The songs are dense and cleverly-constructed, and given a bit of attention, their wit and melodies will worm their way into your awareness until you don't feel like listening to very much else.

With Women as Lovers they have created one of their more accessible and cohesive albums to date.

Taken as a whole, Little Sand Box may initially feel a tad overwhelming but in actuality it makes understanding Gelb’s solo records far less arduous due to its curatorial context-setting (which includes bonus tracks and informative sleeve notes). Moreover, it upholds Gelb’s vocation as the sociable solo journeyman as being equal in stature to his role as a veteran band leader.

Whilst the reference points are sometimes more discernible than the strength of the melodic hooks, there is still something inscrutably summoning and stirring about Pink Noise that suggests there is more to Echo Ladies than just picking-up batons from a time just before the Britpop steamroller flattened out the sense of artistic adventure for some.

Ultimately, Tarot Classics is a fun and welcome addition to any existing Surfer Blood fan's catalogue, even if it is unlikely to win over any new fans.

Often Lange is able to transform songs into something worldly and like the title implies, there is a mysterious glean to it. So while Lange continues to flex his many weapons, the black ice cream he's created continues to flourish.

While it will inevitably be argued as to whether or not Tomboy is really a work of startling originality or perhaps just a long lost companion to Björk's Vespertine, it's hard to deny positing that we've got one of the best albums of 2011 finally in our hands.

He’s able to craft songs that are touching without becoming seriously over-sensitive.

With one foot rooted in tradition, and the other free to roam where it likes, Asleep on the Floodplain is a quietly great effort.

The album doesn't make the point that Yorke doesn't need his bandmates to make a great record so much as it helps shed light on what each member of the band contributes to the overall equation.

Mogwai’s newest offering, Rave Tapes, is a brooding masterpiece of a record.

One of the band’s finest releases and arguably the most comprehensive statement to date on just where the musicians were coming from, the roads they took to get where they ended up, and even possibly where they were headed.

The songs on this album work together (sometimes roughly, sometimes smoothly) as sketches and vignettes to form an overall artistically thematic picture of the world in which we live. The brothers paint this picture so starkly with gritty hyper-realism that the songs will not and do not appeal to the greater audience of folk music that is still deriving its voice from the love songs of Simon and Garfunkel and Jackson Browne.

Relatively minor misdemeanours aside though, 1,000 Years is a respectable and rejuvenated return to the fray for Corin Tucker's febrile talents.

Dreamy at times (Crawlersout), with shimmering synths and picturesque melodies, there is a haunting beauty, almost terrifying, that surrounds the listener, almost as if one is sitting inside a sonic cocoon while taking it all in.

Whilst sonic variety isn’t perhaps the strongest card pulled out on Split Milk, it does play out with some charming Astor songcraft and insistent hooks.

There is a noticeable but not calamitous chunk of Siesta that doesn’t go enough distance to really justify the extended running time of its fourteen tracks, with ponderous cuts such as “Your Head Your Mind”, “Why It Works Out Fine” and “Closer” being too reliant on meandering jangling. Consequently, this is a clear case where a little less could arguably have meant something more. That said, fans of amorphous Scandi art-pop will still find much to enjoy here.

No matter the speed at which it moves, Go glows brightly with a formidable sense of ambition and hope.

There is a subtle grandeur to George Lewis Jr.'s voice and musical nature.

The opening and closing tracks prove that Conor Oberst is a more reflective and personal venture as both are stripped down affairs, one summoning childhood memories while the other seems to contemplate suicide.

If you acquiesce to its pacing and delivery it’s chantlike mix of chill and warmth can be a springboard to your own thoughts. If you’re not so inclined, I imagine that it would be like a Chinese water torture.

Watch Me Fall, is an exhilarating ride of roaring highs that never let up.

The understated songs are the most memorable here (and the least Why?-like), and it sort of makes me wish the rockier material were shelved so that the whole album could be tailored to this mood of graceful resignation.

Yes it's slower, darker and more pensive, but like the sun that breaks through the clouds to reveal a brisk sunny morning, it shimmers and shines with splendid, polished arrangements and even grander guitar-scapes.

Whilst there are a few archetypal GBV misfires inside Class Clown Spots A UFO – brought about by scattershot recording fidelity and a small imbalance in the quantity over quality ratio – overall it is still a solidly-carved collection.

Guster finally feels like a full band and not some cutesy sideshow act.

As half of the fun of an album is trying to figure out what the artist is trying to do creatively, having the artist essentially tell you what they're going to do and then watching them do it, is somewhat less interesting.

A melancholy masterpiece.