Matador is a precise work of outstanding talent. While it may recycle the emotive wild card a little too often for some, any keen ear will be able to tell you this isn't some half baked solo project.

If you were a fan of Inside Llewyn Davis, this a great way to bring the film to life a little more and to expand on the world which inspired it, and also a quality live album in its own right.

Throughout Fantastic Planet her music sounds ordered and restricted. It’s a sound that suits some but, given that previous Noveller records thrived on unfolding at their own pace, the jury is out on how far Fantastic Planet benefits from being constrained by its determination to fit preconceived structural limits.

The songs might not be classics quite yet but the sounds on offer here suggest that the best of Siskiyou might yet be ahead.

It’s Greenwood’s own work that’s most compelling. The album runs in a different order to the film itself, although, perhaps incongruously, still includes snippets of Joanna Newsom’s narration; there’s not a great deal of coherent relation to the picture’s narrative, then, and anybody who saw Newsom’s name attached to the project and hoped it might have finally heralded some post-Have One on Me material will be disappointed.

Viet Cong's volatile brew often coalesces into something disarmingly catchy.

There’s also an over reliance on the sonic pallette of their Nineties forebears, but those feel like nitpics because Ratworld, despite wearing its influences on its sleeve, presents a world that is uniquely its own.

The Mindsweep is Enter Shikari at their most inspirational and consistent and as a result, their best record yet.

While Irreal might prove a difficult conundrum for those that favour their music structured in an orderly, compartmentalized fashion, perseverance has its rewards. Intriguing.

Marilyn Manson has always possessed the ability to write and produce music that can speak at its own compelling length and pitch. Here he unleashes that side of his frayed character for the first time in about 14 years.

It has flashes (man this is writing itself), but they are like good new Simpsons episodes: few and far between.

The album is a collection of songs from a band at the peak of their powers having their cake and eating it too.

It’s an excellent album by a band who seem to be permanently brimming with life and ideas, a glimmer of warmth to lighten the dark depths of winter.

Sleater-Kinney are one of the great rock bands and No Cities To Love is the perfect comeback: a treat for die-hard fans as well, a perfect introduction for newcomers--and what a journey that’ll be.

It may not quite equal Person Pitch or Tomboy, but in its own way could prove to be even more important for Noah Lennox.

'The Fog' provides the LP's coda; part of me is surprised by the last-gasp dive into Gruff Rhys-esque psychedelic pop, but the rest of me is too bowled over by its beauty to care. It's the last in a dazzling array of surprises that show exactly why his label were so keen to snap him up in the first place. On this evidence, Ghost Culture is in for a very good year.

It’s a pleasure to hear a group take a step forward on a record of reflection and insight, and whilst it may lack a visceral thrill for some and needs to be approached with a careful ear, many will appreciate the nuance, engagement and depth it offers.

The social context of this album is not necessarily crucial to its enjoyment; you can just as easily take it all at face value, as a gorgeously woven soul record that will doubtless be able to shift shape to suit all manner of listening environments. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter which angle you take with Black Messiah. It’s a masterpiece from all of them.

There’s no real question that Music Industry 3 Fitness Industry 1 is only really going to be of interest to the diehards--the remixes in particular--but it’s a sign of the band’s confidence in their recent material that they saw fit to put out these Rave Tapes misfits in the first place

Girlpool make themselves a deliciously relatable pair, filling the songs with as much soft warmth as harsh fire, putting a sharp, snotty edge onto a new wave of riot grrrl. They’re exactly the sort of act 2014 needs.

There’s nothing on Overdrive that’s going to change your mind about Shonen Knife; if nothing else, it’s impressive that they’ve managed to spin so many records out of such a derivative sound.

World On Fire, while certainly not without charms, is a record that's happy to coast instead of climb.

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have made a soundtrack that is haunting, mechanical and beautiful.

This is a largely irritating and fairly hollow unit shifter, that despite its upbeat nature feels like a cynical move to market.

Geocidal is a fascinating listen purely for the fact that it acknowledges no boundaries: musical, geographical or otherwise. You may not love it; you may not even like it; but you'll pay rapt attention regardless. What it lacks in immediacy, the duo's debut album makes up for in sheer spirit.

When it breaks down to an exquisitely put-together choral section it feels like the band are soundtracking a Tim Burton film, they manage to out-Sufjan Sufjan Stevens on a Christmas record... no mean feat. The admission price is worth paying for this alone.

They may have failed in capturing the spirit of the Dadaists, but then it’s unlikely anyone would really have enjoyed that much anyway. What we get instead is two bands playing, not in opposition, but in perfect, complementing disharmony.

Newcomers to the band would do just as well to track down The Ugly People vs. The Beautiful People, which gives a more cohesive impression of the version of The Czars that Best of... tries to convey.

This sunny half hour lacks an overarching aesthetic or a big, ten-minute cathartic blowout.

All together, Alpha Mike Foxtrotis a lot to take in at once--over five hours of material, and Wilco enthusiasts will have heard much of the contents already.

It’s one for the wider music aficionado too though, a fine opportunity to appreciate the best band of the past 20 years.

This is the sound of three of the human race’s finest sonic ramblers in conversation, and it’s a truly daunting experience to give yourself over to.

V A R I A N T’s greatest strength is its palpable character, and his remix struggles to properly distinguish itself on an EP that is filled to the brim with varied and often unexpected takes on Frost’s music.

It’s not great, it’s not touching, it’s not... well it’s not anything but autopilot AC/DC, as they have been for many years now and it’s none the worse for that.

Rip This is completely ignorable, and not a fun ambient music way.

The problem, though, is that you rather get the impression that Daltrey, with his contributions, is merely filling the role of high-profile vocalist; he’s got a great rock voice, but it’s ultimately it’s not diverse enough to do Johnson’s blues-based back catalogue justice.

The Habitat EP shows the heart of a band who are effortlessly versatile and willing to mutate, experiment and push in whichever direction they goddamn please.

This reissue is a welcome reminder of an album that has never quite gained the classic status it deserves, but despite this the vital ingredient--the intimate feeling at the heart of Painful--remains agelessly undamaged by the passage of time.

Some of the ramshackle charm that pervaded their Christmas record is missing here too--the major label money and the massive orchestra having presumably buffed the edges, which feels a shame. Still, all in, it’s a hard heart that dismisses a solid record of wonderful songs done well.

The record doesn’t successfully break new ground as much as it reassuringly treads familiar paths

Acoustic Dust, really, is one for Youth completists; it’s not that Ranaldo doesn’t possess a mastery of the acoustic guitar, but rather that he’s failed to adequately display it on an album that sounds every bit as hastily recorded as it actually was.

Pushing her quirks even further and adding new sounds to her toolkit are obviously admirable attempts to deepen her interest. But there needs to be more in the actual material to bring the listener out into the cold with her.

This is The Fall, live, in a variety of undisclosed European locations (who knows where? Only MES, probably, if even him), one of this land’s (which land’s?) greatest ever groups, still hurtling forward, still thrillingly, still bafflingly, with their full-bore wonky-wheeled tenebrous, anomalous, glorious grooves-aah.

It holds its own but without the moments of genius to elevate it to anything more. There’s no ‘Love is the Drug’, no ‘More Than This’, no ‘Slave to Love’ here. Ferry’s fans though will enjoy this and, given this is a man that even Morrissey professes to enjoy, there are plenty of them to satisfy.

There are a lot of great songs on Islands, lyrical depth is partnered with enough melodic and harmonic twists and turns to keep things interesting. Underneath it all, though, there lies the sense that here is a band who are playing it somewhat safe.

What ultimately makes Condemned to Hope a real success, however, is not so much any of these things but the sheer conviction with which it delivers the goods.

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

Broke has instances of stunningly original songwriting and there's rarely a dull moment, but it's more a kaleidoscopic 'story so far' than a complete manifesto.

While occasionally striking like a brilliant, blinding lightning bolt, they all too often seem to ride a wave of bleating mediocrity to multi-platinum heights.

If the album looks back more than it looks forward, well, its makers have earned the right to a reprise. But then again, it wouldn’t work so well if they hadn’t managed to evoke something timeless all along.

Seeds is a credit to their bassist’s memory: staying true to the TOTR ethos of writing music that yo-yos between genres, its 12 expansive tracks make for a compelling and frankly splendid record that you should seriously consider adding to your collection.

It is very easy to get lost in this record, but there is a miraculous balance that holds everything together.

The rest of the record is a confused meander through some of the lesser known backstreets of this over-familiar band.

Röyksopp have always married darkness to their beats, but here, across more than an hour, it’s too unremitting to welcome repeat listening.

It's careful yet effortless, passionate yet distant but above-all, wholly unique.

Hookworms never come across as arrogant, showy or self-indulgent. They have managed to follow a logical musical progression which will undoubtedly blow many minds.

Everything sings here, no matter how dark the matter at hand.

Stars still occupy a unique position in the pantheon of the last 15 years of indie rock, but with every No One Is Lost that goes by, they look a little less likely to pull off another Set Yourself on Fire.

RTJ2 is replete with razor-sharp lyricism and clattering, abrasive production.

This really does come very close to the top of the pile. An essential opus from a truly essential artist.

Songs is an accomplished second album, that sees Woodhouse building on the foundations of electronica-tinged outputs that you'll quite easily appreciate and enjoy.

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.

Taylor Swift may not be challenging societal norms in the same way as Beyoncé, Lady Gaga and my own band CHRIST ALIVE are, but she’s relatable and that counts for a lot. I spent a surprising amount of 1989 rooting for its protagonist and sharing in her triumph.

Unflesh is a truly brilliant piece of work, and the sound of an artist trailblazing through as of yet uninhabited territory--here's hoping it's only the beginning.

Too guarded to reveal much of Mulvey's personality. Too low key to remain long in your memory.

Consistently, from beginning to end, on Suck My Shirt, The Coathangers have shown themselves to be songwriters of real ability.

The record is at its best when kept simplistic and spontaneous, but for much of it you sense they have thought about it a little too much and become a little too self-aware; for a band like Deerhoof that can lead into some pretty iffy territory.

Ruins is at once more formally stately than those [previous] albums, with Harris accompanied only by a stiff piano, and more emotionally obtuse, her lyrics back under a slight veil, taken out of the stark glare that made songs like ‘We’ve Become Invisible’ so touching.

If these four tracks prove anything, it’s that even when working from off-cuts, the band continue to thrill with their unrivalled promise and exuberance.

The result is what separates indie music from the contemporary mainstream: an actual album, a 40-minute body of work with a sense of cohesiveness that isn’t designed to be broken down into Spotify playlists or end-of-year 'best of 2014' mixtapes.

This isn’t the sound of him stretching himself, or pushing boundaries--it’s the sound of him comfortably in his sweet spot, and that’s no bad thing.

This is not a wild departure from either of the duo’s bands, but it is a pleasingly fruitful one.

Everybody Down is powerful and gritty and it tackles subjects such as sex work and drug deals with wit and subtlety beyond measure. It’s just not as good as it perhaps should have been from such a prolific talent.

.5: The Gray Chapter stands tall; not just as tribute, but as vital catharsis.

What we have here are twelve tracks of attitude, spice, intensity and verve, largely played at an uncompromising, breakneck tempo, but never compromising in terms of melodic accessibility or technical prowess.

Self produced by Ben and his drummer Chris Bond at Start Point Farm Studios in Devon, I Forget Where We Were is a grand, serious affair. It’s a somewhat major departure for the artist, and with the far longer running times (only one song clocks in under the four minute mark).

This is an impressive record that occasionally tries to cram too many ideas into one place but more than makes up for it in sheer song-writing quality.

Out of all the stellar releases in 2014, this collaboration is the one which is most likely to stay with us all, and the one from which the most new conclusions will be made as years in the future, we’re still dissecting and seeking to understand the stories and emotions captured therein.

It might just be one of those rare treasures which keep us reluctantly, unstoppably, coming back again and again.

There's barely a narrative other than posturing. It's not really an album, more a relentless ad campaign.

Here, musically as lyrically, Okereke seems concerned with emotional connection first and foremost, making this a plaintive and engaging experience throughout.

Carry On the Grudge manoeuvres around post-adolescence with expertise. The void might exist, but at least now Jamie T is back there's someone to share the pain with.

Sure, a lot of this has been done before, but not often with this level of assurance and class on a debut album.

Chardiet’s electronic manipulations are subtler and more thought out than those of many of her peers. This, ultimately, means that Bestial Burden, like Abandon before it, deserves to be considered as near the top of its class.

It’s hard to overstate the extent to which the excellence of this record is sealed by Timony’s bullish approach to sonic economy; there are no flourishes, no accentuations on Rips, only precisely what needs to be there; noodling guitar parts and an unyielding punk aesthetic.

Bainbridge’s intentions are of course only known to himself and perhaps his collaborators, but there are enough moments here to make the listener believe that staying the course with Kindness, regardless of his seemingly wilful obtuseness and contrastingly puzzling adherence to cliché, might be worth it in the long term.

It’s the boorishness of their football hooligan fanbase, the bravado that they failed to deliver on in their later years and the all-consuming nature of the brothers’ public personas that you really need to put to one side when you listen to records like this one; if you can manage that, and overlook the cynical nature of this release, then you’re left with three discs that contain a generous selection of some of the finest rock songs that a British band ever produced.

This behemoth double LP is a risk that just hasn’t paid off.

Though The Night is Young may start in relatively familiar territory, it soon branches out and is possibly the most diverse record he’s produced as yet.

A beautiful mix allows the elements of each of the tracks to truly breathe and settle in their own spaces.

What’s clear is how badly Marr needs a foil, a counterpart, a collaborator, because on his own his ideas only seem to stretch so far, and so, sadly, does our good will.

Instead of building on what went before, or providing clues as to a future direction, Sakura sounds like a collection of B-sides--and forgettable ones at that.

Actually listen to Tough Love and you’ll realise that Ware has made a record that is totally ready for chart success, should her label promote it accordingly, but also deeper and more thoughtfully-considered than any British pop album that lingers in recent memory; the fact that it seems so reserved is nothing more than an indicator of Ware’s confidence in the potency of its sensuality.

While they may never lose their tendency to peek over their shoulders and tell of the heart-filling past once in a while, and nor should they, it seems that Allo Darlin’ have decided that a step forward can bring a greater, more tangible joy, and for that, they should surely be celebrated.

He trusts in the strength of his lived-in arrangements and, on another album of beautifully detailed folk songs, he’s absolutely right to do so.

Despite their new compositional brief, A Winged Victory for the Sullen’s music is still, at its core, just a beautiful example of orchestral ambient music, in the most Eno-est sense of the word: music that you simply join and leave, not music that starts and stops.

Flying Lotus has added a new realm to his universe, answering one of life's biggest questions in the process.

Though Taiga ends on something of a high, in all it comes across as a wholly wasted opportunity that, with a few lessons in moderation and restraint, could have been something altogether more impressive.