This is an airy (but not aerated) blend of ambience, indie pop and 80s synth music, delivered with a grace that ensures they're miles from lo-fi territory.

On paper, everything about Timez Are Weird These Days lends itself to an ostentatious dose of elite, Hoxtonite posturing. But there's substance beneath the style, a welcome human quality to withstand the opulent demi-house compositions.

Their most adventurous, confident and engaging record in years.

If only there was more drama of this sort here, and a little less schmaltz, to bolster Ring's talent as an arranger and a producer.

It's easier to forgive the tracks that meander, ponder and lament. In fact, for better or worse, that's sort of the point.

This is the sound of a band hitting their stride and just running with all of their strengths on show--and there can be no complaints about that.

Heritage has some strong predecessors to live up to. But it will surely be seen as one of their most accomplished works in years to come.

Either way, if you're no fan of the fey and fantastical, you're best off fleeing. Still interested? Well, hard work it may be, but it's not without its rewards.

Velociraptor! is neither the classic Pizzorno insists it is, nor the numbskull stadium rock cynics will presume it is.

There must be worse fates than ending up as a classic pop jukebox, and there's excitement as well as devotion in all this archaeology.

It's still a slice of superior Americana that enhances Richmond Fontaine's standing as one of the genre's premier attractions.

Killer Sounds is as assured as third albums should be, and were it a debut album it would be feted as a bright start. However, there is the sense we should be expecting more from Hard-Fi at this point, as the sporadic sparks of brilliance here demonstrate they are capable of it.

The result is an album that will make many a listener feel like the cat that got the cream.

Across these varied tracks we hear Wretch 32 in all of his lyrical glory, making good on the promise he's shown since day one.

There's plenty of interest here, then, but not enough to satisfy across a whole album.

Proof positive that Tripper is, fittingly, Hella more focused than its spaced-out title or the duo's hippy slacker personal demeanours might suggest.

Combined with playing that soars so majestically from this band's fingers, the end result is a set that is both unusual yet immediate. If you only buy one album this month, in the opinion of these ears, this should be it.

It's not sonically unique. Yet there's a charm here.

There's that genuinely disappointing sense of having heard this before, whether it be on 2007's Some Loud Thunder, their debut, or in countless other bands. Yet there's still a spark here that holds interest for a few listens.

With high-concept sounds and an ace sleeve, Again Into Eyes is a bold debut, and an extremely rewarding experience.

There's very little drive in Junk of the Heart, just a messy selection of meandering verses that surely can't be the product of three years' work.

Her worldly-wise tone can still come over a little smug but give her time – she'll grow younger than this yet.

Gravity the Seducer isn't the ultimate Ladytron album, a title which still belongs to Velocifero. It's too uncertain for that, with the slight wobbliness of someone injured learning to walk again.

Never Trust a Happy Song is far from a cohesive album, but that actually works to its advantage--because it encapsulates the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows, of this emotional rollercoaster known as life.

It's lengthy, but the sensitivity of every guitar tickle and percussive touch, as well as main man Christopher Owens' spellbinding voice, means that it is rarely boring.

So yes, it's imperfect, and it's frequently beautiful, much like the world itself, yeah? Do you see? Oh, too relaxed to care? Righto.

It's full of the kind of heavy textures and atmospheric nuances that explain exactly why Johnson is also a movie soundtrack composer of increasing repute.

This is about as good and sustained a riposte to the grubby, grabbing times we live in as any artist has mustered, which makes it essential listening.

Ultimately Strange Mercy sounds like her best record still lies ahead, once she feels a little more at ease with balancing her obviously multiple talents.

Some will call it noise, others a beautifully complicated symphony. In the end, you're not quite sure where you've landed, but you're glad you took the trip.

All told, this is arguably The Advisory Circle's most fully-realised set to date (accompanied by a typically eye-catching sleeve by Ghost Box's in-house designer, Julian House), exhibiting a stronger sense of (dis)place(ment) than before and, as such, constitutes the perfect entry point for anyone looking for a way into Brooks' enchanting, wistful realm.

If you thought him too weird for your tastes previously, Tha Carter IV is the album to introduce you to the never boring world of an artist whose importance remains so significant that, should he finally collapse like the star he is, he's likely to take half the rap game with him.

It comprises 11 tracks that sound like intros in search of songs. It is bland of lyric and tinny of sound. The rhythms plod alarmingly.

Portamento is simplicity redux, to the point of composing songs that sound too alike, and too like the last album.

Tinariwen continue to shift perceptions of what 'world' music can be.

A fine place to sample much of Smith's considerable oeuvre.

File him beside Frank Ocean as an RnB star set to climb to new heights in 2012.

For Fitz and Co, few if any post-60s developments in black dance music are acknowledged. Still, when it's good and exciting, as on the standout Don't Gotta Work It Out, with its simply thrilling keyboard coda, considerations of originality become irrelevant.

You wouldn't expect soul from a Glen Campbell record, but it takes many forms. A veteran who needs help to express his memories of a life less ordinary, but ironically sounds on the top of his game, is clearly one of them.

Yes, the videos still display awkward, cringe-worthy naivety that could inspire the next The Inbetweeners movie, but this music is a mature mix of jaunty and jaundiced.

The Golden Age of Apocalypse seems specially made for a long, hot, daydream-filled summer. Here's hoping.

I'm With You is a solid, decent enough 10th album, but it's far from vital.

Not only does it offer a bejewelled porthole into the flair of Alice Gold, but it's an album that transcends any accepted conventions of 'female singer-songwriter', and lays the foundations for a rock star.

Overall, then, From Africa With Fury: Rise is a pretty solid second effort.

It is, frankly, classic Eno. Holland too emerges from it well, though his contributions tend to be less immediate.

Overall, The R.E.D. Album stands as a solid return for its maker, as long-time listeners will connect with his no-frills lyrics and unsettling artistic demeanour.

Whether you could go so far as to call Guetta an auteur might be pushing it, but it's a cohesive effort, if not quite a work of art.

This swift follow-up, which portrays a band still with shoulder-shrugging faux-teenage inarticulacy high on their agenda, amidst a delivery of doped-out Ramones-y monomania which can make this album's 36 minutes feel like an hour.

To call it a career highlight would be a little excitable, but Mirror Traffic feels like one of those records that'll tempt fair-weather fans back to the Malkmus name. Which is probably a happy thing for all concerned.

No moulds are broken here, but the occasional breeze drummed up by the couple's galloping minds is in many ways cool.

La Liberación is so fixated on exhibiting its sense of fun that it forgets how to finish ideas in the process.

The state of the art recording ensures that this is another unmissable feast of song from an artist seemingly unstoppable in her continuing quest to present something new to her worldwide audience.

Ultimately, despite its makers' impressive credentials, this debut long-player is destined for the homes of listeners with more Basshunter in their collection than Burial.

With Route One or Die they have managed to destroy not only their previous releases, but potentially anything else released in 2011.

The pleasure in Beirut's music has always largely been in what it evokes – a kind of melancholy tempered with optimism and sometimes celebration. And it evokes marvellously here: whatever current Condon found himself caught up in that led to the creation of these songs, it's one you feel he's happy to coast a while yet.

Too patchy to warrant genuflection just yet, thanks should nevertheless be given for the exquisite moments that Young the Giant serve here.

Parton's 41st studio LP sparkles with the enthusiasm of a debut.

Philip Larkin memorably once noted, "What will survive of us is love". Whilst that's undoubtedly true, in Martyn's case there are also these glorious songs to savour and celebrate.

Wilson specialises in vintage gear, and Gentle Spirit sounds like the product of such equipment--warm, wistful and golden-hued, coated in creamed harmonies--but also, crucially, alive.

Slave Ambient as a whole may be more confused than your average reality show star at a Mensa meeting, but it's full of decent songs with a lot of heart.

It's really that entertaining. He's found his voice now and he's coasting. A winner.

Unexpectedly, these star-sailors are tripping the light, fantastically.

It would be a crying shame if a record so accomplished, relevant and unifying never gets to be heard. Because, right now, this album is necessary.

This is the sound of pigeonhole-free ambition slowly being realised, and it's sounding great.

In the end, Watch the Throne is a very noble attempt at cohesion, but its inconsistency ultimately stalls the project, resulting in an uneven recording that buckles under the weight of its own pressure.

Disappointing fare from Britpop revivalists on the receiving end of critical vitriol.

The album's better songs – of which a towering Black and the inventive if not precisely brilliantly titled Capsize the Sea are just two – even hark back to the time when their creators sounded fresh and exciting.

The result is louche and intoxicating.

A disappointing return from the former Mercury champions.

Every one of the 13 tracks on this album are co-writes that he's had a hand in, but all the same, a certain autobiographical tone predominates.

There are some fine songs on Natural History, which deserve better than being presented as if they were museum exhibits.

Yet, something's missing. An emotional engagement, perhaps, because they sometimes seem positively embarrassed to play from the heart.

In any form, What's Going On is an album that everyone should have in their collection; no matter how many times you play it, there is always something else to discover.

Despite their attempts to court the teenagers across the land, it's questionable whether this music has enough quality, variety and ingenuity to truly compete with others who have emerged from the talent hotbed of south Wales, let alone the rest of the world.

She's refining her songwriting into an individualist composite of myriad genres, crafting works which resonate with her own personality. It's clear that she's no dilettante, and that her understanding of rock'n'roll, gospel, folk, country and rockabilly has a profound depth.

They now sound more like a band that has really found its own voice. Recording live in the studio in as few takes as possible also seems to have given them a new edge.

The only complaint that can be made--that several of the shorter tracks here could have been developed further, rather than left to merely loop and fade--isn't really a complaint at all, but rather anticipation for what this inventive producer will do next.

Perfect Darkness is rather special.

Wild Go is easily among the frontrunners for album of the year (so far).

This Stockton-on-Tees septet's stoic, gritty, blue-collar sound, somewhere between rock, soul and folk, between those old stalwarts "rebel rock" and "dad rock."

Produced by The Bronx's Joby J Ford--who has also worked with Californian hardcore punks Trash Talk, whose MO is much the same as Cerebral Ballzy's--this eponymous set does a good job of transporting the band's ferocious live show into one's living room.

The Clan sounds lean, experienced and relaxed on a recommended new collection.

A compact and incredibly gratifying introduction to a new lo-fi talent.

These guys have defied the odds to deliver a collection that's all gold and no albatross.

Despite the contemporary co-writes, in an age where Take That work with Stuart Price and Nicola Roberts embraces Diplo's electro cool, this album comes across as a selection of competent B sides surrounding the fantastic Starlight.

Stone packs all the power you expect, but her control misfires enough for some of these tracks to never quite click as they might.

A polished fourth solo studio LP aimed at mainstream reggae audiences.

On Damnesia, the bare bones and glistening edges are on such clear display that even the most cheerful listener's day will be darkened by Alkaline Trio's gathering storm clouds.

It's dumb for sure, but knowingly so, and its incessantly upbeat vibes do provide something of a lift.

Free Time improves when the band tones down the simpers and demonstrate the lessons of 30-odd years of playing as a touring punk band.

Robbins' first foray into music is a misstep compared to his successful acting career.

Released in the summer of 1986, the grammatically challenged Lifes Rich Pageant was their fourth long-player and, with hindsight, a watershed album residing on the cusp between the group's initial chiming-but-oblique garage-rock signature and the stadium-tailored sound of the albums with which they would seduce the world later in the decade.

She sings prettily enough, but lacks the punch that the very best artists in this very crowded market possess.

A startling debut from a young Canadian RnB artist with huge potential.

This band's gradual edging over the precipice of mainstream acceptance has been richly deserved; now, everyone should hear this dragon roar.

With the constant variation found on the record--and what is probably Friden's most comfortable vocal performance of his career--they sound like a brand-new outfit, and you wouldn't bet against the Swedes gaining a whole new lease of life as a result.

The 2011 incarnation of Incubus is a depressingly dull and sterile proposition and, really, we wouldn't wish these bland wet blanket anthems on anyone.

Whatever the case, those years out of the spotlight have served TPF well: every second of Buffalo is wrought and layered with artisan care, and if ever you were looking for a record to banish the winter, this could be it.