Despite the two opposing moods of the album, the candid and dark lyricism is the only consistent effort in the album. It’s a massive shame, considering how much headway the band made with ‘Asymmetry’, but Mallory Knox have found themselves half a step behind their peers once again.

There are enough hair-raising moments here to anchor your skin and stop it crawling quite so much.

‘The Price Of Progress’ is a perfectly functional Hold Steady record, no more and no less.

The sugar is here, but teeth will get itchier.

‘Five Easy Hot Dogs’ isn’t going to win DeMarco any more fans, nor will it distract from his past triumphs. ... This instrumental offering will, like most of his tunes, act as great company for those who just wanna lay back and disconnect from it all.

Ultimately, the Achilles heel of the whole project is how invested, how much fans will truly believe in this. To some, it’s a meme stretched to breaking point, the elasticity of his flute-playing hauled out to become an opaque sheet, void of detail. To others, it’s an excellent – almost unclassifiable – mood piece. Whether it’s the meanderings of an internet-savvy millionaire or the crucial work of a modern day ambient auteur is perhaps in the eye of the beholder.

While by no means poor, this album does little to advance the reputation he has already secured, as one of the UK’s most reliable rap suppliers.

There is a defining (and high-definition) period where the mix becomes less interactive, a little noodlier, and more prey to a mass observing sway.

It’s not a bad record by any stretch, albeit one where the turgid does bump ugly against the terrific.

On their way to maturity, YSP!WSD! lost some of the punkiness that made them exciting, but they still have hooks and groovy synths, so the growth is graceful.

There isn’t much of a sense of flow to the album; the songs stand on their own as the poems were meant to stand on their own.

A record that feels very much like a side-step, ‘Me vs Myself’ contains little of the soul-searching that the title suggests.

Bloated at 16 tracks, it could have been a genuinely strong EP that formed a platform for Dizzee’s return to the sound he helped birth.

It feels like a personal journey through the past on his part, and a genuine tribute from those who've contributed.

There’s still a fair amount of self indulgence, and the rare occasion on which you wish he’d stuck to the old habit of micro length tracks (‘HER’ being one such example), but on the whole it’s a well selected body of work.

They're still settling in at the start line, prescribing rose-tinted glasses that could very well divide listeners.

Soundgarden moved admirably forward with a strong new L.P, and while the performances missed some of the vitality of their youth, they still were able to invoke a tone and vibe all of their own.

Although Supermodel is derivative, it’s more often inventively imitative, rather than devolving into out-and-out mimicry.

No Tourists is unlikely to win The Prodigy any new fans but it’s unlikely to upset any existing ones. And really, if rave-influenced industrial dance is your thing, these old heads are still a cut above anyone else out there.

While one half of Phase sounds complete and polished, the other sounds unfinished, and unsteady. But the songwriting quality of the better cuts and the raw talent that underpins their delivery brings a fire to the record.

With the obvious potential fully realised, 'Improvisations’ could have become an instant cult classic, but in this raw, rushed and unfinished form it is hardly anything more than a collectible item for curious die-hard fans.

It will inspire obsessive fandom and moisten a few eyes, but Henson’s voice is something of an acquired taste.

Compared to the previous self-titled record the features here are in sharp contrast, with less of a hip-hop emphasis. That doesn't mean they're not interesting, though.

A fine line between unpredictable flair and china shop bull.

It’s hard not to feel like the lead singles live in their own sonic universe. The remaining album tracks, while lyrically co-ordinated, lack sonic cohesion.

Playful and melodic, Clash suggests that you take this on a Norfolk country ramble ASAP.

Accomplished again, then, and greatly engrossing throughout. It’s just lacking that crucial aspect of singular appeal to stand aside from a fiercely competitive pack.

The album is littered with so many clunky lines and cliched conspiracy talk it almost becomes laughable, but the main problem is with the narrative itself which makes next to no sense at all.... Luckily, a good sizeable chunk of this album is good enough to stand alone, stripped of the high-minded concepts.