It's a bravely eccentric selection and a captivating homage to a singular writer.

He performs everything (from drum'n'bass to hip hop beats) on his guitar, leading him to be dubbed a 'one-man Timbaland band'. A true percussive original.

While his lyrics sometimes verge on the platitudinous, musically, this is his most arresting solo set, thanks in no small part to the John Barry-esque strings.

His post-Pete Doherty project evinces dreary futility: he thinks he's Morrissey, but he sounds more like Sandi Thom.

There is little here to delineate her above her far less interesting contemporaries, Fergie and Nelly Furtado, both of whom have presented fresher minted records this year.

A vessel that can't help but feel a little under-populated by comparison to N.A.S.A.'s "The Spirit of Apollo."

Largely extraordinary... They write ornate and soaring conversational love songs, full of heart, bittersweet observation and unashamed street-level Englishness.

Mostly, Jon McLure's against Bad Stuff and in favour of Good Stuff, as well as being dead keen on 90s sounding dance-rock.

Lovely.

With Uncle Dysfunktional there's no faulting the band's ambition - the music veers from country to samba to electronica - and Ryder's lascivious drawl and surreal wordplay remain intact.

Closer to the big production of Have You Fed the Fish? than 2004's more acoustic-led One Plus One is One, it's also the most obvious manifestation of his longstanding Springsteen obsession.

Cure-sampling single So Human proves ingenious, Jigsaw effectively swaps swearing for singing and Britney songwriter Dr Luke earns his keep. Alas, though, the backchat of Let's Be Mates proves as edifying as the top deck of the 43 bus.

Like a silly holiday cocktail with umbrellas and sparklers, there is much to enjoy about Paris Hilton, albeit for one mad Med fortnight only.

Cajun, unquestionably, are the real deal.

Asleep in the Bread Aisle is promising, if unspectacular.

Somewhere between Ennio Morricone, Talk Talk and late-period Massive Attack, it is atmospheric, if relentlessly bleak, with the exception of cult director Abel Ferrara's imitation of Bob Dylan on 'Open Up Your Eyes'.

If the naivity and high-pitched voice don't grate, chances are the shifting soundscapes will still leave you charmed.

Predictably, it's not among the quintet's finest hours.

Life in Cartoon Motion is so exuberant, so accomplished, so crazysexycool that it's all a little overwhelming.

That's the problem with social realism, but the Enemy do their best to vary their sound and mode of address.

It's an undeniably impressive range of talent and, for the most part, Shock Value pulls off every trick it tries.

An absolute howler.

But snobbery apart, this is a terrific album.

Only My Chemical Romance are funnier, albeit by accident.

Proficient and predictably salacious.

Shorn of his camp finery, not to mention his preferred subject matter - androgynous boys from suburbia kissing under nuclear skies - his voice, still an acquired taste, proves ill-suited to introspection.

World-weary and introspective, frequently discordant, this is the sound of a man pondering where it all went wrong.

Daffy girl pop with just the teensiest bit of attitude, enough retro influences and the odd acceptable ballad.