It’s a crisp, clear makeover that gives the record a greater definition and focus without piling on the polish, tightening it but toughening it too.

A covers record will probably never pique interest in the way that a fresh batch of new material will. But for those who do take the risk, fans and the curious alike, Imitations is a touching, tasteful and rewarding listen that will not disappoint.

The Diving Board feels like an album made by somebody who’s spent the last few years performing the same set list night after night in Vegas.

In spite of its sweeping musical and thematic ambitions, The Electric Lady emerges as a surprisingly coherent listen.

There may be nothing here that pricks emotion like ‘When An Old Cricketer Leaves The Crease’ and this may not be the truly brazen, bold Harper of the Seventies but it’s a record of reflection, of experimentation, sometimes of egotism, often of near-mystical sadness.

This is powerful stuff, showing that not only is Anders Trentemøller one of the best in his field but also a master of the album craft. One for the long haul.

Despite Mazzy Star sounding as good as they always have, Seasons Of Your Day only goes to show that the rest of the world has finally caught up with them.

At least there’s a couple of good ones here to stick onto the singles collection that’s inevitably just around the corner.

Overall, Rewind The Film won't be afforded the same reverence as Manic Street Preachers more definitive outings. Nevertheless, in the context of the present, it's the sound of a band growing old gracefully in reminiscent mood yet firmly at ease with their lot.

There’s no denying that the band has released a fully coherent statement.

This is hardly revelatory stuff--the days of Sebadoh blowing minds and claiming hearts are now far behind them, but then maybe they don’t have to do that anymore.

It is a great record, at times. But when the elements don’t quite chime it suffers.

the overall sense is that they [The Roots] have reignited him [Costello], the combination of one of England’s great lyricists and production from arguably America’s most forward-thinking band resulting in a crisp, funky, even dangerous sounding album as political and as relevant as anything this year.

To the casual ear, this could be any of their other albums. But with such a consistent sound, it becomes harder for individual songs to stand out.

There’s a master at work, no doubt about it, but he’s already living in the future writing complex symphonies, letting the rest of us know that everything’s going to be ok.

Weird Sister’s ebbs, flows, peaks and troughs: a shape-shifting, nuanced LP that could be described as derivative, but never formulaic.

It's an assured collection of 11 songs that capture a mixture of exhilaration and heartbreak that is all their own.

This collection provides years of Beach Boys fun and suitably celebrates their 50 years.

While the album at large maintains the lusciously rich production levels (a marked improvement over their prior LP, which was a stodgy and undercooked thing) there are frequent moments where a self-conscious attempts to inject ‘maturity’ into the song writing undercuts their former charms.

It's careful, like well worded advice, and typically careworn, but this ultimately can’t disguise a lack of lyrical spark.

AM lacks that character empathy: rather than being detached--ie, cool, wry, transverted--Turner is removed (impulsive, anxious, dull) and it is this subtle distinction that shoots AM down in its shiny leather metal-toed boots.

With Nobody Knows Willis Earl Beal has rescued soul from the depths of the X Factor's Motown week.

Their debut is just minute after minute of hollow pandering.

Overall, The Third Eye Centre succinctly packs ten years' worth of eccentricities and oddments into a pleasant, if slightly oversized compendium.

Given the gestation period and polish, the humanity that manages to shine through this tight, crafted record is a triumph; the sound of a band having a whole lot of fun in the hope that ultimately you will do too.

Smilewound requires something of an adjustment of expectations.

Glow, then, is generally a mixed bag, gothic, cinematic and made for large spaces and big stages.

Despite the obvious love with which the album's been assembled, there's no denying that Broken Social Scene have been doing this sort of thing for much longer and with more success.

Babyshambles once promised to keep the Arcadian dream alive. Instead, they’ve fizzled out in a fit of mediocrity.

Lyrically, Later... veers between juvenile and baffling.

If the sign of a good LP is no standout tracks then John Wizards is certifiably brilliant, a collage of brightly-coloured chamber pop where modern synths get a look-in too.

This is clearly the album that removes any lingering doubt that Chelsea Wolfe is a very special artist; one who is capable of the visceral and the surprisingly soothing in the same stroke.

Era is the sort of record you can just sink into.

If anything, the stitching on Push/Pull is much too tight, the tone rigid even when things veer off in wildly different directions.

There’s very little that’s boring about Aerotropolis, quite the opposite in fact, but there’s also not always enough that jumps out.

With references to house, dub, and instrumental rock all stitched together into a looping, building tapestry that manages to be both visually and emotionally evocative, this is certainly an album that will keep your interest long into the next fad.

Kapranos and co have delivered what is simultaneously ‘just another Franz Ferdinand’ album and one of the indie records of the summer.

It’s a jaw-dropping accomplishment, one of those records that’s almost pointless to listen to as a series of individual songs--tracks are mini symphonies in themselves, and to break Loud City Song down into tracks would be missing the point.

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

Modular Living represents a visionary and varied sonic palette befitting of its influences.

It’s an experiment in construction, its sandbox carefully sparse. Fitting then, that Explosions In The Sky find that elusive spark and thrive in such surroundings.

Whilst not wholly unique,Golden Suits is undeniably individual--a wholehearted, open but personal space--built from imagination, memories, stories: what he knows and who he knows.

It brings with it a deftly executed change in tone that we've only glimpsed in the past and a refreshing emotional honesty, which not only feels mature but enduring.

Whether it is a sense of longing or nostalgia at stake, Moon Tides is a solid, inebriating listen that will guide you through your personal transitions and leave you wanting for more.

Despite the lineup change and the turmoil surrounding the trio, Flourish // Perish builds upon Braids equally striking debut without retreading old work.

Murmuration’s darkness is a source of foreboding, curiosity and yes, comfort.

Versions isn't a triumph but it does highlight just what a striking talent Danilova is.

On An Object, No Age push their weakest attributes firmly into the spotlight; a move indirectly admirable for its continued ambition, but one which makes you wish they’d go back to being punk rock, rather than just punk.

Superchunk have made a record that ties experience to the present, instinct to wisdom, youthful vigor to aged knowledge, everything in the world to a passion for music.

Warp & Weft is a welcome return from Veirs and proves the chemistry between her and her producer husband Tucket Martine. The instrumentation, songwriting and melody-making effortlessly comes together thanks to the clever layering and lovingly crafted placement of each and every sound.

The worst thing you can say about anything on this record is that they’re solidly crafted, faultless songs.

As a rule the lackadaisical New Order and the greatest hits-centric set they tour with aren’t the stuff of live album legend, and matters aren’t really helped by the fact large chunks of the set have been lopped out in order to make it into a single CD, with the likes of ‘Ceremony’ and ‘Crystal’ receiving the heave.

It’s little over 20 minutes long, and has incredibly sparse, softly organic arrangements, but Hard Rubbish succeeds in achieving a density which makes the LP feel twice its length, conveying the slowness of time spent in sorrowful solitude perfectly, and--most amazingly of all--succeeding in turning the absence of feeling into something intensely affecting.

In its totality, Back on the Planet works as a decent upgrade from Spacebase, despite its weird results.

The naysayers may have a point, this might not seem like an aural paradigm shift to some, but Paracosm is still a vital progression for Washed Out.

A band's influences should whisper in your ear, not smack you round the face. That's not to say that there isn't anything new or really of themselves in there, it just takes a little while to figure out what it is.

Ultimately though, what saves Big TV from mediocrity isn’t its ambition, but its hooks.

What makes the record a success is the way Pinkunoizu harness their varied ideas and refine them into something accessible and engaging.

‘Ratchet’ sets a fairly hedonistic tone, only for things to immediately lock down.... It all makes for an intriguing opening, two sides of Bloc Party on display in addition to their strengths and weaknesses. How curious, then, that the Nextwave Sessions immediately switches the focus to that Sessions bit, ushering in a strangely repetitive run of glorified demos.

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

To The Happy Few is precise and calculated. It lacks the irrationality and selfishness that gives a record its soul.

Moore is a collage artist of the highest, silliest, most joyful degree--and as he pulls together strands of strange, whisps of weird, odours of otherness you’ll be compelled to dig, dig deeper into the man’s psyche and back catalogue. And be rightly, wrongly rewarded.

The music wisely remains sombre; eschewing the cheesy crescendo you kinda fear is coming at the chorus only for it to stick to gloom as the vocals reach to be optimistic.

On record Yes, It's True feels insubstantial, which is disappointing because when they don't go overboard they can still craft interesting music.

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.

A great example of someone following their musical instincts into new areas and finding success, Bloodlines is also a highlight of the year so far.

As with many dance LPs, Swisher is slightly on the long side--65 minutes is more than enough time to get your groove on. But the album never ends up sounding repetitive, the emotions behind the beats don’t allow it to.

With the likes of 'European Super State' and 'In Cythera' emitting a clubbier vibe amidst their industrialized beats to bring The Singles Collection... up to the present, it serves as a timely reminder why Killing Joke continue to be held in such high esteem.

As it meanders towards its conclusion, the LP melds into a uniform mesh of pleasantly forgettable ditties.

More considered than the debut, more quietly patient and yet somehow more addictive.

This is a limping, bloodless version of The Civil Wars, and if the band is to have a future they need to fix their issues, or else learn to channel the damage better.

None of this is original, nor particularly appealing for anybody disinterested in a by-gone era of music production--still it's enjoyable on a level that no amount of cerebral analysis will ruin.

Sleep Of Reason is darker, deeper and more daring than either Coexist or Overgrown and more emotional and soulful than The xx or James Blake. Ninja Tune won't release a better record this year.

It probably is all going to sound a little more raucous and electrifying in the flesh, but this will definitely keep you sated in between those doses delivered in person.

What’s not so easy however is appraising something so overwhelmingly awful and so lacking in merit as BE without sounding like one of the smug, condescending middle class intelligentsia.

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

As such, this is largely Southern Rock-lite: it is not brash or brazen--it is uninteresting and tedious.

Patricia Hall and Ian Hicks have found the perfect balance between the moody and the danceable, making the whole home clubbing experience all the more realistic.

So rather than the fanciful frippery it could so easily have been, The Moths Are Real is instead a fitting document of real life in all its mixed-up glory.

Tiny Rebels sees Kelly test the boundaries of his own artistry, exploring whether something small--be that a solo act, a straightforward melody, a single thought, or even a collection of six songs--can transcend to become something greater than itself.

Ultimately Borrell 1 is a better-than-serviceable rock record complicated by myriad preconceptions, all which are further skewered by some fantastically hubristic song titles.

The album is called I Want You To Destroy Me and all it wants to do is live.

It's not a classic and it won't get him back in the NME, but it'll more than entertain those willing to listen.

It is beautiful, ethereal and organic, breathing with life and is as far removed from the clean overly produced dance music which he holds in such distain. It has been a long wait, but on this showing it has certainly been worth it.

Slow Focus isn’t alienating, it’s other, and it’s a pleasure to take a wander around its unfamiliar landscapes.

What does make sense is songs that can be related to the world over, not just in Williamsburg, and the songs on Any Port In A Storm fall very much into this category. A brilliant record.

The Argument's cataclysmic clashes and multitudinous puzzle pieces that never quite fit together are the stuff of a deeply flawed classic.

The lack of bang, where a band like The Whip for instance might do a good job with a similar collection of tracks, is well and truly compensated by its overall arc and atmosphere, its leisurely strides into a lazer-filled sunset proving climax enough without gimmicky drops and pandering.

As a whole the EP doesn’t hit the mark. Not only is the only link between the tracks that they are vaguely related to Animal Collective, but within the tracks themselves there are often many ideas out of context with one another.

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.

Slave Vows is--easily the finest guitar album The Icarus Line have produced since Aaron North precariously sprinted across a row of trembling amps to crash out the window and join Nine Inch Nails in 2005.

Somewhere under all this reverb and murk, Gauntlet Hair may yet have the makings of a fine band, but the album burns out long before they have an opportunity to reveal wether this is true.

Magna Carta... Holy Grail isn't a total bust, but neither is it anywhere close to Jay-Z's finest moments. Instead it's a strange and anodyne record, that speaks of a king, nay a god, who may not have lost his crown, but would benefit from leaving his lofty boardroom once in a while.

It continues one of the most singular artistic visions of modern times and while it may not push it any further it’s often so damn charming as to make you forget about all that and just drift away into Lynch’s meditative world, in wrong love with the weird.

Apart from that and ‘Micro Chip (Say No)’--which succeeds ‘Rebel’, closes the album and suffers from autotune abuse and the claim to be “the sons and daughters of Bob Marley”--Jungle Revolution consistently hits bullseyes.

All in all, Empire is a rather decent garage rock album.

Rather than sound like two guys in their fifties messing around with some expensive equipment to recapture their past glories, it’s strikingly modern.

So while there are a few moments of blandness, a few moments where tradition sits a little too comfortably for a little too long and where some of us may be a little lost lyrically, there is never any question of the inherent power of Staples’ voice.