I mean, there’s miserable delivered with class (Nick Cave, Cohen) or with at least a wee twinkle of hope somewhere, but even Weeks himself described his 2001 album, ‘Awake Like Sleep’, as “grim droney little screeds on death and hopelessness”. Yes okay, it may appeal to the suicidal and manically depressed, so I guess there’s a market out there (hence the four points), but what I would say to those unfortunates is: find something uplifting to listen to, please. Not having heard said bundle of joy (‘Awake Like Sleep’), I’m wondering how this, ‘The Hive’, compares with it in Greg’s eyes on a scale of gloom from one to ten, one being just a bit gloomy, five being dismally gloomy and ten being the kind of irretrievably murky gloom from which there is no escape.

Weeks bleats painfully through eleven hopeless ditties with titles like ‘You Won’t Be The Same Ever Again’, ‘Lay Low’ and ‘Not Meant For Light’, and there will be those of you (like my friend Emily, who’s a bit upset at the moment, bless her, has pointed out) who will appreciate the opportunity for a bit of isolated weeping whilst wallowing in Weeks’ tragic homilies… Ho hum… Please don’t be fooled by the jauntily titled ‘Funhouse’, which is about as much fun as a convention for manic depressives. And what Madonna thinks of his cover of her 80s disco hit ‘Borderline’, I have no idea, but, frankly, he’s killed it by turning it into a relentless exercise in morbidity.

On ‘Donovan’, a tribute to – erm – Donovan, I must admit there’s a brief sparkle of, perhaps, humour in this dismal fog as he tries to emulate the old folk bloke, but it’s a bit like Jack Dee trying to impersonate Jim Carrey… not a hope. I’m sorry, but I really cannot listen to this anymore – or think about it, so I’m going to sign off before I throw myself off Beachy Head. Grim stuff indeed. Pass the Prozac.

I think you’ve got to have the likes of Last Shadow Puppets, Elbow, Duffy (sorry!) and maybe Metallica in there, but I’d love to know what everyone else thinks. Bit of Vampire Weekend, maybe? Or possibly Ra Ra Riot?

Take That’s isn’t out yet, so sadly cannot be included.

Opening track, ‘She Make Me She Do’ starts as it means to go on, with siren-like riffs and screamingly insistent voice – it’s fast, energetic, and bounce-off-the-walls exciting. ‘DVF’ follows, and with its echoey vocals and muddied-up guitars, it sounds darker and eerier than the opener, and shows an intriguingly different side to the band. There’s something of Queens Of The Stone Age about this one, but a lot more going on besides, all of which makes it the collection’s best and most imaginative song.

With third track, ‘Come To My Disco’, we’re back into classic punk territory, with an energetic, semi-ironic and wholly retro invitation to dance (as if you needed to be asked). Then, in less than a minute and a half, it’s on to ‘Stuck Between Rock N Roll & A Hardcore Place’, a controlled explosion of a track which speaks rather neatly for itself, but again is come and gone in under 90 seconds.

This collection represents punk rock at its punkest – raucous, exciting and deliberately rough around the edges. It’s not meant to sound studio-perfect (and it doesn’t) and it’s not designed to be over-analysed, either. It’s a sound that’s mainly meant to be jumped around to, either live or in the privacy of your own space. Do try this at home.

Tip: do not adjust your browser - that is indeed the artwork for this EP! Kudos if you can work out what it says.

Well underway on their debut album which has an ETA set for early 2009, the band have forged a sound that, though unlikely to win any Ivor Novella’s for singers Ben and Steve’s writing style, shows the art of the pop anthem is still alive in the age of novelty game shows like The X-Factor. One place that has always been a hit factory for these kind of radio friendly singles is the North of England, and following in the wake of The Beatles, Cast and Scouse funsters The Coral, It’s A Buffalo produce the same kind of work that, though not to everyone’s taste, is hard to dislike.

Bright and uplifting, with rising chorus’ and random shouts of joy over the top of Ben’s vocals, the ballad is played out with the kind of abandon that proves we all have a small amount of carefree youth in us these days, despite the winter gloom. With this their third successful release after a support slot on The Courteeners tour this year, the Buffalo’s may be set to steal some thunder from the blue half of Manchester.

This second release from his album of the same title is a welcome break from the same tired format or overproduction we have grown accustomed to from the industry throughout 2000, and Arms work sounds as though it were cooked up in a miniscule bedsit somewhere in his Brooklyn neighbourhood. He has a gift in understanding how to create music laced with sentiment that exercise the tear ducts more than the gag reflex and though ‘Kids Aflame’ is unlikely to set the world alight, it packs enough of a spark to keep ardent music fans warm through the winter months.

Let me start this most momentous of occasions by summarising the EP in its entirety. In this instance, I could do no better than quote from those critiquing genii, Statler and Waldorf from The Muppet Show: “They weren’t half bad!” - “No, they were all bad!”

To be fair, the EP does have something going for it. For a start, it’s a standard four-track EP. The number of six and seven-track EPs I’ve reviewed lately I’d started to wonder if anyone remembered what the difference between an EP and an LP actually is. The main benefit to ‘Good Day’ being a four-track EP was that if I’d had to sit through another three songs I probably would have tried to decapitate myself with a nail file or something similarly drastic.

I did a bit of reading up on this Kenan Bell chap, just in case he was interesting. He’s a teacher from Los Angeles who hates hip-hop and doesn’t want to be seen as a rapper. This is just as well, because his rapping capabilities leave a lot to be desired and the music is… I’m sorry but it’s just awful. Seriously, this is no word of exaggeration – it sounds as if someone’s playing the touch-tone phone over the badly-rapped lyrics. I’m no expert by any stretch of the imagination, but as far as I’m aware, rapping is supposed to be a clever mixture of staccato yet fluent speech to some form of a tune. This didn’t quite constitute rapping, it was more sort of reading aloud. I half-expected him to “erm” and “ahm” through bits of his songs where he sounded as if he’d got a bit stuck.

Now, I do have to be wholly honest and say that I really enjoyed ‘Celebrity’, a satire-infused song about, shockingly enough, the celebrity lifestyle. It’s simply brilliant. Admittedly, most of it does sound like he’s reading out what he’d got in his alphabet spaghetti that day, but still, it’s a really catchy little number. It’s just a shame that the other three songs were all full of that depressing “Woe is me, I’ve had such a tough life, my grandma died last Thursday – and my pet budgie’s wing fell off this morning – but I’m stronger because of all my dreadful experiences” mentality.

I am in no doubt that Mr Bell is a fabulous teacher who really inspires his pupils to greatness. His insistence on not giving up his day job, however, is a particularly shrewd one, in light of the fact that he has all the lyrical genius of a slightly-hungover music journalist. If anyone’s ever heard my one-and-only song, ‘Funny Thing Called Love’, you’d know what I mean…

Opener ‘Dancing Bears’ sets the tone; the slow lilt of a finger-picked acoustic guitar and gentle pastoral wind and strings bubbling underneath soft vocals. Immediately this brings to mind the autumnal instrumentation from Drake’s Bryter Lyter and the expressionistic inflections of Joanna Newsom. Although Ali’s voice is a very different beast to Newsom’s husky Appalachian yelps and wails, they share an endearing ability to both envelop and entertain. Ali’s vocals can sound wounded, seductive and playful and while some of those quavering notes can sound fragile, this lack of opacity lets the ochre shades of the compositions filter through the shifting vocals, plays of cello, guitar and wind patterning and shaping the album.

The sparse Cardinals-esque opening of ‘One Day At A Time’, gives way to the archaic dreaminess of ‘The Savages’. The doleful Elizabethan theme conjuring a pastoral folk scene not unlike the psych-folk of Espers. The central lullabies are capped by the standout title track, the Iberian accent of the introduction building into a claustrophobic interchange between a bluesy drone, pounding toms the North African assonance of the wailing strings. Rolling through the plush valleys of ‘September Sky’ leads into the plaintive trio of ‘A Storm In A Teacup‘, ‘The Kiss’ and ‘Flowers’. It really is a testament to the composition and production on this album that it works at all. Rocking Horse manages to pull together disparate instrumentation and genres and melding them into a delightful whole. The penultimate track, ‘What To Do’ a perfect example - combining a lounge jazz rhythm section with chamber arrangements.

The album does have its niggles; the primary of these, is that again like Newsom, Ali’s voice has a love or loathe quality which is ultimately where most will judge this album. While a complete leap from her previous albums - cynics might call it an obtuse reaction to criticism of supposed earlier “chart grabbing” - there are some strong reference points and influences, the title track especially, leaves Bat For Lashes ringing in the ears. Hardly a bad thing, here’s hoping time and experience crystallises this formidable talent into something wonderful and unique to add to the pantheon of experimental British females.

‘Rocking Horse’ isn’t perfect - but sitting inside with a brew, cans on, watching the squall of late autumn through the window it seems close enough.