One of the most important rock bands ever meets one of the best, and guess what, they've only gone and knocked out a bonafide masterpiece. It's 1993 all over again, but it's also 1970 and 2002 and beyond, because an album this classic transcends any pigeonholing.

'Hey People!' dashes past in such a whippy blur that it's far from immediately apparent what on earth to make of it, although if you suspect it'd be fun going back to find out we wouldn't argue.

[The live disc is] arguably far more interesting and focused and energized than the studio effort.

The good news is that despite the excess verbiage (which at least is hardly a shock), this is a Good Album.

It appears to paint from a more kaleidoscopic emotional palette than some of the earlier Stars endeavours.

They have developed into an almost evangelically uplifting and powerful rock unit.

Say hello to the future of electrofilthsoulhop.

As with other really good bands in this genre (such as Franz Ferdinand and Interpol) it transcends being just a mere mash of influences.

A rock-solid album that improves with each listen.

There's precious little here not to like, and it's as satisfying an experience as any of the ambient survivors have produced in years.

Basically, this is a fantastic band releasing twelve brilliant songs, and it's not only the best guitar album you'll ever hear with no guitars on it, it's one of the best this year generally.

So, while this might not be Tricky at his total best, it may well be the best you're likely going to get out of him.

For anyone with even half a hankering for electronic heaven, this is non-stop introspective wonderland.

‘America’s Sweetheart’ throbs, chugs, thunders, blasts, romps, rants and rocks.

This album is just a purer distillation, a more joyous exaggeration of the smaller, more tasteful thrills offered by every posturing indie rock band out there.

Yes, it's eclectic and he hasn't just slapped together a ragbag of Ibeefa anfums, but this record essentially suffers from a lack of ambition.

This album oozes wackiness.

They’re perhaps a tad unoriginal - a hint of Felix here, a spot of 'Positive Education' there, a sniff of classic Sabres Of Paradise and some 'Stakker Humanoid' round the corner ­ but hey, what’s wrong with nostalgia? Especially when it gets your hands in the air like you just don’t care.

R.E.M. still have the remarkable distinction of never once producing a bad album, but this is perhaps the biggest example yet of the group merely treading water, whereas once they majestically swam.

A much more brutal and vicious record than its predecessor.

When the tempo is slower on certain tracks such as 'My Interpretation' and 'Any Other World' the initial comparison is unavoidably that of one to Robbie Williams or Elton John, but there is none of the dead-eyed cynicism of the former and none of the bellowing oafishness of the latter.

The Raven... does fly on the side of the bizarre, but it holds some rich pickings.

Shimmeringly perfect.

'Pressure Chief' sees the California quartet merge their trademark post modern kitsch with something vaguely approaching proper singing and the results are, by and large, pretty favourable.

An eclectic ragbag of influences coerced into great exciting guitar pop.

But shorn of the spoken word indulgences and look-what-I've-just-found electronica it's a leaner, hungrier beast, a more focussed, more alluring, more dangerous, but still tender trap.

There's a confidence and a swagger that wasn't there before, Green uncapping the band who can convert his quirky sketches into clever, swinging masterpieces.