A few more years playing together has refined Desperate Journalist’s songwriting significantly. There’s more emotional and musical depth to the songs on Grow Up, the slow-dance of ‘Purple’ being probably the biggest example of this.

Livin' in Elizabethan Times is 28 minutes of big dumb fun. Big dumb fun with a great concept. Each song is full of hilarious deadpan lyrics, delivered like only Mason knows how, intricate composition that showcase both Mason’s and Duffy’s skill and prowess. If this is a one off, then we’ve been given something special, if this is the first instalment in a series of releases, then we’re in real treat.

Last Building Burning feels like you’d hope it’d feel, as a 36-minute rush of blood to the head.

Some of the weakest, most un-affecting songs that Kurt Wagner has ever written. [combined review of both discs]

That’s what this is, a record with definition and character, a pointed move away from the nerve-frying, oft random lurches of HEALTH.

All fascinating stuff, and the resultant album is a fitting testament: exciting, yet flawed like the man (John DeLorean) himself.

With their third album, Liars have succeeded in creating the near-impossible; a conceptual work that speaks to the emotions and the intellect simultaneously.

This Old Dog is the sound of an artist on top of his game. An artist shedding every inch of wackiness from his bone and sounding all the better for it.

Listening to Beings though makes one thing abundantly clear: Lanterns on the Lake are one of Britain's most crucial bands of the present moment.

For the most part, it feels like either overweening confidence or desire to snare rudderless Oasis fans has led to Kasabian attempting the sort of conventional guitar pop record that they've always so successfully avoided making.

Prisoner isn’t a heartbreak record--it’s potentially the heartbreak record, for my generation at least. Turns out sadness really is quite the currency.

It may eschew the rough edges of their earlier records, and adhere to the templates the Fannies have used since Songs, but when you’ve got the formula just right, and have the songwriting chops of three of the finest melodic songwriters these isles have to offer, then the result cannot be anything less than sheer joy in the here and now.

The album will appeal to new fans, but for anyone that has followed Nite Jewel’s creative ascendance over the years, Real High will stand out as the artistic apex of what she has attempted to create during her short but eventful career. The overwhelming impression is that of authority; an artist at one with herself and her vision.

A realistic, delightful and emotionally accessible record.

Whatever happens next, she can rest assured safe in the knowledge that together with her beau they've conjured up one of 2012's--or any other year in recent memory--finest debuts.

As it is, they're more than quite good, and all the better for the tracks that surround them.

Although La Grande is no huge departure from what Gibson has been practicing for years, it's a wholesome and welcome addition to a back-catalogue which has very few flaws, even if the moments which stand up and make you take notice are not numerous.

These old balladeer's tales are fleshed out with metaphors and all the tricks of a great writer. The burble of guitar lines complement it all artfully. That doesn't mean the criticisms go away--there is a lack of invention within any genre, and too often the lustre dulls.

'The Warning' will claim your souls and break your hearts.

Despite being an album that appears to be made up of such personal and reflective lyrical themes, the tunes themselves mostly rattle by in a flash with less regard for steady contemplation.

Whereas the band's 2004 long-player was a studied exercise in melancholic understatement, melded to some mightily addictive pop hooks, this ten-tracker is an immediately gratifying affair that pulls not a single punch in the catchiness stakes.

By the time of Smote Reverser's finale 'Beat Quest', it's plain difficult to not be impressed by this insanely talented band yet again--may their reign long continue.

The Last Panthers is a thoroughly original take on a very familiar aesthetic, and by sheer will Clark’s produced something that ranks amongst the very best of its kind.

Although there is nothing world-beating here, Kinsella has been quietly plugging away at this project for over a decade now, and as he approaches middle-age, may well have struck a formula that propels his Owen project into the stratosphere of other highly regarded midwest-American contemporaries Bon Iver, Sufjan Stevens or Tallest Man on Earth.

Here, Laura Jane Grace is emerging from her shell, grasping her icon status with both hands and speaking up for what she sees as a largely invisible, voiceless group of underdogs. And it doesn't get much more punk rock than that.

It’s not a pretty record; while of course, being at times a very pretty record.

[An] intense and epic album.

Enough variety is here, and it all fits together as beautifully as Let It Die did.

Arc is an album with which deep engagement will reward and delight in equal measure.

A Raw Youth aims to sabotage meathead rock and succeeds. Le Butcherettes preserve all the best parts--the rush, the muscle, the vocalist as GOD--but expose the celebrated macho ego as a terrorising other.

City Sun Eater in the River of Light is also one of 2016’s most interesting and restrained records so far.

For all the remarkably fluid dialogue in Constant Image, none of that would matter if the songs didn’t connect in the first place. And reader, boy do they! Songs like 'Punching Up' and 'Pressure' sound like lost gems that popped up on your local college radio station.

A truly delectably odd album of archaic echoes and future-classic choruses.

In all, Rivers and Streams confirms that Melnyk is quite right to make the big claims of himself which he does.

It feels like a body of work that’s been carefully planned and thought-out, which is ironic, given so much of it was just 'a happy experiment'.

Whilst the exposure of O’Sullivan and Tucker’s pop heart has been more than welcome, one senses that there are many more sides to this complex, stubbornly esoteric collaboration that are yet to be revealed, and that’s an exciting thought indeed.

It's a little less brazen, a little more personal but it fits together as a listen-start-to-finish endeavor as well if not better than any of his previous works and that is testament indeed.

This is ageless music, and utterly, one hundred per cent essential.

Despite this run of two poor(ish) songs, the album is largely excellent--a record bridging the gap between country music and popular music’s less derided genres perfectly.

The great magic of this record is that while acclimatisation to Zombyland is taking place, there's so much depth to explore, be it the bizarrely effective tonal shifts, the diversity of musical style, the sense of simplicity that, no doubt, veils immense complexity.

As such, Limbo, Panto is shocking, funny, and above all irrevocable. Expect this lot to be around for the long haul.

While Aerial and Unbalance represented developments in Huismans' sound, Fever is more of a sidestep. If it is dubstep--which I'm not really sure it is--it is far more intriguing and individual than most releases I have heard in the last 12 months.

Let It All In is a tighter, more relaxed LP, full of beautifully restrained, crafted songs.

With Many Colours, Tan proves that whatever happened over the past decade which meant we didn’t get any music from him, it only made Many Colours a stronger, and ultimately a more enjoyable record.

A fun, but deeply human, record.

Seventy minutes for only eight tracks is excessive, be they remixes or not, and each track is suffocated and diluted until it proves to be just some noise, somewhere.

It is no coincidence that the moments when Dwyer’s writing strays furthest from the familiar format are the least satisfying. It is reasonable to assume that he is capable of far more intriguing and stimulating excursions than these.

Simply, it’s back to what it was all about in the first place; writing cracking tunes and just being boys in a band.

Broadcast and House have fashioned an artefact that could well work similar magic on future generations of wide-eyed sonic archaeologists.

What In Dust lacks in sonic breadth, it makes up for by bringing richness to its palette of oppressive mists and dread-filled shadows.

Ardor bides its time and it was made by a band brave enough to create music and a track listing that allows this spectacle of a record to satisfying inch towards a riveting pitch. It’s an album that evokes the ear blistering noise of Sunn O))) but it’s also emotionally charged music.

The band remain an excellent and vital act, still producing worthy music which is head and shoulders over many similar, lesser acts, the problem, it seems, is that their evolution is a slow one.

Yes, The Eternal is “Another Sonic Youth Record” but it’s also “Another Good Sonic Youth record”, revealing its finer details gradually, even if there’s no fundamentally new approach, arrangement, or message, in any of the songs.

Yak have nailed their debut album, and exceeded the high expectations put on them from the beginning. Don't let them pass you by.

Confident Music For Confident People is exactly what it says on the tin. It's also the most unashamedly addictive record you'll hear all year.

As was the case with Jinx, Days Are Gone benefits from limiting its affections to a single golden era of its genre. It gives the album a sense of cohesiveness when it would have been so easy to create a tangled mess (cf. Everything Everything), so it’s to the band’s great credit that they’ve made something so pleasantly easy to listen to.

Their fifth album continues the work done on their last, 2011’s Hello Sadness, the emotional context and sentiments much sharper, painfully so in some cases, with big, lovely pop hooks on even their starkest tracks.

This release strikes the perfect balance between pummelling the listener over the head with riffs and rewarding their shredded eardrums with hooks and honesty.

A refreshing debut.

As a whole it's a musically and lyrically a beautiful reflection on the less than smooth course life can take. But it is not recommended listening if you’re going through a rough break-up or are feeling generally sad, unless weeping yourself senseless is your aim.

The one slight that could be pinned on the The Hungry Saw is that there’s very little here that couldn’t slot seamlessly into any of the group’s output over the last 16 years.

Okovi won’t topple Stridulum II as the most essential Zola Jesus record, but it’s another excellent record that once again showcases a unique and powerful voice.

This is music to be experienced, not read about or analyzed for political and sociological meanings.

What sets Traxman apart from most of his current footwork peers is an ability to preserve the tenderness when he's strip-mining house, soul, disco and Prince... This should not detract from his equal skill at conjuring unruly, drums'n'samples raw bangers, of which Da Mind Of Traxman has plenty.

While unlikely to win many prizes for originality, I Will Be possesses likability in spades, not to mention a hefty selection of demurely constructed tunes that might delve into the past for inspiration but smile brightly into the future as a result.

Underneath the jarring keyboards and jerky percussion is a delicacy gives the LP international appeal, one that means it won’t be confined to cars and packed warehouses.

Too often you can get a good read on a track in its first few seconds, making moments of genuine surprise a rarity.

It’s the kind of album that restores a moribund set of ears into the the place of loving music and all it has to offer, once again. It really does have the potential to draw in fans of multiple genres around the love of one band.

The shining jewels in Forever Sounds’s crown are the ones where Warner takes centre stage, and shines a light on her own cryptic narratives.

They’re not badly written songs, but as the band contentedly set sail towards genteel Robert Wyatt-esque pop-soul balladry, fans might be left back on the shore wondering what happened to the idiosyncratic Hot Chip they fell in love with.

If Oh, Inverted World and Chutes Too Narrow were like ADHD-riddled cousins, unable to inhabit their own thoughts for longer than a few seconds at a time, then Wincing The Night Away is the Ritalin-gorged riposte. Its bounce is more bleary-eyed; its euphoric bouts tempered by a weird, waking-dream sensation that some dark presence is stalking the peripheries of its foggy vision.

Sure, Abraham's vocal style guarantees an intense outcome, but Glass Boys drives forward, constantly questioning.

A good album is essentially buried here; at least eight songs could comfortably be axed.

There is no question that this is a technically adept, well realised and urgent recording, but what seems to be a lacking is the je ne sais quoi that made Mirrored such a colossal debut album.

Initially underwhelming, as samples and tape loops are pieced together, Level Live Wires retains that same eternally unfamiliar tone that, as with "Donuts and Person Pitch," keeps you hooked to these patchwork pieces.

It’s not terrible album--it might even make you do a little shoulder shimmy every now and then or remind you of an awesome Depeche Mode song you haven’t listened to in years, but at the end of it you’ll probably find yourself either: a) indifferently bored; b) making bets with yourself on what he’s going to channel next: will it be an oriental theme, a Cuban beat, a doo-wop harmony or will he go rogue with some balalaika? (He doesn’t.)

The band transcend their obvious influences: the recording is far heavier and denser than anything they're referencing, the songs more abstract and feral, the vocals surging with an unknowable American passion that sets them apart from their Brit influence.

The quality of the music is without question but the means of consuming it sometimes hinders the listener from soaking it in at a favoured pace.

Overall the LP falters too often.

Haunting until its final breath is drawn, Conatus pretty much does what it says on the packaging, its creator's endeavours in no way wasted on what is a worthy addition to a body of work of uncompromising consistency.

At heart, he's still a producer not a rapper (which explains how badly he hits the mic at times, more on that later). He's got that hit-making part down pat... it's just that he can't make good hits anymore.

They have an eerie guitar pop sensibility that instrumentally makes for a pleasantly surreal ambience layered with intriguing lyrics and gratifying vocal harmonies.

There’s just so much going on, so much to wonder at.

It is not his finest album, or the one that will win him the most new fans--unlike Colours of the Night--but for anyone with a love of modern classical and a taste for the expressive flavours of the piano it is a very worthwhile listen.

A great starting place if you don’t know anything about library music as the album is chocked full of bangers. Wall-to-wall bangers! It gives you a launch pad to go and geek out over musicians and labels, each being a rabbit hole well worth going down. The abundance of heavy hitters is remarkable.

It shows an artist no longer caught in his own artistic web, but someone watching his past selves struggle from a higher vantage point.

The over riding result is that Hot Chip now seem infinitely more comfortable and competent in their skins.

This is the exquisite album we were promised, and perhaps an important one.

It’s hard to properly describe an album which needs to be experienced from start to finish rather than intimately analysed. Give yourself the opportunity to become part of Meg Baird’s brave new world. You won’t be disappointed.

'Cuckoo Cuckoo' is another moment in which Animal Collective reach a new level of compositional mastery and broaden their territory.

It may not be perfect – there’s the slightest suggestion as the album draws to a close that ideas may be running thin – but for a debut record to sound this accomplished suggests a promising future, and surely they’re in the right hands.

The danger for B&S was that they would become trapped in a world of knee socks and introspection; the reality is that they’ve produced their best album since ‘Boy With The Arab Strap’, while proving that they can cut it in the world of well-adjusted adults.

Popular Songs is as essential as anything Yo La Tengo have ever released, and perhaps even more so--an album that looks back at where they’ve been, smiles, and stares resolutely forward to what will come next.

Holding down lyrical matter which often floats in the air are drum machines and timers, and the production of the whole record is incredibly clean. Sometimes a shininess works. At other points I can’t help feeling a little more griminess would be more apt for the subject matter.

Regardless of what anyone wanted or expected from them though, this brilliant debut sees Diet Cig establishing a complex, nuanced voice with a subtle uniqueness, a fierce emotionality and a great sense of fun.

The overall effect is like a lighter, more self-conscious, throwaway, altogether 2011 take on David Bowie's Low, a collision of popstar and avant-production that is all the more interesting for not quite knowing where it is.

There’s no way he sounds 19.

The Chills’ most compelling album yet.