'Trading...' may be better than we had any right to expect, but the fact remains that there's nothing here that would've catapulted him to public consciousness were it not for his astuteness and the Donnie Darko connection.

It's like a thicker, dirtier Good Charlotte.

This is a record that brattily demands total attention, and as such, will either be lauded as a bold journey, or derided as pretentious indulgence.

There are too few ideas here to really make 'Keep On Your Mean Side' worth our devotion.

Think Pavement with a shake of Grandaddy and a little dash of something else low-key and lackadaisical and that's Quasi.

More often than not displays a penchant for melody and tension which would shame many of the new millennium's pop pups.

The problem is, whilst the debut had more hooks than a fishing rod sandwich, this just doo-wop-yawn, the sort of nursery rhymes kids never remember.

When 'A Drug Problem That Never Existed' is at its best, briefest and most brutish, it's a cracking piece of work indeed; daft, dirty and, in many ways, devilish.

'In Your Honour' is as rancid and moribund and as redundant of ideas as it is possible to be.

Experimental it ain't, but this summer in a shiny flat box it is.

While there's some fresh experimenting and choral loveliness, it sounds formulaic and tired by Electrelane's standards.

While the record lacks any of [Queens of the Stone Age's] belligerent twisted rock weirdness they have definitely pumped up the Good Charlotte-style teen anthem choruses.

Staunch fans won't be disappointed, but it's hard to envisage new ears pricking up on hearing 'Octopus' woeful musings.

It feels too clinical, icy cold, almost sterile.

Blueberry Boat is a frustrating, niggling, great idea of a record.

Unfortunately a lot of the record falls a wee bit flat.

Far too often, 'Wiretap Scars' feels limp, lifeless, bereft of dynamics.

They have made this album many times before and one assumes they will make it many times again.

However essential it was to make, it just doesn't feel essential enough to keep on hearing.

It nods in so many directions that our heads should be spinning, but the gel in the system is a linear production ethic that weaves the threads whilst keeping it refreshingly rough.

This might be quality above innovation, but it’s also maturity above cliché, and above all, passion over cynicism.

'Lovebox' doesn't quite scale Vertigo's dizzy heights, but it'll be perfectly at home both in clubs and in your lounge.

A frustratingly self indulgent and inconsistent double album that pitches itself somewhere between the classic country rock of 2001's 'Gold' and the lovelorn despair of 2004's 'Love Is Hell'.

It doesn't strictly feel like a No Doubt album at all.

It's hard to truly love a band that are so chameleonic that they sacrifice signature definition for adventurousness.

Alright, so there's no 'Destroy The Heart', the lyrics are uniformly unremarkable, and the odd track is even, dare we say, a touch ropey... 'Days Run Away' is still better than it's got any right to be, and a marginally heroic homecoming with it.

A sprawling beast that's unexpectedly heavy on the instrumental front.

Listening casually is OK, as you can get by the annoying Pharrell and enjoy some of the silly retro groves. But pay any degree of actual attention and there are problems.