It’s gripping, and we suspect the follow-up will be truly special.

Moby’s attempts to paper over a demonstrable lack of songwriting inspiration with grand string arrangements and a sequence of guest collaborators only emphasises the tedium here.

Disquieting divinity, duly delivered.

The result is a slightly odd, somewhat disjointed response, and one that serves to highlight just how daunting it is to tackle a cover from the former Genesis frontman’s catalogue.

Haim neither flinch nor blush in their directness and neither should you in enjoying Days Are Gone for what it is: unabashed fun.

Of the two acts, Costello’s pinch of dry spice makes this set more his vehicle to champion, but both show a mutual, practical affinity.

The vocals of singer Sarah P take At Home to an altogether more ethereal plane.

It’s not as shiny as ‘Nevermind’, nor as raucous as ‘Bleach’; it’s not as sensibly realised as it would have been has DGC had entirely their own way, but nor does it completely kick against Cobain and company’s prior achievements.

Trentemøller’s studio chops are beyond question, but the results here suggest something of a new musical identity crisis.

Nothing Was The Same offers the listener a lot of what they’ve come to love (or loathe, indeed) about its maker, with the occasional flash of something a little more daring than might’ve been anticipated.

Evelyn offers up the wiles and wisdom of a neighbourhood good guy, or more accurately, the distinction of an original Warp beat sage, providing contented listening caught lacing up a shelltoe.

Here, we hear hints of funk, jazz, Americana and folk--and before you know it, the album’s ingrained itself.

A strong, engaging return to form, Mechanical Bull is made to ride. Strap in and enjoy.

This eclecticism of emotion expressed instrumentally and lyrically is indicative of a matured songwriting style, and absorbs the listener at every turn.

When it all comes together, In Rolling Waves is a thrilling, melodramatic ride through the regions where pop, electro and alternative rock crossover, and finally meet.

Every track gives you something new and exciting, while holding tightly on to Emilíana’s flawless voice and melodies.

The Diving Board is an adult affair, but impressive enough to explore, and reinforces Elton’s continuing creative renaissance.

The Bones Of What You Believe is an exceptionally strong debut where every track is a potential single.

Of course groups should look to change and evolve, but this is solipsism at its worst.

The biting nostalgia of middle age runs throughout the lyrics and the band’s desire to produce something akin to ‘Automatic For The People’ is largely fulfilled.

[A] remarkably consistent debut.

While Delorean captured the spirit of summer with 2010’s Subiza, now they’re aiming to nail the soundtrack to the end of it.

Family life and a well-earned break have given this one-time Gothfather new tricks that pure despair could never provide.

He’s managed to transcend his previous efforts via the scaling up the sonics and simply maintaining the quality of this excellent record.

At its best, Roaring 20s is clumsy and awkward. At its worst, it’s hectoring and condescending.

Easy to absorb musically and easy to ignore lyrically, Loud Like Love is 50 minutes of simply okay alt-rock.

The Irish act’s short, sharp songs are frenetic and faithfully redolent of the staunch ’60s UK R&B boom that bore The Yardbirds and the Stones.

Glow is that rarest of beasts: a dance album that is equally as good on the dancefloor as it is at home.

Smilewound is delicate, crunchy and as beautiful as the fountainhead of music whence it came.

Big, bold, invigorating stuff.

Tales Of Us is relentlessly one note but frequently beautiful, and a welcome change from the theatrics of its immediate predecessor, 2010’s ‘Head First’.

All of these stylistic inspirations make AM an invigorating experience.

some of Doherty’s lyrics are very... peculiar.... But even the weird lyrics merely add charm to this impressive return.

Despite some angsty missteps, the reverb-soaked ‘Neon Bedroom’ confirms that the band’s talent for transforming the ordinary into the epic remains.

There’s a lot to like about this summer soundtrack packed to the left of your luggage.

It’s a great pop record with plenty of depth (a rare thing) that will prove divisive.

Trap Lord is an impressive outing for Ferg and another win for A$AP Mob.

Even at its worst this hotchpotch collection is pleasant fare.

Beautifully crafted, eccentric and disturbing, but essential pop all the same.

The end result is immensely listenable, and so goddamn fun.

This is a debut with lots to love, abundant in experimentation and overall pop accessibility--and not many comparable collections can claim those qualities.

This is mood-manifesting music of exceptional quality, experimental electronic fare of substance and, crucially, heart.

It feels unanchored and tremulous, without EITS’s signature drums--but it’s still beautiful.

It’s a potentially fulsome harvest E.M.M.A. has planted.

Earl Sweatshirt is telling truths rather than forging fantasy, and Doris is a disturbed and penetrating journey into the mind of the boy that came back from Samoa.

What might be the most understated and confident album of the summer.

British music fans should gaze upon King Krule with great pride. Under immense expectation, he has managed to become the product of his far-flung influences, rather than a pastiche of any.

It all adds up to a set of hallucinogenic songs that sound like they were spat out of another dimension. A truly special record from a band you need to keep your eye on.

Refined, and dangerously decadent.

A rewarding evolution for the band.

The thrashing energy does relent somewhat towards the end, yet this remains an impressive introductory manifesto.

There are moments of schmaltz, but these Little Green Cars exude a lorry-load of charm.

New fans will not be won, but the initiated will be delighted.

Expect to be challenged, provoked, and amazed by this near-heavenly debut.

Although it takes more than a couple of listens for Loud City Song to feel like a cohesive album, the reward once you do is well worth the outlay.

it’s evident enough that Franz Ferdinand are masters at crafting stylish, guitar-driven anthems. Right Thoughts affirms this expertise, and is a very danceable fourth LP.

A gradual evolution, then, and all the better for it.

Dark Eyes suggests they have the potential to be massive, if they can just work that out.

San Diego’s Crocodiles have absolutely nailed album number four.

A special album from a special artist, Nepenthe is, indeed, an album that leaves thoughts of others absent as it plays out its otherworldly dance.

Despite said retro parallel, White Lies do sound like a band firmly in the present, utilising electronic samples with classic valve-driven guitar chords to accompany the trademark baritone of McVeigh.

Loose vocals meander through the whirling haze, the album more suited to intimate, personal listening rather than gatherings in the sun.

II is an absolute masterpiece of dancefloor work.

Serene yet disturbed, this is album that progresses the band well.

Chugging and thunderous, Stefanski’s debut set as Raffertie is self-assured: an expertly stitched quilt of textures.

This is an auspicious start, but it too often seems that Samaris lack the inherent ability to fully realise their ambitions.

Shades of light and dark ripple throughout and keep the listener guessing.

This one will grow and reward with every new listen, as you get to know the troubled character behind the barbed words.

This is the music of ritual, an electronic folk chimera of primordial pagan beats, ancient and timeless yet psychedelically futurist.

There is a definite whiny, punky recklessness to Any Port In A Storm, a feeling of intentional roughness and rawness mixed with genuine musical chops and strained emotional frankness.

With many tipping these Birmingham indie sorts for success, a debut album as accomplished and hit-laden as this makes it hard to see the band faltering.

Mixing baroque instrumentation with choral elements, Blumberg adopts an already accomplished and familiar formula--but it’s one that, through his subtle twists, still manages to feel intimate and fresh.

Musically scattergun, with vintage rock ‘n’ roll rubbing shoulders with post-rock sounds, there’s much to admire about this bold artistic statement.

It is what it is: a passionate, purposeful and wonderfully presented collection of combustive rock songs.

Reid’s soundtrack is vibrant, but it can’t save the album from its own tedium.

More tightly structured and confident than 2011’s ‘Crazy Clown Time in terms of narrative, there’s further clarity in the unmistakable voice, which though heavily filtered feels much closer to his own.

Easy on the ear it isn’t, but Slow Focus carves its name into the synapses nonetheless, like some sort of unstoppable, power-electronics ‘In Utero’.

Interjected with dusty dubplate samples, gun-finger shots and clashing MCs throughout, what Jungle Revolution lacks in variation it makes up with genuine spirit.

There is a deep sadness to every song here, Shah’s first studio set one that will either make you sink into a shadowy pool of darkness, or allow you to reflect upon your own sorrows in a melancholy reverie.

Each ["sides" of the double LP] is so good, it’s a toss up between which incarnation you'll end up liking most.

There is melody here, clear structure. The Blackest Beautiful is a pop record, of a kind. The kind that eats the other albums racked next to it.

They’re reborn, revitalised, and really rather good.

Cerulean Salt isn’t boundary breaking, but it possesses qualities enough to leave one charmed, if not consistently captivated.

10 tracks of soul-bearing introspection swathed in layers of rich reverb, icy chill and ephemeral echoes of 30 years of synth pop.

Running to an hour long, Magna Carta becomes exhausting, bumping familiar motifs with such frequency that, as the album nears its close, the senses feel entirely numbed.

House music’s fire will never go out. And this pack of rhythmic aces can only help fan its hypnotic flames.

What results is an impressive set of dark dance music that plays equally well at closing time or through your headphones at night.

These 10 tracks comprise a head-and-shoulders-above collection that immediately imprints itself as one of the best hip-hop records of 2013 so far.

If you stand back and appreciate the whole, like a Monet, you will be delighted and intrigued.

While not overly original, this album more than compensates for compositional complacency with its energetic delivery.

The whole exercise seems so carefully crafted and desperately needy that any joy found within The Weight Of Your Love wears off the more you play it.

With crisp cymbals, heavy guitars and gritty rock ‘n’ roll vocals, this album was meant for a pre-party party.

Other than final track ‘A Certain Spirit’, the clearest crossover of irked techno and David Byrne-d, samba deconstruction, the melting pot (remember those aforementioned ingredients) that has gestated for five years ends up being served cold as gazpacho.

A record everyone with half an experimental ear should experience, even if they run from it, screaming.

It’s a beautifully sunny, unashamedly melodic tour de force which pitches up somewhere between a fevered Beatles obsession and a well-loved pile of Go-Betweens records.

A truly stylish but somewhat overly long affair.

These sounds are heavier and Miller flows naturally in this element.

This is West’s most polarizing record to date, yet the discussion surrounding it gives a healthy charge to a rap game saturated with the same ol’ same ol’. So no, Yeezus isn’t a great record, but it doesn’t have to be.