Sounding like club music for grown-ups wanting a decadent summer of love return without wanting their troublesome kids tagging along... Likely to be a hit in the woods and beyond.

Notably shorter than its predecessor, MU.ZZ.LE is just as rich and arresting, cataloguing Sumach's echoes, mumbles and stumbles through an album of lethargic trip hop and uneasy paranoia.

The Lion's Roar is full of rich textures that unfurl around Klara and Johanna's bittersweet harmonies.

It's hard to resist.

Most certainly a bedroom record affair and perhaps suffering for this fact but the overall sentiment captured make up for whatever shortcomings may be presented.

While they still don't quite seem to be the finished article, there's plenty of promise.

An impressive debut.

It's a band comfortable with the idea of growing up but like kids trying on their parent's clothes, the ideas behind Aabenbaringen Over Aaskammen are a little oversized but not by much.

While offering more of the same, nevertheless does it with sparkle and verve.

Infuriatingly irresistible.

The three-year hiatus has been worth the largely triumphant return.

I have seen the future of dreamy pop, and its name is The Maccabees.

A fluorescent, gently psychedelic record with a fat vein of Eighties pop running through it.

A few moments of confusion and inconsistency, yet remains engulfing, evocative and mood setting.

It's upbeat, unusual and accomplished, an Asian rock 'n' roll space odyssey indeed.

100 Acres... drips with sonic gloss.

Virtually every track stands alone fine. But listened to as an album, it's repetitive and numbing.

Not an unqualified success but worth your consideration.

A blindingly good debut.

You don't even need to know about the box-set's extras: if teenage angst is the root of rock and roll, then 'Quadrophenia' is its definitive statement.

Quirky but accessible, ebullient but tragic, it's their most accomplished record yet.

Produced by man of the moment, Danger Mouse, the sound remains unmistakably Black Keys but adds further dimensions to what is already a winning mix.

Consistently surprising, fanciful and varied, each genre flip, from pop, dub and hip-hop to rap is traversed with ease.

Unapologetic, progressive and complex, it's adventurous, indulgent post jazz, brimming with spirit. Absolutely exhilarating.

The second album from this mysterious French/Finnish indie-folk duo is every bit as eclectic and unexpected as the first.

The pace is infectious and small helpings will sweeten your day.

If... is dominated by widescreen cinematic soundscapes and fabulously evocative arrangements.

The self-confessed non-DJ plays stylishly to the dancefloor's edge, flirting a little with the background before headline interjections from Bok Bok, Untold and 2562 yank you back to centre square.

A contemporary-pop triumph.

It's not always pleasant, but in a funny way, it's quite compelling.

Meh. It's alright, but I'm like... I'm like a bit bored, actually.

It's nice to start off with but swiftly becoming a tad wet and ultimately a touch cloying.

She's brilliant, sometimes inspired, and this tenth studio album finds her gifts undiminished.

Moments of the Jacknife Lee-produced album are assured--Gary Lightbody over-emotes particularly well on the maudlin "Life-ning" and "The Symphony" is rightfully pompous--but the uneasy truth is that Snow Patrol are merely background dinner party music for accountants.

It's not truly terrible, but it does feel akin to a musical version of King Kong Vs. Godzilla, two monsters decimating everything in their path until there's nothing left, except the back catalogues.

There's still not enough testosterone on display for it to count as one of their very best, but it's not half bad.

The best moments remain the songs where the band moves as a unit, conjuring a sense of hope and elation, rather than falling back on tired, shouty punk cliches.

Glorious singalong hooks and unashamed sass dominate the debut offering from indie writer Elizabeth Sankey and indie cult-hero Jeremy Warmsley.

Building shifting ambient electronic compositions, there's no easy way into his world and Replica is a brooding testament to patience and investment.

After the impulsive creativity of Logos, Parallax, by contrast, is a much more refined listen.

The beautiful performances captured here, touching on all five studio albums, are more than enough of a reason to seek this out.

A pothead's dream and a supremely-crafted set.

Although this is his first foray proper into the medium of electronic music, it's a masterful accomplishment.

It has bassline crunch, and a very distinctive space-age exterior; so why does The Vision sound like it's playing catch up?

The only real criticism of Ceremonials is that this album is completely, relentlessly, Florence. Her fans will lap it up, while those who aren't keen on her will probably remain unconvinced.

Sounding fifty years out of time and traversing genres without concern, it is unlike anything else you will hear this summer. And you really must hear it.

Coldplay's electronic excursions may be more cerebral and less embroiled than those of Thom Yorke's continued influence on Radiohead, but their progress is to be applauded, for this is an excellent album with depths unexplainable within this word count.

Musically stripped to the basics, the set is engaging with an infectious charm, neatly adding to that capacious back catalogue.

Consistent ruggedness, the sort that brings wicked grins of appreciation, shows a toughening up for new employers.

Take both albums as separate entities and you'll be fine, and if alienation is the upshot, what a way to go about it.

Want to be whisked away on a euphoric high? You'll have to earn it. Sweaty smile to be plastered across your face? Then put the work in.

A work of pure, true genius.

He has fateful serenity tangling with rudebwoy pluck through crackly pirate radio reception, smuggling in head-scratching interludes - field recordings seemingly from the club's toilets/smoking section - and one '70s synthesizer pitstop.

Lyrically, there are interesting ruminations on the trappings of fame ('(I Wanna Live In A Dream In My) Record Machine') and his troubled mind ('Broken Arrow'), while the album is all the better for losing some of the bravado Noel hid behind while writing for Liam--but there are admittedly some clunkers.

Definitely for the faint-hearted.

The Great Escape Artist is one-paced, bloodless, and frequently blighted by Dave Navarro's ersatz Edge-isms.

Carrier isn't necessarily a victory for versatility or enigma variations, more the sound of Sully helping himself to bass culture's wide open buffet.

The results are mixed.

Yes, the album title is an apt one; but despite its predictability, it proves to be surprisingly fulfilling as a run-of-the-mill house album.

There's a lot of slightly tedious ambient wallpaper. Sure, it works to unite an otherwise diverse set of songs, but you can't help but think there's a much better play list waiting to be whittled down.

Tessa Murray's voice is gorgeously fragile and the backdrop will lift you out of encroaching grim winter evenings.

I Love You But I Don't Know What To Say perfectly concludes a haunting album that truly reveals Adams' bruised soul.

Given time, it's enjoyably addictive.

These tracks are both club and headphone worthy, insular and expansive, ephemeral and dense, lush and skeletal; their only uniting factor, Thom's voice, curling like a wraith through their intricate insistent landscapes. Captivating.

This music really doesn't need any window dressing because it's as good a collection of songs as she has put her name to in ten years.

A beautiful recording but an occasional listen.

It's hard-edged, it's proficient and most certainly smarter than the average band.

Nearly twenty years on from Suede's debut and he sounds pretty much unchanged.

Trans-Love Energies is a master-class of pulsating euphoric electronica from one of the dance fraternity's true pioneers.

Era Extrana is a collection of brooding, eddying and actually kinda loud indietronica that wears its Joy Division and New Order influences on its (mixing) sleeve and contains enough catchy melody lines to flirt with pop... and take it all the way to second base.

The London quintet have raised their game, with something a whole lot more classy, salvaging them from the landfill indie chute.

The Connecticut trio boasts former Lauren Hill and Alicia Keys touring band members--guaranteeing The Stepkids is as tight as it is lovingly reverential.

His voice is something of an acquired taste but, this minor caveat aside, The Year Of Hibernation is a genuinely unique debut.

Stepping out of the shadows suits her after all.

An excellent return.

Here they've created a retro cinema soundtrack to an '80s sci-fi romance.

It'd be unfair to tag Dreams Come True as merely a curio for Grizzly Bear fans. It's more than that--but only just.

The production is crisp and varied; Roots' warm vocal typically hits with soul without being too forcefully firebrand and constant changes in style and tempo gives 4Everevolution the energy to see it through.

The Long Island five-piece show a greater willingness to vary their musical palette than many of their contemporaries

A record for late, empty, lonely nights.

If you love Kasabian you might think Velociraptor! is a 9/10 album, but for the rest of us it's a salt-seasoned, Spielberg-sponsored 7/10.

So par for the course, it should come with its own small pencil and scorecard.

There's a clearly dynamism between the couple, resulting in a unified performance and all that lets them down is a weakness in some of the songs, where a greater commercial edge might have initiated more interest. Sophisticated Steel City pop.

CYHSY have created an album that is both jubilant and disarmingly vulnerable.

By stripping back the layers of overbearing electronic production of the past, they've recorded an album of lush and elegant pop music, beguiling and gloriously cinematic.

A fabulous album, confirming St. Vincent's status as a deeply talented artist.

A quiet, understated triumph.

Marling has transcended the nu-folk movement and carved her own magnificent identity.

There's nothing here for the existing fan base but enough to entice new arrivals and strong enough to furnish a fresh interest from them.

Sadly there are too many beats and samples that it can be hard to keep up with the ferocious pace, despite the obvious talent and flashes of genius on this record.

Some may have written them off already, but on the strength of their best album in a decade, I'm with them.

Everyone loves to reminisce, and we're suckers for well-crafted songs, but we also need to be challenged a little more than this boys.

It's not a difficult or aloof album, but there is a cool precision that feels different to the choppy punkiness of old.

Occasionally the momentum wanes, but only the cold-hearted could fail to forgive the odd misstep from a band taking risks, shaping their sound and refusing to stand still.

Fans looking for a haphazard exercise in DIY should revisit the band's earlier effort, but will nonetheless be greatly rewarded by this deftly crafted slacker opus.

The result is an album of intimacy, introspection and incredible beauty; a communion with the sands.

That this is both Beirut's deepest and most instantly enjoyable album is obvious.

Often it feels more like an overly conscious art project rather than an album that will sustain repeated listening; it's undeniably, admirably beautiful in parts, but ultimately too consciously cerebral and self satisfied to love.