Scrappy but charming, Times New Viking's fifth album shows their dirty sound scrubs up nicely.

Alas, a good third of the album meanders and there's a drab formlessness to his sonic fog. Fascinating but flawed.

All the usual suspects are in place as you would suspect from a band with, let's be honest, not that many hits of the great variety.

Undeniably formulaic but just as captivatingly beautiful, solemn closer Let Me Back In is the track-stopping highlight, painstakingly building to a crescendo before the ghost voices drift out. Glorious.

Made on an iPad during the band's autumn tour of America, this hastily constructed, bleepy sketchbook of a record is a delight.

Cat's Eyes is an impressive first outing full of sensuous dreamy atmosphere. Worthy.

Amid the deferential nods, Mazes exude vigour and vibrancy.

Ultimately, the songwriting isn't quite weighty enough to sustain a full album. Worth a check if you're a previous fan.

An expansive work that fills no niche.

It wears thin over the course of an album, and an appreciation for Eighties synth-pop is a must, but for a band in their thirty-fourth year, the League are still on good form.

Even after several listens there's little here to really strike a chord with the long-standing Foos fan. That's not to say it's poor - it's far from that.

C'mon is such a delight, simultaneously luscious in their orchestration and muted in their delivery. Beautiful.

Heartfelt and compelling, with Jones nurturing every last drop of creative sweat, Until Spring is a romantically epic album, lovingly pieced together by a compelling band.

As lyrically profound as ever, yet with a tinge of detached romantiscm. Pioneers they remain.

It's all pleasant enough, but is clearly trying to be something it isn't, coming off rather shallow and lightweight as a result.

Dirty, loud and intimidatingly sexy, Blood Pressures is the result of a year spent apart - Hince's adventures in sound provide the album's thick production, while Mosshart's stint as Dead Weather frontwoman instils further confidence and swagger in her provocative lyrics.

Simultaneously depressing and uplifting, evil and camp, it's an inspiring, majestic paradox of an album.

Often accused of being too calculating in his constructs, Mind Bokeh emerges as a spectral funk odyssey.

It feels like a personal journey through the past on his part, and a genuine tribute from those who've contributed.

There's potential here--let's not entrust the future of rock to them just yet.

Favouring shamelessly blokey call-and-response hooks and not averse to "woos" and "woah-woah-woahs", these tales of love chased, lost and briefly enjoyed are delivered with an infectious enthusiasm and blessed with production by Edwyn Collins.

A sobering state of the world address spoken with street eloquence and education, W.A.R. resumes Pharoahe's talismanic dictation above a packed battalion of guests as a failsafe spectacle.

Not so much Teenage Fanclub as 'Loveless'-era MBV meets classic Cure at their poppiest.

Gimme Some, sixth album from Swedish indie pop types Peter, Bjorn And John, is absolutely superb; sunshine and a hundred beach parties stuffed into thirty minutes, sprightly and joyous, cool, confident and glossy.

Criminally under exposed.

Pearson's mournful growl, and the brutal honesty in raking over his personal failings, makes for a majestic, in-the-dead-of-the-night confessional.

The problem with any soundtrack is that, in isolation, something gets lost and there's no exception here, but it serves as a showcase for a virtuoso performer with the dexterity to excel within any discipline.

A fine line between unpredictable flair and china shop bull.