While reference points are few and far between throughout Locus, those that linger are of artists equally as disparate in their output. Which is why Great Ytene stand out as an anomaly themselves. A record worth investing money, time and effort into.

The Staves have added all sorts of bells and whistles to their sound. They all work.

On New Gods there’s a sense of logical progression, an aim of expression that might have been missing from some of his earlier work.

There’s a lot more going on besides, maybe a touchstone too much at times, but you’d have to have either incredibly specific or incredibly boring taste to not find some gold herein.

After the misfire of Living With The Living this is a content, relaxed record with nothing to prove. Ted Leo is a man un-fussily playing to his strengths.

Post Plague provides the perfect soundtrack to an incendiary apocalypse only its creators could foresee. On this evidence, the invitation to join them is seductively tempting.

Just like some of the better acts from that period, Breakfast suggests that Teleman’s music will stand the test of time.

Stripping away the frills, at heart Major Arcana is a mournful treasure that asks to be celebrated.

There’s a marked step forward in the deceptive depth of Sun Coming Down, and Ought perhaps traded in some of their debut longplayer’s immediacy in getting it, but their wit and emotional complexity remain stronger than ever.

Senses pummelled and synapses shredded, Holding Hands With Jamie represents anything but an easy ride. But then reputations aren't earned lightly, and Girl Band have earned theirs as the most excitingly coarse noise rock outfit on the planet through sheer guts and tenacity.

VOIDS is testament to a band who have never rested in their creativity, and have managed to rebuild and recreate while holding at their core the things that made them brilliant 15 years ago. Have a listen.

The climax brings an emotional resonance to proceedings that confirms Rolo Tomassi's impressive ability to cross these genres and moods and influences but still sound undeniably them.

Hayman has given us a beautifully crafted love-letter to the real humanity that is the soul and centre of socialism, both sad and sweet, melancholy and inspiring--a collection of songs that belong to everyone and cement Hayman’s place as a nationalised treasure.

With Native Speaker, Braids project dreams onto iridescent lakes and marvel at how they glimmer, and the results are every bit as lovely as that sounds.

Beautifully brutal weirdo punk.

Acolyte certainly won't be 2010's most adventurous album, but it's not trying to be. Instead, it's almost certain to be one of the year's most immediate and assured records, particularly for a debut, boasting any number of potential hit singles.

Despite the aimlessness of much of FRR's second half, nailing it is what BSS do brilliantly. There are enough moments of standout glory in the first half to sate any fan of this band, whatever part of their work they admire.

It's short (36 mins), but deep and heady, the sort of record that worms its way into your head and stays there, leaving a faint imprint on your psyche.

Initally, it all rushes by so fast as to rock you onto your heels, but further listens offer a quick grasp of a set of insidiously catchy songs.

What Wavves has created here is a collection of gleaming pop gems, laced with self-hatred and a keen sense of rebellion.

They retain their idiosyncrasies and their sense of history, and it’s these things that give this record an identity of its own, and make the Noisettes so very easy to love.

Celebration Day is a fitting title: it's an enchanting tribute to the eternal power of rock, no matter the age of the music or the performers themselves.

Older, wiser, maybe a little less caustic in the execution - but as still sharp as a knife.

Troubled, Shaken Etc. won't win any prizes for instant accessibility; if anything, it's a deftly-secured trove of deeply hidden treasures, that once discovered, will be hard to resist.

It's not a monumental leap forward from the band's previous work, but Harmonicraft displays the signs of consistent refinement and revels in that fact.

Ultimately, though, this is a more than solid album from a band who it was once assumed had given up. While nothing will compare to the band's exceedingly unattainable debut, it is refreshing to see the band learn from their mistakes on Coexist and create something new and intriguing, but still ultimately them.

If perhaps before Lewis's music had a tendency to be swamped by small-print, here the songs know when to step back, to give way to a catchy chorus or a hummable riff.

Wakin' on a Pretty Daze is one of those rare examples of an artist’s uninhibited self-indulgence resulting in an LP which plays firmly to their strengths.

While the context may be different, Last Train to Paris suggests that, despite all the reality show-making, fashion designing, acting, inexplicable-name-changing, vodka-promoting, dressed-in-all-white-partying, skeet-shooting-with-Kevin-Spacey (probably) and all the other activities that make up a day in the life of Diddy, it's likely that he really does, and it shows.

The record could be accused of wearing its influences a bit obviously, but as Wilco, Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev borrowed from Neil Young, progression essentially comes through a degree of regression and, although Avi retreads familiar ground, he still adds his very own unique footprint to his band's debut.

In less capable hands the results could be unsophisticated and cringeworthy - as it is, they team the neon luminosity of Duran Duran with the camp, boyish charm of Dexys Midnight Runners - and are as likeable as either of them.

With Digital Garage, Mudhoney have provided the noise-escape of the year. The war may never be won, but at least now we’ve got somewhere to hide when it all gets a bit much.

If you love The Icarus Line and Comets On Fire, and wonder what a record exploring the expansive middle ground between the two outfits might sound like, look/listen no further.

The Walkmen have done it slightly different this time, but I guarantee that after hearing this album, the brilliance of Lisbon will stay with you for the entire day, no matter what color the sky sitting above.

Here And Nowhere Else not only reaffirms Baldi as one of the most prolific and consistent songwriters of his generation--its hard to believe he's still only 22 considering the extent of his back catalogue--but also suggests there's much more to come in the future.

Vezelay's sensual poetics melding into Rix-Martin and Paradinas' lush electronica on an album of retro-futuristic pop that improves with each spin and shimmers bright with widescreen radiance.

If electroclash left you cold... then this is, idealistically, how it should have sounded.

Sounds Of The Universe arguably goes on for a bit too long--it doesn't help that closer 'Corrupt' is throwbackish bobbins--and it certainly could have done without token Gore vocal ‘Jezebel’. But other than that it’s just a damn fine record, possessed of the kind of unshowy high quality the Basildon band have seemingly actively opposed in the past.

Anyone who owns the 1992 Sub Pop compilation The Way of the Vaselines might be thinking there's nothing for them here, but beyond the re-mastering adding significant depth to Dum Dum (the difference it's made to the EPs is negligible to my admittedly rather damaged ears) there's also a second disc of previously unreleased material.

A thorny, earth-stained treasure.

The Loveless brothers’ way with a one-liner coupled with their dexterity with rock dynamics is what sets them apart from their peers.

News From Nowhere is an album which blossoms over the course of its running time.

This is strong stuff that thankfully avoids falling into crass sloganeering, and the music backs it up, it's arcing guitar lines and tribal percussion generating a growing atmosphere of anxiety, outrage and disorientation.

This is a record of sweeping complexity, that captures the raw energy Deftones have always thrived upon without eschewing the benefits of an intelligent eye being cast over the production.

One hopes Raven In The Grave doesn't signify the last post for The Raveonettes as they are a joy to behold in this mood, and more than capable of producing a belter of an album when least expected.

This is an engaging, rewarding listen that promises great things in the future from our four heroes.

Goodnight Rhonda Lee never feels like a pastiche or a rip off of classic soul songs, but a celebration of the genre and life. Yes some songs could be trimmed a bit and maybe some of the motifs would be tighter, but overall this is an album by someone who knows exactly what she wants to say and how she wants to say it.

Although 'Winchester Cathedral' is quite obviously Clinic doing what they do best, it also represents the sound of a band who've clearly broadened their horizons.

God is an Astronaut is the most human post-rock has ever been.

Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea is the logical next chapter in this manuscript which has had many of us hooked since the opening lines.

Like the most memorable trips, this one creates some sublime eidetic imagery.

That they have dealt with personal strife and getting older while recalibrating their sound and their approach to songwriting is an impressive feat indeed.

Imarhan is the sound the band have spent their whole lives perfecting and it comes across like a best of. Given that they've probably got a lot more in the back catalogue that didn't make the cut for this album, there's definitely more to come from the Imarhan arsenal, but this is a great start.

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

While most artists would dread having to juggle the pressure to hit the mark, plus the weight of their legendary influences, Dream Wife have delivered an album that is refreshing in its clarity, its simplicity and its runaway quality.

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.

Yours Truly, Cellophane Nose is a success, in that it captures what Beth Jeans Houghton has been doing in her live shows for the past couple of years, without diluting or rushing it for the sake of a time-specific tag.

DJ-Kicks is essentially a peak-time mix of house and techno that would be devastating if played at any club, standing still and not cracking a smile would be basically impossible. The mix is mostly made up of tracks and not songs and as such really works best on a speaker system than headphones.

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

It's mostly a stately, minimal affair.

There is something for everybody here. That he seems to pull off every style he tries his hand at with such assurance is a testament to his talent. Here, finally, we have an artist who seems to make it his life’s mission to move with--and reflect--the times.

This is a blissful, radiant, rewarding listen; one recommended without hesitation.

The record is almost as seamless as it is engaging, and it subtly commands your attention from start to finish.

A shimmering, optimistic record recalling Stevie Wonder and Brian Wilson, the LP makes for a comparative step back in time, with smooth yet fuzzy basslines, funk breakdowns, clever arrangements and soaring backing vocals.

Boasting the talents and a depth of spirit of an artist twice her age, I Predict A Graceful Expulsion is a majestic powerhouse of a career starter.

As a a slice of accomplished, sophisticated urban pop you'll find none finer this summer.

The 2nd Law is seriously fun.

Kannon, like Terrestrials, says its three-section piece in under 40 minutes, but is a more intense, punishing affair.

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.

Its sound is as beautiful as ever too, and the arrangements are captured well on Lost and Found, with a glow of warmth hovering around the instrumentation.

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

Depending on your taste for that kind of home-brewed, distinctively British weirdness, I’m All Ears is either a massive leap forwards or a sad lurch towards the middle-ground.

The album's brevity is its strength here: much longer, and you risk burning out or blunting the intensity of the riffage. Any shorter, and it risks leaving you unsated. As it is, The Blind Hole is just right.

Who Do You Love is yet more proof of Årabrot’s status as amongst Europe’s leading alternative rock acts.

A noble, high-headed intelligent record.

Rather than functioning as simple b-side fodder, the four tracks which shape Earth Division are all totally different, yet just as essential as the album from which they were excluded.

This is a dense, rewarding--and yes, fun--record.

Studiously crafted and meticulously executed from start to finish, if any doubts remained as to whether Fat White Family were the most important rock and roll band of their generation, this should put a lid on it once and for all. For Songs for Our Mothers is of a rare breed of record that's both of its time yet timeless in nature.

As one would expect, the 12 brief songs on M. Ward’s More Rain hit, plow, and bulldoze their way right into the sweet-spot of joyous existential-wonderment.

One big loud glam rock electro-pop explosion of an album.

Everything that made Transverse great is here on f (x). Carter Tutti Void are reimagining industrial music without the need for in-your-face defiant transgression.

Bang & Works Vol. 2 also captures a genre in transition, as both the old guard and the young producers increasingly look to other genres for a way to progress the sound, or at least re-flavour it.

That’s not to say they don’t come across like an all-singing, all-banging Life Aquatic armed with pots, pans and whatever instrument comes to hand, but from the raw, stamping folk-punk to the string layered sea ditties, All We Could Do Was Sing is much more than it initially lets on.

Lyrically, it's a broad, emotionally-led investigation into 'the state of things'. By no means, however, is it bogged down by the precise or the singular or the definitive. Within its lyrical muddlings, we might be able to tease of a forecast of things to come, or it might just be fooling us with a potent swirling of punchy psychedelic rock.

It’s summer-break music for overachievers who grew up to be misanthropic. It’s nightmare symphonic, something that’d play in the movie of your life once you’ve died and the credits rolled. Stripped back more than we’re used to from Joan of Arc, 1984 preserves their sense of humour in the track names only littering their work instead with pure statements of intent.

The subtlety of musicianship on each track is quite brilliant.

The only spoiler is Sam Herlihy’s lack of vocal abilities.

Lonerism marks Tame Impala's arrival as a genuine force to be reckoned with, and even if at times there's a feeling Parker's trying to cram too many ideas into one piece, it's a record that will undoubtedly be used as a benchmark for guitar music of the near future.

My Father Will Guide Me Up A Rope To The Sky sounds more like the essence of Michael Gira than the Angels Of Light ever did, and ought to also serve as another broadside to the idea of reformations being inherently grubby and uncreative ventures.

An album whose deep felt emotion and effortless execution proves that there’s nothing like a little trial and tribulation to get the artistic synapses firing.

dEUS manage to exhume an unbridled level of consistency throughout the nine pieces that comprise Keep You Close.

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.

If all that sounds like heavy going, a slightly bitter pill to swallow, fair warning, it is. But if you appreciate the effort that goes into crafting a record like this by giving it the repeated plays it needs, you're going to find a piece of work you'll come back to again and again.

This is a collection of elegantly assembled, fat-free pop songs, made from light and air and heart, and great choruses.

Throughout ‘The Orchestra, Sadly, Has Refused’ runs the coherent theme of creeping, haunting lullabies, and that furrow which sees The Silent League ultimately master their own unique beauty.

After 40 minutes you’re still not totally sure what it is you’ve listened to. This could be great, messy pop music, or just as easily be something you dreamt, dozing in post-coital bliss with a detuned radio in the background. Whichever it is, you’ll just be glad it exists. If, that is, it exists at all.

Dead Confederate have possibly made the best record out of all their contemporaries this year, which surely beckons the question 'How much longer can they be ignored?' Time to pay attention methinks...

Perhaps one of the greatest, and certainly most underappreciated, post-hardcore rock groups of all time.