The Revenants: Septober Nowonder (Independent Records)

It's been six years since their debut album, Horse Of A Different Colour, joined the stable of unsung Irish rock classics, but The Revenants have finally completed another collection of guitar-slinging country-rock tunes. Led by the sandstone voice of Stephen Ryan, The Revenants ramble through the melancholy jangle of Easier This Way, Sarah and When You Fly, hitching sombre slide guitars, reflective piano lines and swelling Fender riffs to their musical wagon. Guitarist Conor Brady spreads out some solid lead guitar lines, while Ryan's lyrics evoke tangled feelings, twisted friendships and time spent in solitary thought. Although the album arrives in time for the revival of Americana, it's seems certain that The Revenants may - like their US cousins The Replacements - be doomed to languish in respectful obscurity.

Kevin Courtney

Various Artists: South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut (Atlantic)

OHMIGOD, they've filmed Kenny! South Park has, with stomach-churning inevitability, been made into a movie, and the obnoxious eight-year-olds have turned up the gross quotient for the delight of cinema audiences everywhere. If you thought the series was sick, try sitting through nearly two hours of garish big-screen cartoon action, interspersed with such unsavoury showtunes as Uncle F**ka, Blame Canada and Kyle's Mom's A Bitch. The soundtrack features many of South Park's favourite characters, including Mr Mackey, Big Gay Al, Ms McCormick, Wendy Testaburger and Saddam Hussein; sadly, Chef gets only one song, and there are some unnecessary interpretations by such outsiders as Trick Daddy, RuPaul and Violent Femmes. I'll stick to the cheap 'n' nasty - and mercifully shorter - TV version.

Kevin Courtney

Randy Newman: Bad Love (Dreamworks)

Randy Newman, the man who hides razor blades inside silken orchestrations, is at it again. He kicks off this album's My Country with the line "let's go back to yesterday", suggesting we're for a nice slice of nostalgia - but then, instead, slices his way through the modern tendency to treat TV as a substitute for living. In I'm Dead, he mercilessly lampoons those aged rock stars who just don't know when to quit. Songwriters, presumably, are immune from such attacks; but maybe not. After all, nothing is sacred to Newman. Karl Marx gets shafted in The World Isn't Fair, and older men who fall under the sway of young women are parodied in Shame. Wonderful stuff: Randy Newman at the peak of his powers, lyrically and musically.

Joe Jackson