It’s all masterful.

Blackstar sees him and his band nail a haunting mood.

The album’s major problem, more than anything, is that such a flabbergastingly brilliant end stretch hints at a better record that might have been, a furiously abrasive set of drum’n’gaze (sorry) that would have completely blindsided all of us, rather than the enjoyable grab bag of dreamy old and in yer face new that we in fact get.

Olsen’s most ambitious album yet. Taking a more polished--though not straight-up glossy--approach, Olsen sounds more vulnerable for having made her vocals more central to the mix.

You would have to search far and wide to find a transformation in an already great band that works as well as this. The key to it all is the vulnerability that MJ is now willing to put on display, giving the newfound musical incisiveness the emotional fuel it needs to really fly. If this isn’t one of the albums of the year then we must be in for something special.

With this fine writing, you show us you, unguarded, complex, sincere, like a dear friend I’ve invited over for tea that I haven’t seen in ages.

Uninterested in zipping from A to B, it is instead a moving, repeatedly devastating depiction of an artist who is still trying to figure out his place in the world as he moves forward in life, ever mindful of what we leave behind, the things said and left unspoken, the good and the bad that comes with trying to make it all make sense and the sobering knowledge that we cannot go back.

While there are inevitable parallels what with one album following the last so soon, this fourteenth LP from the fluctuating-of-membership Bad Seeds is a bolder creation that its predecessor.

Ultimately, Oxbow's seventh full-length is an incredible, cinematic experience which is at once rewarding and terrifying.

The darkness was always there, in Hadreas, in the songs, but now it’s in the music, Too Bright, to sound ridiculously over the top, has darkness in its soul.

What Live At The Hollywood Bowl, and its parent movie, shows us is their primal power. The sound and the fury (not to mention the banter) that conjured a roar unheard since, both on and off the stage.

The Seer is the culmination of Gira's 30-year-journey; his finest two hours, if you will.

It’s been said that Let’s Stay Friends is more pop than anything Les Savy Fav have put out before, but it’s still tight-fist tough.

If Björk’s last two albums were impersonal voyages of artistic license and collaboration, Vulnicura is deeply personal and so much more rewarding for it.

Piece everything together and this is where your mouth might, quite rightly, start to drool a little.

The finest thing that CSNY 1974 does is serve as a clear snapshot of this band at this extraordinary moment in their lives. It captures the musical excess of the era perfectly, and showcases how the four of them had grown in different directions since they’d first come together a few years earlier.

Throughout these eight tracks, she intuitively navigates within the dark and mysterious space of her psyche: an undomesticated, sometimes precarious landscape bustling with flora and fauna. With that rare quality of sounding both grand and plaintive, Fohr’s voice is accompanied by a prowling organ on ‘Brainshift’, as if scrutinising the terrain up on a hillside.

In Ctrl, SZA draws on her personal experience and explores women’s sexuality in a direct and honest way which was so far mostly reserved to male R&B and pop artists.

A brilliant album certainly not lacking in other highlights.

Another essential release then, but a step towards theory-over-content that Hecker never really needed.

It's here and it's almost perfect.

[World Music is] a wonder through the traditional folk and more amplified sounds of the planet's history, yet infused with enough of Goat's own character to all glue together.

Brilliantly inspiring while intoxicated, Gala Mill holds its own well under sensible, concentrated scrutiny.

After the sometimes frustrating, frequently exhilarating journey, the thrilling, head-shattering, Captain Eugene Cernan-sampling 'Contact', manned by DJ Falcon, simply soars.

Perhaps the true beauty of Neon Bible is its imperfection.

In a way, this fourth album by Olympia nature boys Wolves In The Throne Room might be their first release that actually sounds like what their detractors keep insisting they sound like. Not that it's diluted or weedy, far from it in fact.

The feminine focus of Remy’s music overlaps with the political in exact and contemporary ways.

It’s a cohesive experience, solidly held together within itself, spurring re-listening not just as a conscious opportunity for thematic re-evaluation, but through the compelling, primal sense of purgative compressed energy within their sound itself.

Nils Frahm is clearly a prestigious talent and this is a remarkable tumble through the sounds and shapes of his imagination.

It’s refreshing that the northerner is not shy about massive self-expression; besides, his lyrics are merely extravagant, not indulgent.

Only rarely is one privileged to be carried away by a record so beautifully absorbed with its own vision.

This is a far more stripped down, stream-lined record that remains just as essential and urgent as all their output so far with little to no compromise.

In a nutshell, The Suburbs' two most important achievement are to a) be good and b) not be a rehash of its predecessors.

As for the deluxe aspects of this release, the record sounds about as good as it always did.

In Colour stands tall as a bold and renewably-exciting triumph.

For what The Weeknd have produced, regardless of what genre it is or isn't, is a very good record.

Stevens has a beautiful voice and a rare melodic instinct but it is the passion with which he performs these songs that causes them to communicate so much, so well.

With its mix of Tamil pop, Baltimore beats and, yes, funk carioca Kala succeeds best in pulling genres together to make something both unique and identifiable --a 'hip-hop' record that explores what it means to sing about "hip-hop things."

22, A Million is a triumph even before ‘666 ʇ’ and the Springsteen-dashed ‘8 (circle)’ cast their own entrancement. The beauty of it is that this is a puzzle, one that will initially confuse and ultimately resonate in a way that feels deeply organic.

The most important thing to establish is that most of this music is extraordinary and that the first half is nigh on faultless... much of the second half really does feels like band or label have tried to airbrush out the stuff the Yanks didn't like so much.

Less a concert than a monument to a life, a jubilant-sad, bittersweet way to mark the beginning of this old man’s final act, a taking stock, an affirmation that this all mattered. Springsteen on Broadway is a show about a man who dreamed of escape who never escaped.

It is a record marked by a weary wonder at the departure of something huge from the world – Victorian invention and enterprise, the ages of steam and discovery, the impossible cruelty of empire, all fading into a half-remembered dream.

While opening track ‘Get Innocuous’ gently apes his own ‘Losing My Edge’ for the first minute and a half, the rest of the LP gradually moves onwards and upwards; either improving and tightening the previous template, or trying new things altogether.

Whilst this is arguably down to her much-publicised intention to release as much material as possible over a short space of time, one cannot help but wonder whether - with a keen eye on quality control - the Body Talk trilogy could/should have been a truly groundbreaking single album.

Perhaps they're better this way, as a hidden gem to be stumbled across or searched out. It's certainly worth the effort, as they sure as hell don't make them like this any more.

One can only hazard a guess as to what her next venture will sound like, but if whokill is anything to go by, tUnE yArDs' prospects are endless.

There are few who could delve into such weighty issues without succumbing to empty rhetoric, but it's testament to Wyatt's unpretentious approach that he pulls off the trick while retaining a lightness of touch that makes Comicopera such a consistent pleasure to listen to.

Remind Me Tomorrow isn’t as consistently captivating as Tramp or Are We There, but it’s nonetheless a delightful return, one that gives us a new (pleasingly less traumatic) window into Van Etten’s world.

Occasionally, rarely, a record comes along that restores our faith. If this is the future of pop-music, then sign me up.

The rich production and ambitious, multi-faceted arrangements provided by White’s Spacebomb crew are the perfect foil for Prass’s soft, exquisite voice and expressive, tear-stained songs, such that the overwhelming impression of the LP is, against the odds, one of triumph; of beauty both wrangled out of and amplified immeasurably by loss.

Whereas before in their career the four-piece seemingly tossed myriad elements about with little to no regard for the actual acceptability of the composition at hand, here each and every piece – pieces that truly do flow into one another quite magically – sinks into the listener’s synapses silkily, short-circuiting them through disbelief rather than a simmering intolerance.

One of the most vivid, involving, troubling albums about the trials of love in recent memory.

Justin Vernon and his crew have changed things up here for sure, but the results are every bit as beautiful as you might expect.

As the title suggests, it's a record which marks a transition for The Roots but which, like the America it addresses, is still aware of the burden of the recent past.

There is a beautiful, communal power in slow grooves like “Ya Habibti,” with its circling, mesmeric riffs and hand-clapped syncopations. “Asdikte Akal” moves a bit quicker, more of a trot than a shuffle, but also feels like a group endeavor.

A wonderful surprise.

From the Sea to the Land Beyond sees British Sea Power operating on a different level. A wonderful hymn to the island we call home.

Opener ‘Breathe’ raises shivers with its breakdown and descending strings, ‘Flowers’ has the queasy intensity of My Bloody Valentine and makes elegant use of space and balance, while ‘JOY’ is a throbbing fuzz monster, all desperation and thunder. Again and again the trio wrap drama in something shimmering and glorious, like aural pigs-in-blankets, weaving intricate and catchy lead lines and rattling snare fills between huge pillars of sonic emotion.

This collection provides years of Beach Boys fun and suitably celebrates their 50 years.

This record is as on disco and early house's dick as much as Britpop was on The Beatles' and The Kinks'.

Syro sees a master craftsman return with renewed inspiration. And while it might not technically be James' most innovative album, it way well be his best: his most complete and engaging under the guise of Aphex Twin.

This is yet another example of Hot Snakes at the top of their game, except this time they gave 14 years in exile for other, lesser bands to catch up with them only to reclaim the throne with ease.

A deeply affecting album which preserves everything that was so marvelous about her beloved folk-opera [Hadestown], and ultimately performs a very handsome job of keeping out of its vast shadow.

As the inclusion of the Neil Armstrong quote suggests, this is a step back towards the sunlight. Where that step leads remains to be seen, but this process has already produced a classic debut album.

As you’d expect from a band as clockwork tight and renowned for perfectionism as Kraftwerk, the quality of sound and precision of delivery is so spot-on as to be worthy of a studio recording.

There’s definitely still some fine moments in what follows ["Little Love Caster" and "Devil's Resting Place"]--there’s certainly plenty more of everything in a record that stretches towards the hour mark-- but it never quite reaches those early heights again, which are possibly as high as Marling has reached in her career thus far.

Overall, the album’s songs feel fuller and less wiry in Kidjo and her collaborator's hands. In many respects, the differences aren’t radical, if only in the sense that the band’s influences are so pronounced on the original album. But that said, there are moments that are almost unidentifiable.

The remastered first disc makes up for the lack of any truly juicy bonus material, being that it's a great album in itself, and is more than worth the price tag.

Merritt has lifted the curtain JUST enough to draw us that bit more into his world, while still maintaining both his brilliantly singular world-view and style AND enough distance for us to look on in abject admiration.

Heaven & Earth is ultimately yet another example of Washington’s incredible prowess behind the saxophone but also as a composer.

While Deerhunter may not be a solo project--though a couple of the songs here were recorded solo--this band is the musical realm of Bradford Cox. And if he hasn't found the same amount of fame as Win Butler or even Avey Tare, then probably it's because the lethargically gorgeous world he has crafted isn't inclusive enough allow large numbers of people in.

Dissociation may not be the dream record for those who want Dillinger to return to the pure intensity of Calculating Infinity or Miss Machine, but it does make a suitably multi-faceted and powerful closing statement from one of heavy music’s most brilliantly insane bands.

Her second full length is a compelling pleasure that rewards additional listens.

It's a richly evocative record that is impossible to sit still to and confirms Laveaux as a unique talent.

It’s clear that the 33-year-old has lived and lost, and drunk and cried, but has emerged from it all as a special talent.

As it is Luxury Problems is a shift in a new direction that's not quite bold enough to make the jump in full, but still loaded with incredible ideas.

A disparate yet cohesive collection of songs.

As inconvenient as it may be, even if you already own this album it is well worth purchasing once again in its new form, if, of course, you can afford the ostentatious extravagance of buying the same Nineties lo-fi record twice within the same lifetime.

Whilst they dream of a home that can no longer be found, there is some comfort to be found here in the new family they are building around them with the power of their music.

It is an astonishing album, cohesive but wide ranging, sometimes presenting Low as they were, more often seeing the trio forge on until guitars dissolve, words dissolve, flesh dissolves and everything becomes pure light.

Such is Vlautin’s talent as a storyteller, conveying everything about his disparate cast of punch-drunk, liquor-soused losers with just a handful of sparse adjectives, that moments like this manage to feel genuinely gut-wrenching without ever coming across as remotely emo: he writes harrowing documentaries, not bed-wetting poetry.

Having greedily sucked the Tapes blog dry of every note I could find without so much as a by your leave to the chap generous enough to share his creations with a bunch of strangers, I waited for Seek Magic's release tingling like a tuning fork and hoping he wouldn't pull a Big Pink on me. He didn't. Seek Magic is probably my favourite album of the year.

Cosmogramma is dense and devotional, Ellison piloting his craft into the fading slipstream of his aunt Alice Coltrane's cosmic strain of jazz. Not that it's jazz, exactly. Well, no more than it is techno, dubstep, chiptune, P-funk, IDM and, by no means least, hip-hop.

This is widescreen alt-rock with an appropriately mammoth production, where euphoric choruses and crushing verses don't just sit alongside each other but ebb and flow to become inextricable entities.

It's a warm-blooded record, beholden to analogue gear and flawless mastering--one destined to fit snugly on a turntable rather than to live as ones and zeros on your iPod.

This album has five more absolutely brilliant tracks.

It might not be much in the way of a surprise for those who’ve listened to ‘Thrown’ or ‘Looped’, but working from divergent influences is rarely simple, and Kiasmos iterates on the ideas explored in these earlier tunes with serious skill, electronic and traditional influences so tightly woven together that the LP maintains a very definite sense of identity throughout, and is pretty much impossible to poke holes in.

Confidently frail and hesitant, LP1 is a refreshing reaction to, and a calm assault upon, the unfathomably fast-paced total noise of the current age.

Most impressively of all, it comfortably lives up to the promise that Auerbach apparently made to the Doctor that he would help him craft 'the best record you've made in a long time.'

There’s enough continental plate-shifting histrionics to keep any unsatisfied Godspeed! fans amused.

Overall, this at-first-shy but eventually overpowering record will make yer cheeks sting with wine and late-night gales; and, as I've already said but feel sort of compelled to reiterate, it's so refreshing to hear.

Present Tense might lack the immediacy of both Smother and Two Dancers, but scratch away at the surface and its a record oozing with the precision and maturity we've come to expect from its creators. And in all honesty, it would be churlish to ask for anything more.

Unfortunately, however, no matter how listenable the latter half of this compilation is, it’s hard not to feel that it’s a shame Cabaret Voltaire abandoned their early abrasiveness as quickly as they did.

The music is extraordinary, but the format is yer basic pre-Chrimbo best of (and the same goes for the 20-track 2LP).

There is much to enjoy here and if you have the slightest interest in contemporary classical music or you’re a soundtrack buff, give this a whirl. Jonny Greenwood may be one of those scruffy oiks in a pop group, but he’s proved once again that there is an incredibly musical mind under the haircut.

It is the subtle orchestral aspect to the record that stands out, with the same washed arrangements that Grizzly Bear and close cohorts Clogs manage to incorporate so casually.

Altogether, Popular Problems is another very good record from someone who many thought might not have such a thing in him, a concise collection of nine tracks curated by a man who has rediscovered his musical spark.

While they still don’t do hits, no-one does brooding, slow-burn magnificence quite like Murphy. He builds everything from the ground up, solid foundations augmented by neat details and flourishes. More than ever, American Dream demonstrates how rhythm is central to LCD Soundsystem.