A loose-limbed, spacious, American indie-folk-rock. Political, challenging, dissatisfied and, naturally, righteous.

Their festival-friendly rap-rave-metal goes "the-generation-that-are-going-to-change-the-world" political.

Over rudimentary backing beats, in that "ya feel me?" accent, his humour often hits the spot. However, the going-through-Customs skit, followed by a track about having his urine tested at the airport, is as tedious as it is righteous.

Very musical, it is, if ever so slightly coffee table.

There are no standout songs but that's kind of the point: GTTW washes over you like a cooling stream on a hot day.

Watson packaged up the month that he spent riding the train, using his original recordings, adding his own narration, throwing in some interviews, and creating something magical.

This is Cash at his rawest and most riveting, singing his soul out to platoons, prisoners and presidents alike. Hard to describe in terms that are adequate.

Singer-songwriter Emma-Lee Moss and Ash frontman Tim Wheeler, a couple in real life, join musical forces and attempt, valiantly and with not inconsiderable success, to breathe new life into that stalest of stale old genres: the Christmas song.

Two tracks truly warm the cockles. And if the rest is merely pleasant, hey, season of goodwill and all that.

Consists entirely of tasteful campfire-folk covers of seasonal classics.

There's a childlike sense of adventure and fun about his sampladelic approach.

A feast of vulnerable balladry with a political heart and, audibly, much surrounding air.

Too late for those album of the year polls?

"Lioness" reinforces what we already knew: Winehouse was, in every sense, wasted.

It starts nervily and there's some creative recycling of motifs, but once he builds up a head of steam the force is truly with him.

All Syco needed to do was reprise her staggering first TV audition. Astonishingly, they've dropped the ball.

Believers is made of a darker, spookier Americana than its predecessor: full of small-g gothic, anti-Chris Isaak-ish songs that submerge you deeper and deeper in their dark charms.

On the evidence of this [album] one can safely say that the Dø are the best French/Finnish duo in pop.

Interesting to see that a few of the unused songs from the period (1978) push the released material for quality.

It's half George Harrison, half Keith West.

It's a jukebox-jumpin' take on straight-up Dolly with a smile behind its eyes and a rockabillyish skip in its step.

To the relief of anyone who carries a torch for the reclusive genius, it's a beauty.

As off-the-peg as Primark, the Rihan-droid returns with more dancefloor fodder which has all the right bleeps in all the right places, but nothing to make you go "wow".

[In French] it's beguiling and sexy. When she crosses the Channel and sings in English, she's a ten-a-penny kook-merchant.

This darkly amusing, awkward yet oddly graceful return of the ostensibly dead, more than measures up.

Ersatz GB is a fine addition to an excellent recent salvo.

Any good songs sound like demos awaiting their final form.

This covers album maybe a joyous blast of buzzsaw pop, but you just know that the live shows will be even better.