It's Rhys's empathy with Evans and the humour and pathos with which he conveys his young protagonist's emotions that makes this such a vivid and exhilarating journey.

Dalle's first record under her own name recalibrates bravely.

having traded in all their early attitude for non-stop blissed-out jamming, the Horrors' default mode--equable lassitude--is beginning to pall a touch.

Garbus's voice is jostled too much amid the hectic production to allow its personality to shine through and, with some notable exceptions (the call and response of Real Thing), hooks are hurried on before properly taking root.

You are either in the mood for this depth of wallowing or you are not.

Embrace's populist sensibilities remain intact: stadium-friendly choruses rise up and grab you by the throat at every opportunity.

Perhaps the most salient fact of all about this Pixies album is that it combines their three recent EPs without any new, unreleased material. It's a craven cash-in.

Third time round the playing is faster and harder, with some wonderfully intricate horn parts, though the production of US jazzer Robert Glasper tends to bury Seun's righteous lyrics.

The mood only really dips on Chamber of Reflection, when jangly guitars are replaced by a discombobulating synth and his downer sentiments are matched by the music.

The subject matter may not be as harrowing as the real-life inspiration for some of his earlier work (most notably Electro-Shock Blues), but this is still a powerful and emotionally coherent set.

It's not a flab-free affair--Breathe Low & Deep is several minutes too long, for starters--but there are enough interesting touches here to make album number three something to look forward to.

Azalea's flow is both playful and authoritative, and above-par surprises unfurl on the productions.

Food is good-time party fare packed with feeling; many of these songs would blend right in on a Soul Jazz compilation of rhythm and blues rarities.

Only the more animated Here it Comes Again finds them delivering upon that early promise.

For all their wiggy sonics, Thee Oh Sees rarely lose their way, and these nine tracks scamper along, unfettered by genre hang-ups and aided by guest guitarist Mikal Cronin.

The 27-year-old Scot had taken five years to unleash this third album, an ambitious stab at morphing into a mature soul man. And it's worked.

There's an unmannered honesty to Watt's singing and lyrics.

Dulli's throat is not quite what it was when he sang "I'm not the man my actions would suggest" on 1993's Debonair (but the jury is out on whether he's affecting strain or really straining). The outro, These Sticks, is a ballad whose chord progressions and textures wander far too close to Radiohead. Stick around, though, and the Whigs' stately menace wins out over the peculiar parallels.

There are tunes aplenty, making this second Protomartyr album a surprisingly pleasurable dose of swaggering anomie.

Aloe Blacc's major-label debut does what it promises: it lifts your spirit.

EMA makes sure these are songs, first and foremost. And they are still personal.

The heights reached by the band members' day jobs are never scaled.

In short, if you fell out of love with dance music at the end of the 1990s, this may be the record to get you back in front of the big speakers.

Faith's vocals are too theatrically overdone to be moving, and the songs too generic to reach any level of grandeur.

Small Town Heroes may mourn victims of violence but it is emphatically a record stuffed with good times.

This Canadian trio dispense a slow, seductive blend of blues and country that skulks in the shadows, whispering sweet nothings before baring its fangs.

Though the anthemic Coming Home could have been penned for Voice viewers, hits are unlikely.

Though the songs can feel homogeneous, Milo's maturity should bring her success.