Hamish MacBain

Just get the book, OK? It’s brilliant, and this isn’t.

The Boss returns, 17 albums in and more passionate than ever.

There ain't too much here that's going to add to her legacy. Rather, there's the unmistakable sense of someone treading water, with even the OK bits here sounding uninspired.

Wiz proclaims that his "life is like a movie". Maybe so, but he needs to delete some scenes.

Sounding more like Animal Collective than The La’s, in these times when one wrong move is seeing bands of Kasabian’s stature sink like stones, it seemed a brave comeback.

What we have here, people, is the umpteenth attempt to turn the perceived chaos of Britney’s transition to adulthood – she’s 27 next week! – into sleazy, raunchy, dirrty adult-pop product.

Sounds like another biggish, mainstream indie band trying to sound like the proper grown up stadium bands.

We tried. Honestly, we gave it a good three or four listens from start to finish, just searching for something, anything positive to say about the easiest target in showbusiness (or, for that matter, any business).

Confused? You probably will be. Thrilled? You definitely will be. Jack ’n’ Meg just wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is rancid, godawful ironing bored pop-rock, devoid of anything even approaching sex or soul or menace or charm – it’s a wonder they bother stocking albums like this anywhere other than Tesco.

Yes, it’s brilliant. Musically more muscular, full of the same unparalleled lyrical flair that so characterised their debut, seemingly unburdened by the ridiculous expectation placed upon its creators.

For all its weird beauty, this is very much Damon's record - much more so than Gorillaz. Or indeed, Blur.