficult but lopsided melodies emerge, the best of which call to mind the blues as played by PiL.

Most likely, the Minneapolitan knew this work was pleasant but unexceptional. ... This album sounds like it could’ve been made by anyone in the 1980s, back when only Prince made albums that sounded like the 2080s.

32 Levels begins and ends strongly but sags in the middle like an old sofa.

This sprawling effort could sorely use some tightening up.

Still sounds weird and abrasive in the best possible way.

While there are moments when everything falls into place (the Erykah Badu-assisted "Hey, Shooter"; a rare Albarn vocal on "Poison"; the sense of space on "Extinguished"), too often technical proficiency trumps songwriting.

It is hard not to hear Bougatsos refracted through the lens of Grimes, an artist who radically expanded on GGD’s commercial potential. In comparison, Bougatsos now comes up a little ephemeral.

Flight of Fancy and Number 10 impress too, but elsewhere the quality is more variable: Daniel Kessler’s delicate guitar lines aside, the slower Stay in Touch lacks any light or shade. The equally uninspired closer is called It Probably Matters; on this evidence it probably doesn’t.

Certain sections of Bridges’s audience are likely to define themselves against modern forms, so there is a risk here. But Bridges handles the transition deftly.

A wistful, autumnal collection.

You Got Me Singing is not just a cute fan curio, but an affecting, honest tribute to family and creativity.

A squally electric guitar solo lets you know Love & Hate isn’t just another slice of vintage soul, but something a little more intriguing than that.

While her pure, clear voice is as expressive and engaging as ever, Valentine is more accessible and less interesting.

Nothing here sounds contemporary, but it’s all accessible, and the likes of Crushed Egos (big shouty chorus, nimble organ-haunted verses) sound as good as back in the day.

A seductive reiteration of the precepts of attitudinal guitar pop. Or you could put it another way – it's derivative, audaciously so, but fun none the less.

Part of the pleasure of covers albums is comparing the original with the nuanced update; this album misses that moment when the three Horsepeople wrap their dulcet pipes and jazzy arrangements around an ancient, oaky institution. The past, though, is still very much present.

A solid follow-up rather than any sort of great leap forward.

What the Killers have yet to learn from the later Springsteen is subtlety. If bombast is not your thing, this is not your band. Imploding the Mirage says some nuanced things, but very loudly. The best things about Flowers’s writing are twofold: the upfront carpe diem spirit here, best captured in lines such as: “We’re all gonna die!” And then there are the more elegant turns of storytelling.

If ever the record's appeal wanes due to the generic feel of the backings and melodies, it is given a lift by Legend's fine piano playing or little production tweaks.

Yes, it’s a big step away from MCR’s post-hardcore rock anthems, with Way’s Bowie-like charisma and undeterred passion a familiar call to arms.

His tales of youthful hustling and newfound wealth ("Your plane's missing a chef," he taunts) are compelling, albeit well-worn. The star here is the production.

They blend together perfectly on this debut album of melodic acoustic folk, but it's a melding so perfect as to be (churlish though it sounds) pretty boring.

Ultimately, Heaven Knows needed to move beyond PinkPantheress’s TikTok formula to break new ground, but is still stuck in the sounds of the past.

Out of Heart may not be a home run, but Flohio still scores with her acrobatic rhyme patterns and experimental sonics.