A joyless listen in and of itself, sure--but moreover, this is a puzzling eyesore exemplifying quite how this process of constructing and immediately normalising eccentricity can still have an appeal.

A mazy, fluid, ethereal suite of chamber jazz to get properly lost in.

It's not so certain that Cowley's taste-making always succeeds, despite the overall optimistic vitality of his tunes.

There may be arguments for Rusko's moves here; it's just that they're not very well executed.

Mathambo leaps about on a hotplate of styles, rarely dwelling on a groove for long. Move with him, though, because it's worth the breakneck effort.

What is present is that instant-click connection between artist and audience that only comes with the most naked of performances--Monotony is one such riveting recital, sketchy yet complete--and Beal's commitment to documenting the minutiae alongside the meaningful in comparable detail ensures that even-handedness permeates the entire set.

The same could be said for Lapalux's production ability; this is a brilliant EP, but he's still to reveal his full potential.

The results are expectedly analogue of warmth (exceptions: the 8-bit insistence of No Distance's bleeps; the crackle-and-squelch of Unknown Host), but just as enveloping as the best today's modulator manipulators can produce.

Spectacularly creative pop.

It's good to hear a new album that brims both with strong opinions and great pop songs, often at the same time.

While Blood Red Shoes displayed a more erratic style back in 2010 on second album Fire Like This, this third feels formulaic – highly thought-out and polished.

These four tracks--perhaps movements would be a more appropriate term--feel entirely alive, a spontaneous weld of anxious beats, the odd squirl of guitar and distortion, corrupted vocals and deep, chasmic bass.

Her songwriting is not greatly altered: tunes most often travel at an energetic tempo, with melodies shining through the thickly applied reverb and helping the likes of Know Me to soar. The presentation, however, recalls the Cocteau Twins during the album's most abstract moments.

He's a pop artist of substance, and as such brings a touch of class and sufficient flavour of another genre to the mainstream to make music that's interesting and lasting.

Goodman casts a spell on the listener with Sees the Light.

Her most vivid and enveloping achievement to date.

The OF Tape Vol 2 is an excellent addition to the group's canon.

A genuinely enjoyable find.

Ex Lives is guaranteed to change a few minds as to what stands out as their finest collection.

The Belbury Tales is infused with a deep vein of paranoia, a palpable fear, an attempt to reconcile the imminent unknown (evoking a reimagined or never experienced past).

It's deceptively powerful stuff.

It's got its faults, but MDNA isn't just a good pop album, it's a good Madonna album too.

Spalding is too able a musician to botch this template, so the obvious enquiry is: does she bring sufficient personality to the table to avoid being derivative? For the most part, yes.

It's perhaps too subtle and intricate for a marketplace accustomed to being bashed about the bonce by rave-fuelled RnB – but if your palate fancies some tuneful sweetness, Youth will melt in your mouth.

The Shape of Things is, by some margin, Foxx's best album since Metamatic, the 1980 solo debut that has become one of modern electronica's sacred touchstones.

All three players are articulating a ceaseless stream of fresh ideas throughout this electrically energised session.

When this 12-song set does hit its groove it is a punishing and relentless pleasure.

No Gods is a significant statement of intent. Despite its nihilistic title, it's an album that brims with vitality and could well be Sharks' ticket to the big leagues.