Sometimes they sound like an anaemic Coldplay; at others they're a sweatier version of the Shins.

It's the band's refusal to sound older, or wiser, that's integral to their charm.

The album has a tentative quality which is sometimes beguiling – the gently grooving "Lights Out, Words Gone", effete and insistent all at once, is a delight – but often they sound in need of more conviction.

Gone are the meandering, proggy excesses of 2008's Real Emotional Trash, and in their place are sharper, melody-driven tracks that foreground Malkmus's distinctive oblique wit.

Fans of long standing might actually find The Rip Tide a bit too restrained now that Beirut sound more assured and less like a tipsy string quartet stumbling around an accordion factory, egged on by a hopeless romantic in his lowest register.

La Liberacion is better in its quieter moments.

It's likely to appeal more to dedicated Martyn fans than newcomers but a fine tribute nonetheless.

Toddla proves himself better at preposterously high-energy dancehall tracks ("Badman Flu") than forays into early-90s piano-led vocal house ("Take It Back"). Good fun in small measures.

Gentle Spirit is one of those group effort records where musicians' edges smudge and no one showboats – except, perhaps, Wilson, who occasionally reels off the kind of distant, contemplative guitar solos so lacking in aggression that they sound like they were recorded the next canyon over.

Souther sings in a mid-70s croon, tuneful but grain-free and, for a man inspired by Roy Orbison, oddly unemotional.

Forty-four years as a recording artist have not diminished Parton's sass.

You could argue retro soul and R&B are two of the decade's hegemonic sounds, but there's no vamping here. Rather, songs such as "Go On Easy" glide by in an opiated glaze, while "Strange Attracter" makes unexpectedly groovy use of the bagpipes.

They may have plenty of heart but their heads are lost in the clouds.