As a whole, then, A New Testament is a fantastic record. It’s almost certainly the most consistent LP that Owens has released in either of his incarnations in terms of the quality of his songs as well as stylistically.

Some of the tracks struggle to hold the listener’s interest.... Nevertheless, there are enough highs on here for this to be considered a very good, warm record.

There’s a distinct lack of choruses, and if you don’t like the rest of Yorke’s ouvre it would be kind of bizarre if this won you over. But really, if you have a tolerance for drums that go ‘fzzz’, Tomorrow’s Modern Boxes is a lovely, lovely record, easily Yorke’s best non-Radiohead effort.

DOOM has taken a backseat in an attempt to mentor this young talent and under his guidance Nehru has put in a spectacular performance.

It’s great that Electric Wizard are still around and are still pushing the limits of heavy music--not just for metal itself, but for British metal in particular.

There are delights to be discovered here for fans of Mac DeMarco’s grinning sleaze, the reedy pop of Best Coast and the straight up tunefulness of the UK’s largely overlooked Weird Dreams and it is clear that The Growlers, when not obsessing over gimmicks and borrowed tropes, are perfectly capable of graduating to become a great, insightful pop band.

Solidly crafted and splendidly written.

Slightly less shambolic guitar playing and overall song craft seems reasonable for two musicians now decades into their careers. Lots of lyrical double entendres are a request, but if they can’t be ribald, then witty will suffice. It’s really only at the third post that V for Vaselines falls.

They have evolved from the formula of the debut album, delivering a better album without compromising that which made them good in the first place.

Though Way is at his most engaged in years, there's no major reinvention here. If anything, his first solitary missive registers as much as a tribute to influences as it does a focused reboot.

The music goes over old ground, with none of the inspiration found in Finch's material after-...Burn. Then a post-rock-influenced guitar break arrives and they start to gather momentum.

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.

He lives and breathes it [music] like very little people today do, but for all the guitar work, humour, snarling vocals and at times great writing, there is consistently a level of cringyness that goes with it.

Focusing on expanding the limitations of a genre that’s still very much in its infancy, Wonder Where We Land proves that the SBTRKT name is still very much worth following second time round.

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.

The Drums have had some personnel changes and are possibly re-finding their feet here, but Encyclopedia sees them badly tangled.

Please is, as ever, a Sondre Lerche record full of competent, inventive pop songs.

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.

Something of a case of style, or schtick, over substance in places. However, the visceral power of Goat is inescapable.

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

A melodic and lyrical versatility runs strongly but the atmosphere created around the words is beyond a mere accompaniment.

Overall, then, This Is All Yours is a respectable follow-up to an acclaimed debut that raised the bar for alternative music.

It’s broodingly mechanic, and yet harrowingly human; it’s truly Bristolian, and neither futuristic nor nostalgic; it’s simply and unignorably now.

It’s a decent, yet unspectacular debut album from a band who do occasionally have the knack for a good tune, even though it might not sound like it is completely theirs.

The EP alternates between dense metaphor and wistful candour; the places artists invent to retreat from their problems, and confessional accounts of the places they literally go, in retreat; solo piano as a cipher for authenticity... and ethereal synthscapes as a cipher for utopian fantasy. What distinguishes it is that there's an epiphany at the end.

Despite their implacable cool there’s a lot of soul searching going on here and the band turn their back on the superficial and hedonistic L.A, setting out in search of something deeper and more profound. In Worship The Sun they find it.

Perhaps it’s the poor choice of producer in Danger Mouse, perhaps it’s the band losing their nerve, but the whole thing feels bound by a laboured tastefulness.

Despite the energy and marching delivery, the band's musings often ring quite delicate. They're never fragile, however.

This Is My Hand is a good example of how sometimes less can be more. But when the ‘less’ is as good as some of the songs in the second half, it’s easy to see why you might want more.

Full of guest musicians helping to bring his songs to life, this latest record might be a little different to previous Hiss Golden Messenger outings, but it also might be his best.

Even though it’s not overlong at only 55 minutes, it still feels bloated and unnecessary.

More a record to crush on than fall in love with, but free it from expectations and it'll take a small part of your heart.

When they do get it right, as they frequently do on The Physical World, it does provide you with more than a simple nostalgia fix.

For those that don’t mind accommodating some puppyish enthusiasm to go with their elsewhere-provided edge, there’s plenty of sugary sweet and surreptitiously diverse treats in Phox’s picnic hamper to enjoy.

This is the sound of a band that, all things considered, has upheld remarkably high standards over a four decade career, and this eighteenth studio album is the latest highlight in a long list of very genuine standouts.

The real joy of Adams’ back catalogue is that both his vocal mannerisms and skill as a guitarist have allowed him to take a versatile approach to his songwriting; both are evident on Ryan Adams, but the one aspect that does suffer is his lyricism.

Plastics represents a significant first step upon which the group can move upwards from, and it’s exciting to see what they do next. But it’s a shame they couldn’t carry the excellence through to the end of a record.

Manipulator affording him space to rise above his obvious points of reference and create the one thing no one envisioned for album number seven: Ty Segall as both uncompromised AND accessible artist. The complete package.

Both songs [Vapor and RIPP] provide interesting interludes in an otherwise pretty average album.

At Best Cuckold isn't an explosive game changer, nor is it particularly different to what's already out there, but it sure as hell earns a proud place above its peers.

Nothing, not even their own past as a middling indie-pop crossover act, is sacred, and it’s sad to see The Kooks attempt to conjure past glories and fall flat.

All together, lullaby and...The Ceaseless Roar seems like the sound of someone musically satisfied, but not in a safe, comfortable way.

All told, Keep Moving is pretty much everything a second album should be. It takes the strengths of the first record and builds on them, it explores new ideas, and crucially it’s a much more cohesive musical affair than Slow Down.

Primitive and Deadly is the latest in a recent suite of triumphs- by this point Earth are masters of their game, making music that’s bigger and more powerful than anything mere mortals should be able to create.

A New Nature breathes more freely than anything this group has ever produced before and, as such, showcases a more confident and coherent band than one may reasonably have expected.

It’s most thrilling moments are the ones you’ve already heard before.

In the midst of all this evolution, Pulled Apart By Horses are still fun, and the enthusiasm with which they pummelled through their earlier efforts is still present here.

The unwillingness to risk emotional connection seen on Mars meant it often slipped into the background, but the shift to more straightforward songcraft and the continuing successful genre fusion means Mean Love both demands and rewards attention.

Bold in intention and quiet in confidence, they've gone back to basics here and for the most part, the results are sublime.

It won't win many points for originality--indeed they may lose a few old fans along the way - but this is the sound of a band reborn.

Her voice is as mesmeric and worldly as ever, and the instrumentation is rendered in beautiful detail. But it’s tantalising to wonder what would have happened if she would have given herself completely to chaos.

There's no doubt that Skee-Dat-De-Dat...Spirit of Satch is a project of love, but by the closing stages there's no getting away from it; the album is a bit of a... drag.

A tight bind of rhythm and noise, of chugging menace and sudden spikes.

The Wytches have proved themselves a genuinely intriguing proposition, one with far more up their sleeves than just straight-up punk raucousness, but that also have evidently not quite got a handle on how best to present themselves on record, either--given that this is their first effort, though, that’s entirely forgivable.

There’s absolutely no doubting the supreme quality of Wilderness of Mirrors, the first work that English has conceived as a traditional album since 2011.

Despite the dualistic structure of Angels & Devils, the album’s two halves are never in opposition to one another; its vocalists all equally damned, equally resilient to their fate.

Brill Bruisers--like most albums--isn’t as good as Mass Romantic. But its qualities are manifold, and it is a delight to note that after some 15 years together, the New Pornographers seems to have stopped being a supergroup and turned into a band.

Much as it tries to be quirky and difficult, it is in fact a wonderfully satisfying listen.

If you expect anything that deviates from their cemented formula or a radical reinvention, then Junto is not for you. If you are happy to enjoy the ride while it lasts, it is the perfect soundtrack to an Indian summer.

At times it feels like pastiche, at others like an impromptu late night jam session: legendary to those who witness it, mind blowing to those who take part, but slightly less fun to listen to sober.

I only wish that they had given us something with a little more substance rather than the bland mess we’ve been left with.

A bit like returning to your home town, it’s a little bit different but essentially the same every time, and there’s always something comforting about that.

Get Hurt is the most brooding, ashen release yet, and not quite with their usual sombre charm.

It’s clear that, especially now they’ve released Lacuna, Childhood are indeed making the right kind of noises that’ll ably assist them in making that important career leap from dreamy infancy to artistic maturity.

You get twelve colourful washes of sound that work well on screen, but in terms of the band add up to not much more than a interesting EP.

Volume X certainly appears to have more than enough subtle moments and hidden delights to ensure its longevity.

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.

Whilst so many hazy albums of this kind struggle to engage on a level beyond superficiality, Sea When Absent--if you’re willing to genuinely invest in it--throws up a plethora of fresh subtleties with every listen.

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.

Despite being released in weather incongruous to its content, there's so much heart to this record that it simply demands to be absorbed.

This is a record that nurtures and works around feeling, clawing its hooks deep wherever you lay most vulnerable. Sensual is most definitely the word.

It’s an unapologetically impressive and precise record that could do more to reach out and connect, rather than just dancing off, expecting the listener to follow.

The album is an enjoyable hodgepodge that trades neat cohesion for scattish variety.

All together, The Voyager’s balance of frothiness and fearless introspection make it something pretty special.

Adventurous and bold yet distinctive in execution, No Time represents Dan Reeves' most essential body of work to date.

Purists will lap this up, but ultimately, as lovingly constructed a tribute as this is, there’s an unavoidable sense that Clapton is preaching exclusively to the choir.

This represents their first attempt at creating a bonafide album and when all's said and done, they should be proud of their achievements.

It is a record to indulge in, one melting synth note at a time.

Pe’ahi is an uneven reinvention, but it’s a brave one, too--the manner of its release isn't the only surprise that comes with it.

It's worth a listen for its high points--but it needs more unity.

Everything Infinite is perfect for summer, it has a few beautiful tracks and is constructed masterfully, but you can almost hear the fan chatter describing the outfit as 'that band who sound like Tame Impala'.

From Scotland with Love stands testimony to the increasing genius of Anderson and his craft.

It might occasionally makes for heavy listening, but Passerby skilfully turns quiet melancholy and dignified sadness into a thing of subtle beauty.

It might not be the freshest, most original sounding record you’ll hear this year (it could have easily been released at any point in the 25 years without eyebrows being raised), but it terms of solid yet somewhat subversive indie-pop enjoyability, you will be hard pressed to find something better.

It doesn't cut the deepest on first impressions, but those undulating tones of utter desolation seep beyond skin deep with every fresh listen.

La Roux returns on its own terms, with at least five minutes and 40 seconds that capture tremendous artistic growth and expression.

Ironically, listening to most of EX feels like watching a film with the sound turned off.

Sébastien Tellier has a tendency to tackle substantial topics, and it often smacks of dilettantism.

It is nothing more, and nothing less than a decent Morrissey album, and for some that is all the recommendation needed.

It’s from hearing the brand new tracks that Jungle’s burgeoning songwriting mastery is really showcased.

Sleeker, stronger and more confident than ever, on Complete Surrender Slow Club flourish with each strum and every breath.

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.

For the most part, it’s suitably overblown, cocksure and blunt, and still goes some way to capturing the genre's eternal, endearing refusal to grow up. For now, that's reason enough to celebrate their return.

These aren’t drastic alterations to the standard Sia formula, but what you do get is an album with a very specific identity.

What makes a person charming--songwriter or not--is that adaptability to a situation. It’s the sort of malleability we lose as age hardens us or we simply get stuck in our ways. But Eugene McGuinness hasn’t lost it yet.

By completely altering their focus, Wolves in the Throne Room have both carried on the strong tradition of black metal reinvention and proved themselves as composers with a distinct, if not world-changing, voice.

The bloat of Tigers and Postcards is gone without a trace; in its place is the sound of a band that’s slain the AOR dragon and finally got back to making the music they feel like making.

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.