Apart from a bit of pedal steel and some gospel backing vocals, it sounds a lot like a Snow Patrol record, rendering the whole exercise somewhat redundant.

The results have a tendency to make you look at the ceiling.

Dazzling songs, dismally sung.

There are too many plodding ballads, sentimental on the piano and heavy on the cymbals.

An aural Waltzer, exhilarating and nauseous. On the plus side, there's oompah brass, jaunty jigs and a song channelling Fraggle Rock for vocal inspiration; and on the minus, oompah brass [and] jaunty jigs.

There's an undercurrent of sentimentalism running through Come of Age....But originality is hard to come by.

The duo often leave any sense of taste with their gumboots outside on the doorstep.

Not one for Bon Iver fans, but the kid's got something.

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

Surprises are few and what Delta Machine lacks is one big, arena-ready, fist-in-the-air synthpop stormer.

Sadly for the listener, this is mostly a collection of one-paced songs more heartbroken than heartbreaking.

It is a lush thing that, were we writing for a certain type of women’s mag, might have us reaching for words such as "candles" and "bubble bath."

It takes no chances. This is a record that browbeats and bullies you into submission with its sheer massiveness, courtesy of producer Brian Eno.

It's charming enough, but it's as well mannered as a picnic with Cath Kidston accoutrements.

She's good when not covering Mary Margaret O'Hara. But you'll need to hear through the still-life mannerisms to get to the good stuff.

If you loved Williams the way he was, rejoice. If you didn't, it may be time to switch off the radio and television for a few months, and bury your head in a bucket of calamine lotion.

Her voice hangs inertly among racks of lustrous guitars like a worn shirt.

In most cases, the cupboard seems its best home.

A cloudless orgy of nostalgia.

This is a production in search of an album, a massive empty shell, a big expensive nothing.

Madonna may have done this stuff first, but nowadays Lady Gaga does it better. MDNA? Meh-DNA.

It is mainly charming.

This is Green Day doing what Green Day have always done.

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".

This critic cannot in all honesty say, with a clear conscience, that their second album is absolutely terrible. Because it plain isn't.

A patchy affair which too often fails to transcend its blatant P-funk influences.

The rest of Kiss is like opening a tweenager's diary (titles include "Tonight I'm Getting Over You") and setting it to synthy, house beats, but nothing has the crossover appeal of that debut single.

Through the Night aims for Dusty in Memphis, but it lands closer to Petula Clark.