A welcome reminder of the Brummie art-poppers’ lighter, brighter past.

The confessional micro-detail of Darnielle’s minimal indie-folk songs – and haunted whine of a voice – remains stoically unchanged.

Ward’s band kick back with a looser, rockier feel than previously, yet his dusty, wistful voice still inhabits an age all of its own.

Waterloo To Anywhere is more pro and muscular than former endeavours, chiming more with labelmates Razorlight’s ambitious professionalism.

The translations offer many witty surprises.

The Eraser’s sound lies somewhere between the roiling beat soup of Amnesiac and a poppier sensibility.

Not all of Dangerfield's maverick ideas work - he should steer clear of under-accompanied singing for a start - but when they do take off, Guillemots really soar.

It’s a one-trick pony album sure, but what a trick.

An ultra-sensuous experience.

Their second album continues in a similarly delicious vein, melding wonky electronics, pillow-soft soul and lyrics that manage to weave strange violence into gorgeous soul songs.

A complex yet controlled fourth album of astonishing beauty and perfect strangeness.

Warm and quirky. Pleasantly bizarre. Sophisticated and daft. Herbert at his best.

Though it still errs toward a languid late-60s template, Cabic’s songwriting is now crisp and effortlessly melodic.

This Japanese power trio possess a lurking sense of Metal traditionalism, producing a scabrous wall of guitar noise, crunching, dense and turgid.

This is woozy Americana wrapped fast in thick swathes of serrated menace.

Just Like… is no classic, but it’s enough to make for a teary goodbye.

The freewheeling garage bangers of Original Pirate Material have receded into the distance and we’re left with stabbing high-range synths... resulting in an album that’s charming and witty, but not as exhilarating as it might have been.

Five albums in, The Coup have just made their best since their debut.

It’s a step backwards for sure, but a worthwhile one.

The best thing about Garden Ruin is the way they look beyond country borders to engage with the wider world, both culturally and musically.

If you’re after dark, bloody romance with a twist, look no further.

Has some moribund slumps.

If this was any more showbiz it’d be performed on ice.

The incessant hooklines cloy a little after repeated listens, but that’s hardly the most damning criticism of a pop band.

The Loon owes so much to Stephen Malkmus and Frank Black that one imagines lawyers might be called.

Short answer: it’s good.

My Dark Places captures the offbeat brilliance that made the TVPs indie legends in the 70s, characterised by Treacy’s endearingly slapdash attitude towards singing in tune and playing in time.

Boasts little in the way of joie de vivre.

Love Travels At Illegal Speeds is good stuff that doesn’t drive you round the bend. It doesn’t pack any surprises either.

This anthology of new and previously released 7” singles is inevitably somewhat dishevelled as an album, but then this extraordinary band has always worked best in bite-size.

A more straightforward affair than previous works, and as such suffers from predictability.

Together, they’re a marriage made in musical haven.

It’s clear that chemistry was in the air.

There are few dynamic surprises here, and no serrated edges, but this disc's strength lies in its building mass of lumbering, decelerated funk, its textures gluey and thick.

It’s exciting stuff, simple yet deadly effective.

Features an excess of accumulated ingredients with predictably indigestible results.

This is cathartic, psychically haunted fare; pleasing and troubling in equal measure.

Their sophomore album is surprisingly world-weary, but brims with an almost brutal rawness and betrays the pair’s striking talent for storytelling.

Possibly their best and certainly most joyously eclectic album yet.

Filling the gaps between Prince and !!!, this is for those who spent the last two decades shaking their hips rather than banging their heads.

This mini album sometimes feels as if it’s thrown together like quickly-packed luggage.

Sensuous, subtle but emotionally overwhelming dreamscapes, whose luminous beauty makes pigeonholing nigh on impossible.

This will end up flying off the shelves for sure.

A textbook lesson in sublime but understated country soul.

For Bonnie Prince Billy it's an atypically sexless affair with only his version of Richard Thompson’s Calvary Cross worthy of his previous covers record, More Revery.

An addictive and immersive debut album.

Preposterous, touching and brilliant.

Stately, midtempo tunes whose immaculate production belies the darkness at their core.