Sensuous showcases a more playful Cornelius than we’ve seen before.

The potency of the admirable sentiments is undermined by the lacklustre execution.

A boisterous and bratty collection of hook-swamped shout-alongs.

A number of tracks here follow a similar, frustrating formula. For three minutes they showcase Reznor’s worst tendencies; the boorish plod of the choruses, the hoarse moan of the vocals. On the remainder of each of these songs Reznor does what he’s good at – i.e. creating delicious layers of chaotic industrial noise.

This essentially middle of road noise bears some relation to their past work but lacks any of the grit or charm that made them such a cool little indie band.

The group have kept their sound surprisingly fresh incorporating some welcome sonic refinements, without making any great creative leap or departure.

It’s bland, boring and just not very good.

It focuses on the epic qualities of Ride and MBV, combined with Wilner’s cosmic pop chops and his predilection for shuffly techno grooves.

This isn’t the place for Timbaland to try any new tricks and what starts off as something quite thrilling rapidly loses its impact over the course of the album’s 19 long tracks.

Reformation Post TLC may lack a tune as monumental as, say, the unforgettable ‘Hip Priest’ from Hex Enduction Hour, but 30 years into his career, Smith is still making music with the kind of vitality and imagination that shame most musicians half his age.

Although the tunes have plenty of vigour and aggression, as with Employment, Britpop veterans will feel more than a little sense of deja vu.

A perfectly functional album of loud guitars, ain’t life a bitch lyrics and the odd nod to different production styles and techniques.

Despite the big name producer and big time contributors, Gray has somehow achieved the not insignificant feat of delivering an altogether average record.

By eschewing the careworn vulnerability so favoured by many female artists, Veirs allows her remarkable songcraft and ornate use of language to shine.

The clunkers come thick and fast.

Neither tearaway maverick nor irrelevant abdicator, Brett Anderson sounds like a man out of time in a time out of joint. No bad thing, necessarily.

Although combining an assortment of sounds may seem risky, they’ve managed to produce a solid album, fusing jazz, soul, ‘60s rock ‘n’ roll and playful lyrics into a tight 10 tracks.

The most extraordinary aspect of the album is that Murphy has managed to simultaneously make his music both more experimental and more thrillingly danceable.

There are some excellent moments.

Malin has seemingly adopted the persona and sound of his New Jersey counterpart Bruce Springsteen.

At times, Why Bother? is an unlistenable racket.

A record to cool the blood and quicken the pulse.

The record is low on saccharine balladry, high on rhythm protein.

We’re treated to less-interesting takes on the work of Bloc Party and The Libertines, low on hooks and utterly devoid of interesting production quirks.

Who needs love when heartbreak sounds this bloody good?

Pocket Symphony... contains more than its fair share of inspired moments.

So, Funeral was by no means a fluke. The Arcade Fire are unquestionably the real deal. And to prove it they’ve now thrown in another contender for ‘best record of the decade’.

Though hardly the disaster it could have been, then, The Stooges’ return feels unnecessary and, more importantly, undignified.