Oxymoron is all killer, no filler--and despite some tracks here not quite translating to radio, in the album context nothing feels out of place.

There’s quiet beauty here.

[Gibbs] expertly negotiates Madlib’s minefield, forcefully popping words off the producer’s gorgeously mined snares and snatched vocal loops.

The accompanying DVD features an early performance by this line-up, which is a mildly diverting if sonically unspectacular curio alongside a still largely splendid record.

A glittering glam-pop bounty of androgynous pop bots, dock prostitutes, Depression-era outlaws, cowboys and nun-baiting schoolgirls, GYBR remains a vital and versatile vision of brilliance that deserves to be heard.

For all its lack of idiosyncrasies, however, there’s a credibly unashamed attitude to creating perfectly fine pop songs.

An album of summer anthems this is not, then, and its collision of sorrow-tinged dreaminess and ethereal symphonies ensure it’s not just good wallowing material, but good material full stop.

Too much of Neontwang feels slight, as if the band is still beset by identity issues, still confused by the prospect of what they could be. The transition, then, is still under way. When it works, Neontwang is a worthy return, the sound of a band taking risks in ways their detractors could never fathom.

Another ambitious statement from a band that has made a habit of reinventing themselves at every stage, while still, somehow, sounding uniquely like Liars.

An ostentatiously operatic tour de force.

It’s patchy then, but there’s enough quality here to suggest Croll is capable of better things in the future.

Although Supermodel is derivative, it’s more often inventively imitative, rather than devolving into out-and-out mimicry.

This is an enjoyable blend of ballads (‘58 BPM’), funked-out euphoria and even a satire of dance music pretension (‘Ten Minutes’)

Compelling and absorbing, The Take Off is a rich and rewarding record.

The radical variation on this album speaks volumes--this casting respect to yesteryear twisted with the juices of his modern imagination--and if ‘The English Riviera’ was Mount at his most accessible, then Love Letters finds him at his most inventive.

What we have in this album is a solid set of dance head-turners, but it narrowly misses the rubbed-raw rave charm of 2012’s ode to the 808, 'Transistor Rhythm.'

Pharrell isn’t raising the game on G I R L--it’s a thoughtful, imaginative unit-shifter with some sincere themes running through it. But “different”? Not quite.

Intimate moments, however, like the haunting, heartbroken folk of ‘Tightwire’ show how primal this fourth studio collection could have been.

The result is a brilliant and warped collection of sinister lullabies and dreamlike ballads in which Funk’s gravelly timbre jars against Pollock’s dreamy vocals in a beautifully nightmare-infused collision.

It may not be original, but in a time where bands prefer to gaze wistfully at their shoes or navels, Leeds’ Eagulls are like a necessary breath of fresh air.

It makes for a focused, solid offering.

Atlas is full of seemingly effortless, ageless, guitar-driven songcraft.

Recorded in Reykjavík with Sigur Rós collaborator Alex Somers and Múm’s Samuli Kosminen, the frosty twinkles and skittery beats complement Rhode Island-based Thibadeau’s alt-folk leanings.

By befriending you and almost playing good cop bad cop, the vibrant grace of ‘Ra_Light’ and the global peak of ‘Near The End’ open an organic sense of nostalgia with an alert funkiness.

As always, Wild Beasts' songs are unusually intimate, and the electronic evolution of Present Tense captures their characteristically microscopic explorations of human interaction.

The devil’s in the detail, and it makes for a brilliant record.

Morning Phase is a return to the lovelorn introspection of 2002’s ‘Sea Change’--in style, if not substance.

It’s the sound of ‘60s experimentation smashed stunningly into the present day.