Cricket and rock music have a long history, and at points it all gets a bit glamorous. Sticky Wickets isn’t concerned with those though: it takes the thinga that makes the loner, the geek, the loser, the tragic feel all warm and fuzzy, and then makes that sound like ELO. And nothing this year has made me feel happier than that.

Nude With Boots is an enjoyably acerbic listen, with a decent spread of compositional variety, that empties its acid bath just occasionally enough to give its audience time to towel off the waves of tumultuous noise.

By playing it straight and singing it even straighter, he's created an intensely listenable and emotional album that's impossible not to relate to.

This is music to get lost in and lose yourself to at the same time. Strangely familiar, yet unique, in their own conservative way.

The most fitting of testaments -- a flawed, courageous, beautiful and intimately human portrait of the self.

She remains in a state of full control throughout the album, and by album’s end it’s clear that Gaga has released one of her most dazzling albums to date.

If you're already aware of Koushik's work, this record may not be a revelation to you but if you are unfamiliar with the author, the laid-back magnificence of Out My Window is a fine place to start.

There isn’t a bad album in the Whigs / Twilight Singers / Gutter Twins back-catalogue but Do to the Beast manages to be at once more varied in style and more consistent in quality than any of its predecessors.

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

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

The droll poetry of Emmy's lyrics are brilliantly showcased in 'Hyperlink'.

Marriages know what they're about, and have crafted an album for all seasons that still possesses a distinctly autumnal sound--an accomplished record that will provide the ideal soundtrack once summer's over.

Like all Ward's best records, his eighth solo album plays like an intimate knees up. You'll swoon. You'll smile. You'll spin it over and over again.

Arguably the 2017 Fall is the purest version of the band there has ever been. This, you imagine, is what the inside of Smiths fogged head sounds like. Which is possibly why New Facts Emerge is one of the best things Smith has put his name too in a decade, the most complete and satisfyingly bonkers Fall album since 2008’s Imperial Wax Solvent.

With Marks to Prove It, The Maccabees have created a record of gritty intimacy. While there are moments of astonishing beauty (the sizzling brass and ethereal vocals of ‘Dawn Chorus’ is one of many examples), true intimacy means getting close to something, often in spite of its flaws.

Solo Piano II's classical leanings and modernistic execution are testament to the piano's ever-lasting ability to dazzle the masses.

If you hate Ben Folds, you’ll hate this album just as much as anything else he’s ever done. If you’re a fan, you’ll be quietly satisfied.

Compulsion Songs highlights each individual element of The Lucid Dream's make-up and like its predecessor, takes the listener on a journey that is never predictable but always rewarding.

This 2017 take on Eighties cinematic synth-pop is an unexpected joy in which to relish the impending political slime approaching us.

Some of these stories are not fleshed out as poetic or romantic as the music might suggest, yet it’s forgivable in the sense that Cigarettes After Sex successfully transport you to an erotic world entirely their own.

Considered as a retelling of McCombs’s career thus far, A Folk Set Apart mostly agrees with the original tale, but adds some new aesthetic information.

Understated, sloth-like and quick-witted all at once.

Despite the running time, it should be noted that Pure Comedy moves at a clip; only ‘The Memo’ and its cold boardroom-speak textures belabour the narrative a little too much on a record that’s all about stretching out an exact, unwavering thread.

Despite a miss or two, with Cows On Hourglass Pond Tare will likely appease even the most weary AnCo audiences, stringing together an album that is sonically ornate, scintillating, and poetically metaphysical.

In the classic sense this is yet another worthy piece from an undeniable master.

Throughout Infra, Richter's skill lies in his ability to re-emphasise and reinterpret, to construct an instrumental dialogue and a kind of imagined narrative through repetition and subtle alteration.

The result is a more sober work than the group anticipated--sad, even (their words)--but an unexpectedly lovely one for being just so.

It’s from this multi-layered hive of instrumentation and exquisite verb-spouting though where ExitingARM begins to flourish.

There is some devastating music on Are You Serious, and there is some beautiful music, too; often these passages are one and the same. It sounds like a natural progression for Andrew Bird, yet in places it’s like nothing you’d expect from the singer. It is, for these reasons and many more, a triumph.

Helioscope is another example of Vessels' growing ability to map out enormously ambitious journeys that go beyond the obvious touchstones and influences. In short: definitely worthy of your attention.

Sisyphus is almost certainly the greatest hip-hop folk-tinged electronica with a deep techno pop groove record you'll ever hear.

Like many of the tracks contained therein, Geneva ends up far from where it began. But this is not a record defined by where it starts and where it finishes--it’s what there is to take in on the way that counts.

"In Reverie' is the record that sees STD (*snigger*) grow into their rather obnoxiously large boots and writing the sort of songs that sound less like =emo=tional pap and more like the nerdy, malnourished American cousins of Ash's biggest hits.

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

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

Davies’ solo output would increase in the Eighties, yet like his day job band, the quality began to vary markedly. Here we have a snapshot of a time when he was at the top of his game--but overshadowed in the public eye by his brother’s more easily digestible (and, let’s face it, available) work.

In this latest instalment in the Late Night series, Holmes seems to have scored an origin story of sorts, in inimitable fashion, snatches of places and time woven among some breath-taking selections, passing through the present moment as observed with an eagle eye, before being let to peace until called upon again. 



An honest, forthright and accomplished LP.

Effortlessly mixing pop aspects with electronic undertones, hip-hop influence and the occasional R&B nod, she has taken everything that's wrong with today's chart toppers and turned it on its head--producing a record packed full of inspirational, intelligent monologues. It isn't half catchy either.

Imbued with a defiant refusal to succumb to external pressure or fall into the well-worn paths of similar artists who have trodden this road in the past, Sigrid has created a truly unique and recognisable debut record which I’m sure is a sign of spectacular things to come.

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

As a first achievement, the album it manages to inject a degree of zest into the songs from The King is Dead, jolting them from the somnolence which occasionally bogged their studio equivalents down.

Let's just call it an hour's worth of creepy, organic, nearly always-tension-building electronic ambience which certainly owes as much, if not more, to the hidden influences as the obvious ones.

Coconut, then, is a baffling, dirty, even exhausting listen at times, but never less than engaging throughout.

Overall, Process is a ferocious if at times delicately poised introduction to the incendiary world of Yvette, sonic adventurists extraordinaire.

In Time to Voices is aggressive, it is irreverent, yet also very ambitious.

It’s not often that a side-project produces an album that deserves anything more than a footnote mention. Loose Fur deserves its own cult.

Folk-rock, synth-pop, and more mature delves into the post-punk spectrum of alternative rock are all explored in What Chaos Is Imaginary. Each song is a new chapter offering insight into the multi-dimensional world that is Girlpool--and every one is more intricate, more complex, more captivating than the last.

As long as her music remains as bold, inventive and occasionally thrilling as it is here, long may that continue.

The Strokes will never get back the raw magic of Is This It? but, with Comedown Machine, they’ve cast a different spell entirely--one that’s almost joyful.

This is both the album Ufomammut completists will have been awaiting and the best album for new listeners to get their ears stuck into.

Destroyer's Rubies is an inadvertent Guide To Destroyer - every defining quirk, every 70's pop nod and ill-advised but forgivable falsetto is condensed and framed, only without becoming something fans of Bejar will have all heard before.

Here, all percussion devastates; it pounds away at the insides of Life… The Best Game In Town like a beast caged, packed ready for shipping. Let it loose and all hell’s coming your way.

It remains, at its heart and in the best possible way, a very small record of considerable charm. Warmly recommended.

You can’t help but feel that all those who have ignored Metric in 2009 are simply missing out. Fantasies is proof that you can make big event music that doesn’t make you die on the inside.

It’s the most complete body of work that Broder has ever put together, as Fog or otherwise, and bursts with creativity and commitment.

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

Overall, there’s as much room for the head explodeGIF in Monsters Exist; as there is in a WhatsApp group-chat post philosophy lecture.

In Heaven sees them take the scenic route to vindicating their claim to be pop with a capital P, maintaining enough of their atmospheric qualities without being in thrall to any genre's limitations.

Kaleide is immediate and it rarely dulls, bar the slow start to "Anjelica Huston," before it bursts out into sparkling keyboards at the tail end.

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.

Angel Guts: Red Classroom is the typical blend of passion, pain and awkwardness which makes Xiu Xiu what they are. Fearless, demanding, relentlessly subversive.

With Sun Gangs it’s as if they've finished the whole cake and the house burst, bricks and mortar exploding through the sky like fireworks.

Royal Albert Hall is bursting at the seams with superb reinterpretations of some real classics.

He's reached another career peak to match that of 1999's 'Knock Knock'.

Our Love lacks the element of surprise that Swim had, but still holds in abundance all the hallmarks of a master: so rich, so textured and despite being predominantly electronic, so human--speaking with painful honesty to a condition that ranks just below death and taxes in uniting us all.

While there are some tracks that feel like the duo have worn themselves out, points at which the album can support neither its stubbornly fusion-pop soul nor its lyrical depth, for the most part it shines.

For those who have heretofore found Harcourt to be a little too melodramatic, this is likely the album that will have them reconsider his work. We all need a little romance, and so much the better when it's delivered with a bit of knowing quirk.

It’s a frighteningly powerful album that will be adored by open-minded newcomers and "Miss Machine" converts alike.

The production throughout Vampire Weekend is perfect, holding all the various threads together as a coherent whole that manages to sound simple without ever being underwhelming.

Spoon are equally as enjoyable, and perhaps that bit more intriguing, when they are a little bit harder to fathom. Plus, to put it simply, there ain't a duff track to be found here.

Sisterworld derives unity from its punchdrunk stagger, arresting the worry Liars had lost their command of atmosphere after "Drum’s Not Dead." They’ve soaked themselves in a new city and emerged renewed, once again.

Monto occasionally overwhelms as its leading light pivots. Patience is rather vital as the album expands and Murphy continues to contemplate. There’s no padding here, but like any good trip into an intriguing mind you may emerge from the swell a touch dizzy.

This is jazz, this is funk, this is soul, this is gospel... but most importantly, R.A.P. Music is rap music, as fresh as it comes.

Unreal's feel is of the hangover following the hedonistic romp that was Yuck--reassembling a broken self into a positive whole, and taking an auspicious step in a new direction.

Full of tasty licks and rocking out it may be, but The More I Sleep the Less I Dream is also genuinely reflective and melancholic as the band continue to mature. Let’s just hope they still get those jetpacks they were promised, even if equally feral and refined albums like this mean they might not need them to soar anymore.

Order of Noise shows how to balance the two extremes without committing to one single constant, and that anyone can make an original noise, but to make one that's accessible takes skill.

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.

All that really matters for the moment is that their debut album is an unqualified success, a concise and perfectly-presented collection of first-class pop music.

O’Connor has a clarity of purpose and a truly unique sound that is perfectly suited to his vision of suburban nihilism.

This is an album that is full of glorious melodies, harsh noise and field recordings. Agora is the strongest, and most cohesive, album that Fennesz has released in over a decade, and that is no mean feat.

Dye It Blonde has unexpectedly crept into contention for being my favourite record of 2011 so far.

A useful entry point for newcomers, then, but there is just enough to make this a worthwhile purchase for long-time fans too.

The Cool Kids’ revivalist format might not remain flavour of the month long enough for their debut LP proper, "When Fish Ride Bicycles," to have much of a commercial impact when it’s released later this year, but this taster ten-tracker of older material certainly leaves a pleasant aftertaste.

Far more than a simple exercise in rock as violent fury, or as political vehicle for that matter, Gnod’s latest effort is yet another important musical statement from a group firmly at the forefront of everything good about British underground music. That it arrives in time to soundtrack such troubled times as these is, of course, a welcome bonus.

Earl Grey works so well because the three women at its heart have uniqueness as players and chemistry as a band, and it’s rare to get both. There’s a respect for melody here, in both Hankin’s way with chorus and riff, and especially in Moss’s ear-candy bass lines.

Leave your prejudices behind, shut your eyes and just enjoy.

Tasteful and tactful enough to use their wide range of influences, this is an impressive body of work that upholds the finest garage tradition: missed completely by the majority, but obsessed over and taken straight to heart by those who can’t resist their records a little on the rougher side.

Intense, cutting and clever, this is an album that unfolds at a near blistering pace.

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

Their next release might be a whole ‘nother curveball, but this is a treat on its own terms.

Born Under Saturn sounds like what it probably is: a bunch of smart musicians having a great time.

This is nourishing pop music at its most immediate best.

Comparing Homesongs to Love and Other Planets, as is sadly unavoidable with a debut and its follow up, reveals the former to be the more immediate, the more melodic and the more understandable. However, Love and Other Planets, despite a glossier overtone, is the detailed, developing record.

Overall, another great album from one of the UK’s best underground talents who may not remain so underground for long.

Abandoning the abstract art-rock ideals of experimentalism and pushing the rhythm section further out onto the dancefloor has resulted in a sweet spot for this type of storytelling. Still, this isn’t music to be taken in completely on the first listen. It’s eerie, complex, heart wrenching even.

The record is bookended by the heaviest tracks, and 'Uncle Frank Says Turn It Down' picks up where the opener left off. ... The middle section of the album is more explorative with the metallic, bending and flexes of ‘Europa’ creating an unnerving interlude after the ruckus before it.

Long time fans are going to lap this up while newcomers will likely be wondering where this band has been all their lives.