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Michael Knight - I'm Not Entirely Clear How I Ended Up Like This

Sometimes, certain bands of immaculate quality manage to slip through the net, while the ones with the financial backing, PR company and big-budget press campaign are shamelessly snagged and thrown to the masses for public consumption and undeserved success. Michael Knight's 2005 debut 'Youth Is Wasted On the Young' was one of that year's best Irish albums, but was sinfully overlooked by all but a discerning few. That scandalous oversight is about to be rectified, however, by the now Berlin-based protagonist of Michael Knight, Richie Murphy. If 'Youth..' was a collection of gloriously sun-saturated, piano-permeated pop that wryly embraced the halcyon days of adolescence, its follow-up is an older, more worldly-wise and perhaps cynical cousin, who's determined to tell it like it is. Attention to detail unmistakably reigns supreme in Murphy's house: from the artwork to the album concept (a 'somewhat disjointed narrative in 11 tableaux', in its own words), to the guest appearances (Nina Hynes and Miriam Ingram both feature),I'm Not Entirely Clear How I Ended Up Like This is infused with both a dark humour and a self-deprecating melancholy that's evident in both lyrics and music - see Coronation Street, Reading Old Diary Entries and You People Are Idiots for illustrative glum chuckles. Put it like this: a musician who can create a song from three minutes of nothing but "Ahh ahh aahs" (Dumbshow) and still make it a joy to listen to has to be doing something right. A wonderful album, from a supreme songwriting talent.

Sam Sparro - Sam Sparro

Much is made of the detrimental effect that American culture has on modern society - but you've got to admit, it comes in handy in some ways, too. OK, so maybe it means that a percentage of telly addict kids from Blackrock to Brisbane now speak with a twang best suited to a character from The OC - but at least when it comes to music, the institutional genres of soul and r 'n' b are (often, not always) a positive influence. Granted, such a stereotype doesn't really apply to Sam Sparro, anyway. Although his formative years were spent in Sydney, Australia, the man born Sam Falson relocated to Los Angeles as a child, so it's little wonder that his sound is infused with a slick LA cool. What is surprising, however, is the 23-year-old's voice; rich, robust and full of depth, it's arguably the product of a childhood spent drinking in American culture, listening to his soul-singing, gospel minister father, or his vast collection of soul records -or perhaps all of the above. Sparro's eponymous debut is essentially a collection of electro-soul, pop and dance tracks that all hinge on that great voice, around which subtle flavours, influences and nuances make themselves known at various intervals. Opening track Too Many Questions streamlines the same funky sway that Terence Trent D'Arby once perfected; 21st Century Life twangs and zips like a Prince remix, while Hot Mess channels a falsetto-practising Al Green. Yet, there's also a modernity about Sam Sparro that makes it accessible to so many. Chart-mithering single Black and Gold is a perfect example - its catchy, spacey funk sounding like a cross between Gnarls Barkley and incidental music from Doctor Who - as is the slouchy, finger-clicking groove of Cottonmouth. There may not be any real standout here, but it's hard to pick a favourite from a group of songs that are of a well-spread high quality. If there's going to be a soundtrack to a sizzling summer, Sam Sparro's indubitably the man to provide it.

Forever The Sickest Kids - Underdog Alma Matter

In this, their first full length album, Forever the Sickest Kids present a predominantly samey unoriginal collection of guitar pop songs. They fall into the genre of American power-pop with the likes of All American Rejects. In their teeny-bop essence they're closer to Busted or McFly, but sadly, without the irritating catchiness. In their favour, they do incorporate some interesting and even cool electro effects and touches uncharacteristic to their genre, and they use pleasant if not particularly interesting harmonies. Musically they're relatively innocuous, but lyrically this album couldn't be more obnoxious. Underdog Alma Matter is saturated with teenage relationship angst, all about the poor boy who's been badly treated by a girl. But in this case it's all simplistic materialistic bullsh*t written in a crude and literal fashion. Love may be the greatest subject of poetry and art of all time, but this isn't love, it's some girl he went on about three dates with! There are too many truly awful lyrics to quote here but just to give the general gist "I could write about a thousand songs to impress you/but I wouldn't want to do that/I could make you feel like the queen of the world but I won't/Because you're full of imperfections." Is it too crass to suggest maybe these boys would have better luck with the ladies if they'd put away the hair straighteners? It is not until Track 11 Coffee Break that a different subject matter takes hold. Certainly the prettiest track on the album, it's an acoustic plucked guitar song with some lovely cello arrangement. But though this is a song about dissatisfaction with life, again it's all too literal - "Cause I've overcommitted myself/I guess this is growing up." These kids aren't sick, they're sickening.

The Envy Corps - Dwell

The Envy Corps' second album is book-ended by delicate vocals underscored by soft strings and piano, presenting a misleading opening sentiment no sooner stated that it is brushed aside by a catchy pop-rock guitar riff that hits you with the true nature of Dwell. These kind of simple, sometimes arpeggio-like riffs are recurrent throughout the album giving it a feeling of memorable foot-tapping jollity. The two juxtaposing choruses of "da, da, das" alongside various guitar lines on Story Problem have a captivating sing-along quality that leaves little surprise that they chose it as their latest single. These radio-friendly tracks are often superbly contrasted with dark and despondent lyrics - "Were my last words not quite as sobering as my epitaph?" References to great literary and historical figures Sylvia Plath and Robespierre show affinity with depression, insanity, rebellion & revolution. These days it seems a massive statement to compare a band to Radiohead, who have at this stage achieved the status of gods, but it's not for no reason that The Envy Corps have yielded comparisons with their early material. Luke Pettipoole's vocals share Thom Yorke's tendencies to slur words and slide mid-word from one vocal range to another. Radiohead-esque distorted guitars (Party Dress) and minor melodies also indicate an influence. Though Dwell is dominated by upbeat radio-friendly numbers, some of its most endearing moments are in its softer acoustic tracks (Before the Goldrush, Rooftops). The Envy Corps have a terrific knack of transitioning effortlessly between unobtrusive calm and blaring aggression. This comes in useful considering their propensity to build up to extravagant climaxes or, indeed, add an incongruous ending to a quiet song as in "Before The Goldrush" which charms with its understated elegance before easing through canon-style vocals to a surge of lavish electric guitar and swirling strings and then returning to the subdued acoustic realm from whence it came. Unfortunately, it is possible to get too much of a good thing and this "knack" is slightly over-used in to the point that, by the end, the songs begin to feel just a smidge formulaic.

Madonna - Hard Candy

Is there any big name left in the world of music who has yet to be touch by the hand of 'Land? That's Timbaland, by the way - musical ubermensch, reviver of ailing careers and general collaborator extraordinaire - now on hand to service one Madonna Louise Ciccone-Ritchie. Not that her career is in any need of a revival, though; the almost-50-year-old pop legend has had her fair share of success in recent years, the most recent bout courtesy of 2005's 'Confessions on a Dance Floor' album. Still, it hasn't stopped Madonna from enlisting the help of several A-List big-hitters for her 11th studio album: Justin Timberlake, Pharrell Williams and Kanye West all feature in some capacity here. The obvious assumption, therefore, is that Hard Candy's sound will be infused with the slick r 'n' b/hip-hop sound that such a roster would suggest. While that's certainly true - Timbaland and The Neptunes' influence is tangible throughout the majority of the album - Madonna similarly seems determined to maintain some sort of control. For every juddering slice of r 'n' b sleaze (Candy Shop) or unremarkable, seamless pop (Miles Away), for example, there's a welcome dose of disco-glam (She's Not Me) or Ray of Light-era forcefulness (Voices); yet that same control is seemingly voluntarily relinquished on the likes of Devil Wouldn't Recognize You - a dark pop song eerily similar in tone to Timberlake's 'Cry Me A River'. The end product, therefore, is in real danger of becoming a strange conundrum: a Madonna album that sounds like a Neptunes/Timbaland/Justin Timberlake album featuring Madonna. Whether Mrs. Ritchie had always intended on handing over the reins to her collaborators to such an extent is unclear. Whatever the strategy, though, the three or four tracks that comprise Hard Candy's sweet, tasty centre are reward enough for its sometimes-predictable outer shell.

Robotnik - Pleasant Square

"He has given up his companions for the companionship of the pop charts," one disgusted fan said. "There was a large protest element to the music back then - he's moving away to 'the other side'," said another. Disgruntled Bob Dylan enthusiasts fumed at the notion of their saviour abandoning his acoustic roots for electricity, but fans of Robotnik needn't trouble themselves with a similar indignance. Why? Well, because the artist formerly known as geeky troubadour Chris Morrin has flung aside his acoustic guitar in favour of electronic gadgetry and a new pseudonym - and has opened up a gaping chasm of possibilities in the process. 'Pleasant Square' is the 27-year-old Dubliner's debut album, and although it suffers from a moderately overlong running time (15 tracks over an hour), it's a thoroughly likeable collection that stumbles through a wide miscellany of styles. Here, you'll find everything from ambient, Avalanches-influenced sketches ('Dog With No Tail'), infuriatingly catchy, effectively simple pop songs dotted with electro doodles ('People Walk Away', 'Lazyboy'), and inventive soft-dance numbers that reference everyone from Depeche Mode to Erasure ('The Master'). As if that wasn't enough, there's also a throwback to Morrin's sound of yesteryear with the dreamy Elliott Smith-esque 'Vinedresser', while the New Order-meets-The Field space-zap of 'Piece of Mind' picks up the pace commendably. Robotnik has been a fixture on the Irish underground scene for several years, yet not many will be expecting an album of such scope, diversity and simple, unadulterated enjoyment. Morrin can rest safe in the knowledge that he's created a debut that's far from square and certainly pleasant - and who needs acoustic guitars, anyway?

Jim Noir - Jim Noir

Alan Roberts, a.k.a. Jim Noir, is not the first British artist to sound like he woke up on the wrong side of the Atlantic. The 26-year-old's first album, 2005's brilliant 'Tower of Love', saw the unassuming bowler hat-wearing Mancunian indulge his love of West Coast psychedelic pop, while simultaneously adding his own quirky, lo-fi gradient to proceedings. Two of Tower of Love's tracks (Eanie Meany and My Patch) were so successful, even, that they were used in advertising campaigns by Adidas, Ginsters and US chain-store Target. Far from becoming the next Moby, however, Noir retreated to his bedroom for three years to record its follow-up - and what a follow-up it is. Noir still dances with the same psych-pop style that informed his debut, but has stepped up his game on this occasion to include songs that are even fuzzier, wonkier and catchier than their predecessors were. In fact, the most blatantly obvious reference point here is Super Furry Animals; more than a few of the 13 tracks here draw from the same well of meandering dream-pop and soft electronica that the Welshmen do. Similarly, opening track proper Alright uses a chorus of warm harmonies to accentuate its low-key thunk. What You Gonna Do and Same Place Holiday, meanwhile, are nifty nips of Beach Boys-esque pop heaven, while Welcome Commander Jameson is Noir's version of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band - all rattling layers of bleary instrumentation. When listened to in one go, this album sounds like the embodiment of a fantastical dream. Admittedly, it's one that's perhaps a bit scatterbrained in parts, yet it could only be the result of a musician with a gleeful imagination, nevertheless. Welcome back, Mr. Noir.

Mariah Carey - E=MC2

From the slums of Calcutta to the opulent palaces of Monte Carlo, one thing unites the common man with the upper classes: an opinion on Mariah Carey. At this stage of her career, the woman with a window-shattering vocal range is unlikely to win over her detractors - especially if she continues to make albums as turgid as this, her 11th studio effort. The title is almost a dead giveaway: a pun on the mathematical equation that unravels as 'Emancipation = Mariah Carey to the Power of Two (?)' is as nonsensical and pretentious an overture as it suggests. What's most frustrating about Carey is that it's obvious that she has the technical skill that has made her the globe-conquering vocalist that she is; but in previous years, she's foregone her glorious pop roots to pander to what she presumably sees as what's 'in' right now: soulless, generic r'n'b that only succeeds in making her exceedingly bland, not unique. A multitude of guest appearances by various rapperssingers (T-Pain, Damian Marley, Young Jeezy) smack of 'Flavour of the Month', although Carey's cringeworthy Jamaican patois on Cruise Control merits a listen for its comedy value, at least. Gone are the days when a collaboration with someone like Jay-Z (the brilliant 'Heartbreaker') made for one of the best pop singles of the year. There are glimpses of the old Mariah on the few occasions that she does side-step the muffled studio-trickery and desperately boring r'n'b-by-numbers (I'm That Chick, I'll Be Loving U Long Time, OOC), but they're all too few-and-far-between. For a woman so obsessed with the notion of independence and freedom, E=MC2 depicts a singer so desperate to remain 'relevant', that she'll pander to whatever genre is selling best at the moment - whatever the cost.

Gnarls Barkley - The Odd Couple

Gnarls Barkley had the success of their debut 'St. Elsewhere' sewn up before it was even released - spawning a multi-million selling single ('Crazy') will do that for an album. This time around, however, it's a different story for Brian 'DangerMouse' Burton and Cee-Lo Green: the self-designated Odd Couple have no chart-dominating single to prime them for a repeated success. It's not really surprising, once you've heard The Odd Couple in its entirety. Unlike its predecessor, this is an album low on high-spirits and high on anxiety medication; gone is the celebratory warmth that coated St. Elsewhere, in its place is a sense of claustrophobic melancholy, overwhelming seriousness and bleak, suffocating arrangements. Whether it's an indication of either of the duo's personal circumstances is, of course, purely speculative - perhaps they just got tired of the handclaps and soulful stomps. Though Green's voice is as robust as ever, the music that soundtracks them is at times unrelentingly glum. Open Book, for example, scatters a messy drum beat across an fire-and-brimstone score; Would Be Killer's jittery, time-shifting soundtrack is as sinister as if Green himself was the Child Snatcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and No Time Soon's gospel tone is shattered by a futuristic barrage of beats and samples. Having said that, it wouldn't be a Gnarls Barkley album without at least some reprieve from the solemnity. Blind Mary, Neighbors and Surprise are all likeable numbers that open up the album and break the tension that's at times, difficult to listen to. The Odd Couple is a tougher proposition than most fans will expect, but it's by no means the worse for it. Just don't choose it as your party soundtrack.

The Last Shadow Puppets - The Age of the Understatement

When a musician has been as prolific as Alex Turner has recently, it's easy to forget that they haven't been around forever. Still only 22 years of age, Turner has been involved in more musical projects than most of his peers put together (guesting with acts as diverse as Dizzee Rascal and Reverend and the Makers alongside his day-job as Arctic Monkeys supremo) - and has excelled at pretty much everything, too. The Last Shadow Puppets sees him buddy up with former Little Flame and current Rascal Miles Kane, to attempt a style that neither indie boy has turned their hand to before. No, you won't find any of the semi-comical vignettes of urban strife that Arctic Monkeys are renowned for here; The Age of the Understatement sees the duo revisit a golden era of music, when smooth love songs, quiffs and Rickenbackers were staples of the Top 10. Reviews have cited Scott Walker's influence more frequently than any other, but there are nods to The Shadows (on Separate and Ever Deadly, and the gentle dodgem-bump of I Don't Like You Anymore) here, too. What's more, practically every track here could pass for a Bond theme, thanks to Owen Pallet's (a.k.a. Final Fantasy) magnificent, emotive string arrangements. Where The Age of the Understatement briefly falters, however, is on the pointless dual-vocal approach of the title track and Meeting Place (an otherwise gorgeously-rounded, Dusty Springfield-esque pop tune) - Turner and Kane's vocals are far too similar for such a tactic to prove effective. Still, on an album that flits between suave '70s pop, lavish, grandiose torch songs and rollicking rock 'n' roll made for the clientele of a Workingman's Club in North Yorkshire, vocal delivery is rendered temporarily trivial. Will Turner's well of vision, ideas and remarkable songwriting talent ever run dry?

Portishead - Third

An album that's been touted as far back as 2005, Portishead's Third had all the makings of a mammoth disappointment. A band notoriously casual when it comes to releasing albums (there was a gap of three years between their debut Dummy and its follow-up Portishead, and a gap of ten since their last release proper), the Bristol trio drummed up excitement last December, when they played their first full-length set since 1997 at the ATP festival in Minehead. Reports claimed that their new material was as innovative as ever - and despite its frustratingly long conception, Third delivers on its prolonged promise. That's not to say that time has mellowed a band renowned for creating music born out of unease: Third is fraught with the agitation and tension that has informed all of Portishead's releases so far. The bookends of the 49-minute-long album (Silence and Threads) both encapsulate the shivering drama that usually soundtracks a spy movie, the former's controlled gloom proving particularly menacing; the detached dance throb of We Carry On is one of the most potent tracks here, while the stripped-back banjo/Beth-fest of Deep Water throws a curveball midway through the album. Gibbon's contributions, too, are as hypnotising as ever - her ghostly, barely-there vocals providing an apt foil to the cold, mechanical rap of Machine Gun. There are no Glory Boxs or All Mines here, that's true; but if anything, Third is proof of a band who, seventeen years into their career, are still as innovative, off-beat and as subtly disquieting as ever.

The Kooks - Konk

Hate to love them, or love to hate them: it's doubtful that Brighton's Kooks care either way. Their debut album 'Inside In/Inside Out' has sold over 1 million copies to date since its 2006 release - so critical acclaim or no, they've justified their existence to their record company. Its success also meant that album #2 was quickly bankrolled for the young quartet but Konk - named after the London studio in which it was recorded (proprietor: Mr. Ray Davies Esq.) - treads no new ground for the Luke Pritchard-led band. Perhaps it's down to the fact that the majority of 'Inside In/Inside Out' was written long before it was recorded (Naive, for example, when Pritchard was just 16) or perhaps it's simply that The Kooks are one-trick-ponies; but what initially set them apart from their peers - their ability to write short, snappy pop songs with minimal cheese and a mass appeal - has become their downfall here. The fact that lead single Always Where I Need to Be is the standout track is the first warning sign. An inoffensive pop-rock tune that sounds like the B-side to one of their initial hits doesn't augur well for developmental aspirations, and it's unfortunately representative of most of the album. What The Kooks do well, they do extremely well - spot-on harmonies on the jangly, uptempo tracks, for one; what they do badly is made all the more glaringly obvious on Konk (Pritchard stoops to partially reciting the alphabet on stripped-back acoustic number One Last Time). Downbeat pout of a ballad Sway, with its big, elated chorus, marks the turning point of an album that starts poorly and ends worse. Whether The Kooks have the longevity to claw back the magic that was hinted at on their debut is something that only time will tell; but on this basis, I wouldn't count on it.