It sounds so much more raw and harsh, more real and vulnerable.

If Giant Sand had released fewer great albums, Blurry Blue Mountain would sound something close to miraculous. As it is, it's a worthy addition to a catalogue which was already embarrassed with riches.

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.

High Places have moved on, positioning themselves on the fringes of the ongoing chillwave explosion with enough invention to outlast most of its central protagonists.

Fujiya & Miyagi are an invigorating mix of the cerebral and the visceral. In a just world, they'd be the new lords of the dancefloor.

Their sense of adventure seemingly knows no bounds, yet when, after six leisurely minutes of jazz-rock noodling, 11.11 suddenly segues into a passage of Cuban folk singing backed by a lone drummer, the strong whiff of pretension might hang rather too heavy in the air for some tastes.

Friendly Fires have already proved themselves, but this second effort is a mighty step upwards. It is another terrific, clattering celebration of an album that sounds nothing like its peers, but hopefully will be rewarded with sales to dwarf Lady Gaga's.

The conclusion, then, is clear: both as a standalone record and part of …Trail of Dead's considerable canon, Tao of the Dead will be remembered as a high point.

Beyoncé slips from flirty to fragile to fabulous, and is in terrific voice throughout, reminding us that when she opens up there's no-one else in the game.

it's disappointing that collaborative projects featuring prominent artists from these fields haven't yet delivered a worthwhile album. Marley's 2005 release Welcome to Jamrock was a step forwards, but Distant Relatives represents an accomplished attempt to go further, fusing traits with few discernable flaws.

Although the parallels with Bonobo's peers are obvious, his fourth album doesn't just sit in their shadows. Rather, it's an inspiring example of how, free of pressure and publicity, he has blossomed into something beautiful at his own pace.

It's this tightrope between bruised self-doubt and fun blasts of noise that gives Wolf's Law its emotional heft.

That such a progressive, risk-taking LP wasn't celebrated across the board for its gutsy reinventing of a band thought pigeonholed wasn't that surprising, though – this is a difficult album.

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

Just occasionally the band drops hints that they might have a future beyond this loutish, two-dimensional debut.

They're relatively simple things to be sure, but they've been crafted with love and authority before being chiselled in stone so that they may yet last certain discerning metallers a lifetime.

Hardcore fans can, of course, simply ignore it, but they're exactly the people who might've hoped for something more. As an introduction to Pearl Jam's on-stage prowess, however, this is a tidy effort.

The better songs here don't quite rescue the disc, but they do suggest that LaMontagne can step outside his comfort zone when he chooses to--it's just a shame how rarely that occurs.

The Len Price 3 sound well aware that people aren’t tuning in for their Swiftian commentary, but for the fizzy fury of their cheerfully unreconstructed rock’n’roll. Pictures may well be what the doctor ordered, for those whose preferred consultant’s last name is Feelgood.

This is, generally, straightforward guitar rock with tinges of country and folk drawn from Roddy Woomble's sabbatical in New York as a folkie.

Whilst Festival Bell lacks the visionary presence that made 1969's game-changing Liege & Lief so influential, and established the group's pre-eminent position in the folk-rock firmament, this album nevertheless confirms Fairport's reputation as an ongoing repository for quality songwriting.

As with most things on this record, it's a thoroughly engaging ride.

Martin is just too instinctively amiable to muster the passionate furies that animate the best of his genre, and too quick to deflate whatever momentum he does gather with a joke.

Ecstatics proves to be only half the album it thought itself capable of being.

Everything is bound by a vocal that speaks to the soul... There are moments here, details of songs, which cause the throat to close, the eyes to widen.

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

A cipher for good songs rather than the reasons those songs are good she may be, but there are few that do it better.

His carefree attitude skips through the different styles and beats here with a sense of fun and adventure.