Lyrically the record is less cringe inducing than 'Escapology' but Robbie has been let off the leash for a while in this respect, and while sometimes he can be funny, he needs people to tell him when he's being trite and just downright embarrassing.

Ultimately, this is merely a straight-down-the-line rock'n'roll album.

It was possible to ignore Schnauss' new age leanings previously but they're rammed home mercilessly here making too much of this album sound like Enya-period Sigur Ros.

'They Were Wrong, So We Drowned' is a remarkably assured second album, and considerably more audacious than its predecessor, but it's a far from flawless affair.

The Killers album is, whisper it, pretty good in places.

The trouble is that Jay is stuck in an artistic straitjacket of his own making.

While it's got to be said 'Amerika's Nightmare' certainly has its moments over the space of a complete album the familiar themes and reference points start to feel a shade tired and predictable.

The Neptunes have lent their Midas fingers on production duties, but they've gone their schmaltzy route rather than into party bangers mode.

'Pocket Symphony' fails to grab in the same way that previous Air albums have and places too large an emphasis on mood, texture and composition to ever really be anything other than polite background music.

Hugely disappointing.

this is pretty much all good stuff. So why does it feel like there's something missing? Haven's problem is their chosen genre - epic, ball busting indie, guitars that jangle, then jangle harder, vocals that ride melody like diseases might pterodactyls.

MSTRKRFT have essentially made an album of great productions and remixes and then forgotten to invite any artists or records along to help them out.

This record is more riddled with more clichés and pure, retro water-treading embarrassment than anything [Courntey] Love ever conjured up.

Many of the choruses are great, but by about track eight you begin to realise this isn't about songs, this is about mathematics, and if you've actually paid for the album with your own money, you've been well and truly had.

For someone so traditionally dancefloor-driven, there are none too many grooves here, and, even for an artist whose most famous lyric may be "la la la", there's not exactly a lot to go on in terms of substance.

'Kratitude' is a far from flawless record and can be a little too hip for its own good.

A waste of good beats.

It's as if they're trying to mimic Primal Scream but on ‘Let’s Make History’ they’re more like an under the weather INXS, and on ‘Armed Love’ you could even draw comparisons with Ocean Colour Scene. Eeeeeeeeee!

An attempted retread that feels more driven by commerce than conviction and suffers as a result.

All too often the guitar-led tracks expose their limitations.

Badly Drawn Boy's been sketchy before, but never quite this artless.

There's nothing that catchy here - Manson seems to have used all his best hooks already. But it's not terrible, and it sounds good LOUD.

'Chops' isn't wholly disastrous, but it's all too often a reminder that, for roughly his first decade onstage, Childs was an infuriatingly insular and mildly indulgent performer, and it now appears that he was able to make such genuinely fantastic records in spite of that because of the healthy influence of his band-mates.

There is little to recommend here.

A totally modern album that manages to nearly ignore his wilful, malicious past and embrace the California smog/sun with a polished fervour that is almost nauseating to witness.

This album, if it came from a newcomer, could kill a career stone dead.

A little wanting.

While there are some moments of greatness (the menacing, psychedelic 'Dog Sleep', the mournful, pretty 'Don't Cry That Way'), the majority of this double album is dull, turgid and instantly forgettable.