Why?'s fifth record seems more of a sure-footing; a reminder that this band that at one point was so exciting, is still able to surprise and move you even a decade on from their crowning achievement.

The great thing about Blondes is how they move through such simple ingredients as a decent bassline and a tight groove, and end up in some tripped out wonderland after nine minutes of hedonistic bliss. On Warmth, they’ve traded that sound for something a bit harder and more immediate, which doesn’t end up all bad, but does sacrifice that elegiac joy they used to perfect so readily.

The production values on Watch Me Fall are hardly epic, but the guitars and keys slide out bright and clear, melodies unfettered by anything beyond crystal-pure hooks.

At only ten songs, it hasn’t the broadness of past, but it is possibly their most cohesive record. Consistency may rarely outrank greatness in order of virtues but if there’s an argument to be made, it’s perhaps found here.

As the listens pile up--one realises suits Traditional Synthesizer Music (both the album and the notion) more than anticipated. A welcome return to top form.

While it’s very much business as usual--groove-led-Stooges-acid-pop with added screaming--it sounds so gloriously Mudhoney it offers a thrill akin to Popping Candy fizzing in My Little Pony blood.

Abandoned Language is a much more direct affair than its predecessor.

Diehard fans needn’t worry that Autechre have diluted themselves in that respect, for Oversteps is still a challenging listen, and one which reveals endless layers of new detail with each spin. But it’s also their most instantly rewarding – and arguably best--album to date.

Unfortunately, despite his illustrious CV and unconventional route to the release of his first album, it proves to be a competent, but disappointingly conventional affair.

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

Whilst Return to the Ugly Side undoubtedly sustains an affective mood of unease and intrigue, it ultimately falters in its structural underdevelopment.

For a band still very much in its infancy, Sports is an astonishing body of work far beyond any kind of expectation you'd put at its creators' feet.

He may be pushing boundaries and himself less urgently than before, but in doing so he’s made his most palatable and varied record to date.

On #N/A the skill of the trio (plus one) is more than evident, it’s just a shame they didn’t try and inject just a little more variety into the mix as well.

As an exercise in creativity, musical form, experimentation and sheer art, then, Reflections is to be commended, but as a standalone body of work it’s somewhat lacking in the substance, sculpted precision, urgency and depth that made Elaenia such an enthralling proposition.

If you ever enjoyed the accessible moments of long-standing US indie-pop acts such as Modest Mouse or Built To Spill, but longed for them to stop with the eight-minute wig-outs, Skeleton is probably the album you’ve been waiting for; from Denmark via America.

It is, in a word, magnificent.

Cape Dory is a more than satisfactory introduction to the world of Tennis and their travels, and perhaps unintentionally, one of the more unique additions to the current penchant for all things lo-fi in a Spectoresque kind of way.

It's a solid addition to Greenwood's burgeoning catalogue, and worthy of a listen in its own right.

There are points on the album when the true Dexys shine through, but a lot of the time the band’s actual sound seems lost behind lush production, and that is a shame for a group of such obvious pop writing talent.

Most of this record isn't the kind of total genius that can be found elsewhere in their canon but it's a fine album that shows what can be done if bands just relaxed a bit.

As Seen Through Windows is both a progression and an evolution from the band's previous work, and it would be criminal to overlook them this time.

The Earth Is Blue is a potent lesson in deceptively simple but exquisitely emotive songwriting, and one that continues to reveal further charms many a listen later.

Casey Dienel and partner Shawn Creeden have created something that has a sense of the familiar yet also a simultaneous feeling of fresh investigation, a record with frequent moments of measured and finely balanced beauty but also a restive application of shifting textures to create a nuanced patchwork of sounds that keep their piquant flavour with repetitive listening.

As an alternative introduction to one of our greatest bands, or a gateway towards getting to know them a little better, it is excellent. If you’re a superfan already, then the novelty of having this particular collection of songs you already own in a nice gatefold package is about as far as it will go.

What makes Native Invader a work of genius--a kind of Great American novel, perhaps--is that it seamlessly blends the personal, political, natural and cosmic into the same story.

The latter, less Smoke Ringy tracks are a worthwhile stepping stone for him, but Kurt just doesn't quite pull them off with that catchy, carefree artistry we all know he's capable of.

Mission of Burma have successfully walked that fine line between being consistent and running out of ideas.

It won’t change the world, but at the very least, Highest Point In Cliff Town offers us a welcome distraction from it for 40 brief minutes.

Through his Tindersticks outlet - now a staggering 18 years young--has created a record that certainly rivals, if not betters any of its three predecessors from the past decade.

Despite the quality of the execution, it's difficult to shake the sense that A+E has been done before.

Harpischord, bombast and multi-tracked vocals create an eerily outdated sound, setting Destroyer of the Void's stall as an overblown oddity.

If iii was a pizza it would be kinda disgusting to look at, it would never really cool down and it would probably give me indigestion, but it would taste absolutely delicious.

As it is, Espers have moved towards new territory, stumbling occasionally, but with a clear eye on where they’ve come from.

This record is one made with the artist’s full investment, every ounce of heart and soul poured into it visible for all to see.

Double albums are necessarily somewhat hit and miss. That's part of their pick'n'mix charm. But M83 mostly miss me here.

Their best yet: it’s multi-faceted like no release before it (from the band’s catalogue), and each and every nuance is super funky.

Die-hard fans of Civilian may be wary but after a few listens, this will sit proudly alongside some of the band's best work.

Ashworth earns sympathy aplenty vocally, but his mechanical compositions occasionally jar awkwardly against his heartfelt outpourings.

It’s a brave step to put down the filters, and embrace organic sounds, and one that is largely successful. However, much like discovering the inspiration of his chosen moniker (apparently he just really likes having a bath), some of the magic is lost in the process.

Art Brut manage to retain a frenetic brilliance.

It remains to be seen if Music Go Music can succeed in a world where platinum selling artists align themselves with paganism and performance art; perhaps they are just too relentlessly chipper. However, it would be a crying shame if people didn’t let Expressions light the dark corners of their heart at least once.

Micachu and the Shapes are fun. Their new album is fun.

The Avalanche is a great record, but one that may have benefited from its creator learning to be a little more detached from his compositions.

As with so many of rock's finer moments, the beauty’s in the overreach, and while newcomers to Krug’s idiosyncratic style may find it easier to warm to the more accessible leanings of the Wolf Parade record, for everyone else, this is essential stuff.

With Images Du Futur, though, the band has stretched into unknown territory while remaining true to its own sound.

Polished production and an ironing out of the music’s creases creates a less-relaxed feel than we’re used to hearing, but there’s also a sense of warmth which was largely missing from the previous Jicks-aided album, "Pig Lib."

You’d need DNA evidence to separate Free Energy from the influences they’re so clearly in thrall of, but it’s all so blusteringly fun and care-free that they make you feel like a curmudgeon for even contemplating giving a shit.

The case for ...Carbon Clouds as a fine collection of inventive indie songs enthusiastically rendered is undeniable, but if somehow you’re hankering after more than that, well...you get the picture.

Javelin don't yet possess the same kind of wit and invention of their most obvious forbearers, but there's enormous potential here, and the biggest compliment that can be paid to No Más is that it will sound best when reduced down to an audio tape and shoved into one of the boomboxes that Langford and van Buskirk so slavishly worship.

The Singles Collection 2001-2011 proves that at times Albarn touched on a warped pop genius, and to his credit comes out of the project with his reputation as creative wanderer intact, but from the off the constructed barrier meant that there was always little to really love, songs hidden too much behind their glitteringly presented shells.

It’s how Interpol would sound like if they dealt with universal themes and reflection rather than singing about fellatio fantasies with Stella, or their length of loves.

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

They may not live on as eternal alternative classics, but they feel emphatically, explosively alive. While preserving his natural nonchalant charm, Thurston sounds more vigorous, bellicose, twitchy and forceful than he has in years.

It’s cheeky, and should be gimmicky, but this is a record so sharply made in Kenney’s own non-conformist image, and she gets away with it. On this form, she’s destined for alt-pop greatness.

It's an album almost too personal, too suffocating, to match the transcendence of Portner's best work with Animal Collective; still, his vision of sad swampland, and its beautifully intricate and melancholy soundtrack, is haunting - the sound of someone confronting their demons and coming away stronger.

This is a missed opportunity to stand up and move forward with popular music, and comes off as a backbench cry for how good things used to be before we all started caring about progression.

Sour Soul is sublime. Rather than standing around starstruck, BBNG have more than proven their worth as Ghostface’s backing band.

Thorburn splits his calculated kookiness into two halves: rote indie synthpop vying for your Noughties nostalgia on Taste, and straightforward, more-of-the-same twee rock that also vies for your Noughties nostalgia on Should I Remain Here At Sea?.

The Devil's Walk can be as persuasive and intoxicating as you want it to be. The acute complexity of temptation inevitably boils down to a simple yes or no. You'll take to this record or you won't.

If you've refrained from taking advantage of more illegal means of hearing this thus far in 2011, you really have no excuse not to listen to this subtly charming record.

Listened to as a journey from beginning to end, this is a genuine attempt to progress to pastures new after With Teeth.

As part of a longer discography, Smart Flesh will probably stand as a good, solid point in The Low Anthem's career, a sign of the band developing their sound and their songwriting before delivering something truly special.

Will Oldham's still got it.

This is music that lingers in the mind and seeps into the bones. And while you can view it as melancholic, Scally and Legrand never dwell on sentimentality or allow anything to sink into despondency.

While none of the tracks here equal the individual brilliance of the album standouts ‘Rode Null’ or ‘Barfuss Durch Grass’, Snowflakes and Car Wrecks hangs together far better than a collection of offcuts might reasonably be expected to.

A turn towards pop has alienated some fans of their earlier work, but almost everything here could be released as a single, and that’s an undeniably winning achievement.

Not so much judgement on Oasis as a whole, but y'know, it's just not a fun best of. The second disc is 73 minutes long, contains only two tracks from the golden era, and after a while becomes not unakin to drowning in the colour beige.

You probably won't head to the record store for this one unless you've been obsessive-compulsively collecting all the previous releases, but if you do, you won't be disappointed by what you hear on the turntable. After all it's Sonic Youth.

Comforting, unsettling, danceable; one way or another Macaroni is a record to make you sweat.

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

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.

The only constant is the deep, mellow drum tone that brings the band’s disparities together and creates a beautifully cohesive narrative flow.

Tthis is a solid, soulful effort from a performer plagued by so many issues; it’s just a shame that taking the emotions out of the mix, what we’re left with is essentially easy-listening.

To have taken the most complex psychological crisis and distilled it into a record which is not only so powerful but also so coherent and assured is awe-inspiring. Malody is a towering testimony to the power of song and marks the (re)birth of an exceptional artist.

Dare’s vocals have lost none of their emotive brutality; the juxtaposition between his delicate voice and the brutal messages he conveys still fascinates, just as his experiments with heavy synth and drone alongside a solitary piano sound impossible, yet somehow work.

Lucifer is definitely not for everyone, but for some it will be their album of the year.

Everything’s so crisply atmospheric, and Stelmanis is such a talismanic presence, that the album’s momentum never flags, even if there’s sometimes a minute or two without a hook.

This album sounds more rounded and more complete than her previous releases; the sound of an artist truly ARRIVING and ready to play.

When the music is less overwhelming, you notice that July knob-twiddler Randall Dunn’s clean production and Nadler’s move away from the depths of morbidity have changed something about her music.

It’s a well-rounded album that defies the notion of a man being allowed to rock himself to sleep on the porch of rock’s sappy dotage.

While District Line is by no means a classic, it’s a decent addition to the catalogue of a man who could’ve lived out the rest of his days without lifting another finger

The Hawk Is Howling may not induce the apprehensive anxiety of "Happy Songs For Happy People" or even match the apocalyptic ambience of "Rock Action," but when taken in isolation, even outside of the Mogwai name, it holds its own as Mogwai's first solely instrumental album

Chesnutt’s vocals never intimidate, and Elf Power’s accompaniments and choral tongues are tasteful, careful not to overpower the vocals while innately aware how important the supporting cast is in shaping the overall mood.

Ending on a crashing waterfall of an outro and coming in at just under 27 minutes, Ha, Ha, He. leaves the listener desperate for more.

Purer than innocence and richer than gold, No One Can Ever Know confirms that The Twilight Sad are simply too good to remain a-little-less-than-well-known outside the restrictive realms of slightly-less-than-world-conqering 'zines.

For all its reference points, it's a remarkable and original record.

The first half connects the mind and the body equally, which is why they are such successful songs. The second half of is just body music and that’s where it falls a little flat. That’s not to say it doesn't work at all.

New Order have made a really good album, one that easily justifies their soldiering on.

You can’t deny that their intentions are good, but Let’s Go Extinct really is just missing that certain spark that’s required to lift it above the middle ground.

While their earlier records managed to keep you drawn in through a direct manner via the rippling intricacies they both possessed, Tunnel Blanket keeps you at a distance, favouring an emphasis on the reverberant aspects that they had touched on previously.

Whilst Koone's recycling of chiming keys and bell like samples throughout each track might seem lazy, it in fact makes Wander/Wonder effective as a cohesive listen, and that's how its euphoric atmosphere should be heard.

Although on the relative straight and narrow, the band have lost none of their attitude.

While there will always be the criticism that a Wooden Shjips record is a merely an acquired taste of familiar morsels, the ripened fruits within never fail to satisfy the palette on every count, and even though some of Vol. 2 may be three years old, its a more than worthy addition to anyone's sonic menu.

Despite an opening volley that suggests Ghandi himself would have felt the urge to tell Passion Pit to stop being so bloody silly come the end, it finds a slightly more meaningful note surprisingly soon.

There are some great moments on this record, but by the end they’re lost under swathes of synths and looking for a sense of purpose.

The record loses its way a touch over its second half, ultimately lacking the songwriting craft to deliver emotional gratification, though it’s naggingly close.

With some clear-minded editing, a workable pair of EPs could have been forged from New Moon. As it is, the cumulative effect of lumping so many competing ideas together is a mess. A frustratingly muddled mess.