With the exception of the dingy, dirty and grandiose boom of ‘Pulled Up The Ribbon’, most of In The Rainbow Rain is made up of occasionally-sombre songs cleverly disguised as up-beat, harmless, light-hearted tunes, which of course they’re not.

Beautiful Thing can be marked down as an interesting experiment but not a great record. It may end up being loved by hardcore fans of his song-writing but there won’t be a lot here for casual fans to come back to.

The second album from Cate Le Bon and Tim Presley carries the same sense of freedom as their first outing, this time a bit softer and more song-shaped than their debut’s meanderings.

Overall No. 4 is serene, still, and deep. It doesn’t allow you to become transfixed by predictable patterns by rather relaxes you into accepting the next step, whether you are being visited by a herd of headless horsemen, flying away on a magic carpet or sinking slowly, irresistibly, into torpor.

Without the installation, Dimensional People feels a bit 2D. There’s a piece of the conceptual puzzle just out of reach, and I’m not really sure what to do with all the other bits.

With Evil Spirits, you have to halt, to concentrate entirely to absorb the main message. Close your eyes; and it’s a politically charged electro-pop-rock love-spell to our tumultuous political times--but without the band’s names on the front, you wouldn’t even begin to place which dimension this demon came from.

Slug at their very best are a live band, so I’ll take this album as a warm-up.

It’s a--for the most part successful--attempt to reach across divides in a world which seems more confusing by the day, a battle against the increasing entropy which seems to be seeping in at the edges of all our existences.

With The Lookout, Veirs has synthesised both these personal and political feelings into something that can sometimes feel timeless, offering a beacon to hold in the darkness.

The imposed restrictions are evident on this album and the effort to overcome them more so. The result is that tracks like 'Execution' and 'Frustrated Operator' sound amateurish, even awkward, in their extreme simplicity with nothing to mask the mundanity of their composition.

The Straight Hits! might not have the visceral punch of The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads or the openness of Last of the County Gentlemen but it has more than its fair share of moments, even if Pearson admits breaking several of the five rules, but obeys an unwritten Sixth Pillar: musical rules are made to be broken.

Stepping away from the noise and taking an evermore artful approach to heartfelt pop is a bold, brilliantly smart move and on Bark Your Head Off, Dog the results are borderline magical.

Hinds are here to have fun, whether you like it or not. They may not push past boundaries they are comfortable with, but they have identified the qualities that make them special--carving out their own niche in the modern music spectrum of loveable lo-fi embedded with off-kilter charm.

It’s not a complete lack of experimental ventures, but a limited volume. Regardless, this latest version of the band has clearly found a style that works, and the album definitely exhibits a bold direction, even if the average STP fan would naturally like to see a higher volume of daring moments.

Ultimately, Sex & Food is a very impressive record from not only Nielsen but also just to possess during these troubling times. There’s a lot to be scared about right now, but there’s also a lot out there to love, and thanks to UMO, we now have a soundtrack for that.

Goat Girl might be 19 tracks long but don't let that put you off. At just 40 minutes in length it doesn't stick around long enough to incur tedium, and what's more, each of its consistent parts makes for an explosive whole that demands repeat listens.

Nonetheless, if you sense that Preoccupations have yet to nail a defining sound, then it’s part of their appeal that they may in fact never be defined by a sound. New Material hits the spot more often than not.

The Louder I Call, The Faster It Runs is a symphony in freedom, and a potent testament to Wye Oak’s ambition moving forwards, the possibilities for this band are limitless.

Opener ‘Breathe’ raises shivers with its breakdown and descending strings, ‘Flowers’ has the queasy intensity of My Bloody Valentine and makes elegant use of space and balance, while ‘JOY’ is a throbbing fuzz monster, all desperation and thunder. Again and again the trio wrap drama in something shimmering and glorious, like aural pigs-in-blankets, weaving intricate and catchy lead lines and rattling snare fills between huge pillars of sonic emotion.

The few extra tracks that follow ["Slow Fade"] don’t really do much apart from bloat the run time, which is my only gripe with the record, really. That aside though (and what it lacks in depth, it more than makes up for in atmosphere) it’s an intriguing look at a talented producer carving his own path, and making dancefloors a little bit weirder.

In producer David Fridman, whose psychedelic instincts have added glow to everything from Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev to Creaming Jesus, MGMT and Sleater Kinney, Lovely Eggs have found a collaborator who understands that warmth, weirdness and wit can be melted into walls of queasy noise to quite gorgeous effect. Between them they’ve made something genuinely glorious. There’s nothing funny about that.

Hormone Lemonade is an endearing listen that focuses primarily on the here and now, and as a result messrs Gane, Dilworth and Zapf have every reason to be overtly satisfied at their latest creation.

There’s no swinging drama in Brion’s work on Lady Bird, but the meaning isn’t hard to find, either; it’s light, but not frothy. Above all, just like the film, it’s warm as toast.

Nash hasn't just tried to continue her legacy as one of the UK's most iconic, honest and innovative pop sensations… she has completely rewritten it.

The strongest chunk of the album comes not in the first third, but in the stream of songs that starts with ‘Out On the Street’, ‘Take It Easy’ and ends with the final track.

Our flower peddlers serve functional rock music, plastic utensils for rudimentary needs, easily disposable and just as easily replaced. And that’s frustrating, for several reasons.

It's a richly evocative record that is impossible to sit still to and confirms Laveaux as a unique talent.

It’s esoteric and unsettling, because he’s done trying to reason with us.

Like its predecessor, Now Only lays profoundly bare Elverum’s grief. But although it is often an excruciating listen, it also finds room to step, however briefly, outside of the agony that marked its predecessor, if just for long enough to suggest that Elverum is, somehow, beginning to find some relief in the unbearable.

POST- is an incredibly fun record, and its sequencing feels like the live experience. The way Rosenstock launches into each song is a delight.

There’s a Riot Going On is their fifteenth album and, like most of their discography, it carries itself with an unassuming (but powerful) air of quiet confidence.

In combination it’s not adding much--except that little something in the twang of Bell’s voice which is completely unique and compelling--a little something almost completely drowned out by obvious platitudes maintained for a bit too long and with a few too many strings in the background.

This is the organic culmination of our protagonist’s most singular travels, and he’s reached a most puzzling bliss.

The first half of the album is characterised by high energy, fast-paced songs, best shown by raucous singalong ‘All This Way’ and ‘Getting Along’. At points these are in danger of blurring into each other but I think this may just be because of the specific order they’re listed in. ... The second half of the record is quieter, with a more musing outlook.

This is yet another example of Hot Snakes at the top of their game, except this time they gave 14 years in exile for other, lesser bands to catch up with them only to reclaim the throne with ease.

This stylized despair erases everything that made Holy Motors special. Without the casual surrealism (like sentient skeletons) or gaffs about touchy stuff like tampons, the reboot plays out with the predictable pallor of most “edgy” primetime cable shows.

Girl or boy, The Decemberists have been there to drape a drunken arm around in the absence of fortune for the best part of 15 years now. The good news is, the tone in that arm is firmly set again. A genuine and welcome joy.

White Is Relic/Irrealis Mood is, in essence, a very solid new of Montreal album.

Only ‘Carrion’ remotely rocks in any way, but only through a lukewarm shower wash.

He hits heights that few artists of this genre can reach and although this isn’t maintained consistently throughout the record, the heavenly levels of joy and bliss he’s able to impart prove the purity of his talent and the worth of his experience.

This is a far more stripped down, stream-lined record that remains just as essential and urgent as all their output so far with little to no compromise.

I'm Bad Now delivers throughout its 11, mostly restrained pieces in a way that highlights Chapman's exquisite prowess for astute observational prose.

It’s clear with Violence that Editors are working to build upon their new sound instead of re-inventing and re-producing, and though their efforts of combining dark indie disco pop with more morose lyrics and guitar undertones, it is a refreshing new direction.

Mutual Horse is a feast for the senses, demonstrating Miranda’s potential. She is truly an underrated artist with exceptional talent and imagination.

This album has a scale to it that occasionally transcends the intimacy one may associate with much of Youngs’ back catalogue.

What’s interesting about A Productive Cough is how accessible it is compared with the band’s past work.

It’s an album certain of what it wants to be, but lacking in the naturalness needed to truly convince, let alone amaze.

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.

Historian feels like a universe that exists before time, somewhere to reach up to when you need to express something greater than yourself. And Dacus shows us the way, with grace and patience and the quiet confidence of writers twice her age.

When experimentation is so often an exhibition of flashy (and flabby) production wizardry, they remain refreshingly committed to keeping you entertained rather than just impressed.

Its one-noted nature will make it difficult for anyone outside of genre fans to want to reach out over and encourage a crossover appeal in the way that, say, Touche Amore have managed. It certainly is an impressive genre album with enough little touches to keep it distinct and interesting.

As its title suggests All Nerve is never a passive listen, it shifts you, touches a nerve, and leaves a timely mark.

Femi Kuti is still an entertaining performer and One People One World is almost tailor-made for live shows with its sharp performances and joyful tone. But listening to it on its own is a much less satisfying experience. These songs are too similar in tone and message, and unfortunately that makes for an undynamic album.

There’s an ever-so-slight lack of the precariously raw noise that made Ugly so thrilling, but the crisp, imaginative songwriting redresses the balance.

This record may well work as ambient escapism, but in its serene tenderness it’s also a reminder of the fragility of all that surrounds us.

A rhythmically dense album that suggests Carey’s ever-evolving sound is in its prime stages.

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.

Whatever looming shadow might darken your homeland, Music for the Long Emergency offers a substantive retreat, with enough room for minds to rest and wander in peace.

The feminine focus of Remy’s music overlaps with the political in exact and contemporary ways.

If there’s a problem with the album it’s possibly in the even-ness of the tone throughout. The vocals are soft, tuneful and pretty, the tunes are melodic and often hooky but it’s not until the second last track--‘Snaps’--arrives with a bit more attitude and grit that you realise that this is what has been missing up until this point. That said, almost every track here would work as a single, or heard by itself on the radio – they’re all decidedly easy on the ear.

Man of the Woods is not an outright disaster but it is a significant disappointment--a record too preoccupied with image, volte face and forced “REAL” to fully engage as a coherent piece of craftsmanship.

SHIRT’s version boasts a stark separation from the dirty south that feels long overdue. As he continues to explore the arts and its many forms, SHIRT needs to better develop his lyrical skill if pure beauty is what he aims to achieve, but this debut marks a promising start.

Will this please die hard fans? It surely will, being filled with the signature Don Broco charm and sound, but shows elements of growth and diversity--as a third album should. The year is off to a good start for them.

Room remains Ought’s most beautiful--yes, beautiful--album to date.

Severe and melodic, Time the Teacher is a shapely journey to the byzantine innards of DeCicca’s mind.

While it sometimes isn’t the smoothest of rides, there’s more than enough here to help maintain a sense of devotion to Wasser’s work.

Overall, the record is recognisably Fallon’s; he takes his best ingredients of trademark likeability and searing emotional insight and transfers it while changing things up musically. It’s inspiring to see a musician like him take strides and experiment, not necessarily taking the safe route.

All in all, Crooked Shadows is where new and old Dashboard meet amicably. It is the most revitalising DC album to date.

Furman has not lost his terrific way with a tune, a rhythm and a lyric, this time often paired up with odd sound effects or quirky instrumentation that just make it all the more compelling and moreish. Although the subject matter can be heavy (and all the better for it), it is presented in fabulous slowly-building pop tune wrapping.

Though refreshingly bold at key moments, Brighter Wounds still doesn’t challenge itself enough to be considered a radical and departure from its predecessors.

An activated rage focuses and elevates the album from standard melodic post-punk to a timely, resonant mission statement.

While there is still room for improvement-–the still clear Nine Inch Nails references somewhat prove that--Criminal will please both fans of the genre and intrigue potential newcomers, of which there will be plenty to this strange, niche genre.

Chura proves that she exists in a different plane where music for its own sake lies at the zenith of what one can experience and achieve in life, and is detached from the excesses of wealth and power it can bring. Here’s hoping there’s much more to come from this magical songstress.

So while Always Ascending is certainly a return to form in places, it certainly isn't perfect, particularly in its middle run. ... Overall, it's a pleasant feeling to have a good Franz Ferdinand record again, like a warm hug reminding one of a simpler time only slightly bastardised by ten years of regressive politics and is seemingly inspiring many of these bands to redress the balance.

There is much to enjoy here and if you have the slightest interest in contemporary classical music or you’re a soundtrack buff, give this a whirl. Jonny Greenwood may be one of those scruffy oiks in a pop group, but he’s proved once again that there is an incredibly musical mind under the haircut.

There’s insecurity, certainly; self-reflection, yes; but more than that there’s resilience, romance, strength, sensuality and an album full of lurching, longing, lustrous pop songs.

These five songs illustrate the beauty behind a constant movement, instead of dreaming up a desired fate or meaning. It treats tranquility and chaos like elements we could harness, not opposites we must cement in our fleeting existence; the doing instead of the being.

It’s continuously changing, perfectly timed, evenly spaced--an impeccable album.

Their adventurous spirit is in such clear abundance on Open Here, that you could almost forget that this is a band with a stronger grasp of the basics than most.

Overall Menuck seems to have made a record no less personal than the first. Pissing Stars is mysterious yet relatable, and as always, a distinctly singular experience.

You would have to search far and wide to find a transformation in an already great band that works as well as this. The key to it all is the vulnerability that MJ is now willing to put on display, giving the newfound musical incisiveness the emotional fuel it needs to really fly. If this isn’t one of the albums of the year then we must be in for something special.

It is, when it comes down to it, a sloppy gimmick. One, admittedly, that has a few choice moments, but which would have been much better served if Mercer had streamlined all his ideas down in the first place instead of treating these songs as malleable, never-finished opuses.

At 75 minutes and 19 tracks, it is comfortably his longest record to date, but also his most listenable.

Semicircle manages to reconnect the group with the childish creativity that powers their best work.

Marmozets are a band that thrive on angst. They deliver it through the raw nature of their sound, through their acute lyrics and pounding metalcore-slash-pop-punk. It can feel at times, though, of too much of an exhilarating ride, an endless roller coaster that doesn’t provide enough respite.

On The Thread That Keeps Us, Calexico have splurged. They’ve flexed their muscles and had a go at everything, with the possible exception of speed metal. Some of it has worked, but not all of it. Hopefully, the next album will hone down their sound and focus it like a laser beam.

The blokes have always goofed too much to fluke sensuality, but there’s some spark of intimacy, which ties off Marble Skies with an unexpected bow.

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.

M A N I A won’t suddenly ignite a revisionist outlook of Fall Out Boy’s career, but it does leave you pining for the earnest giddiness of their pre-hiatus material. This is a feeble gesture of benign, stadium-sized pop that’s been cynically constructed, artificially beefed-up and saturated beyond the point of listenability.

The record’s grip does start to loosen as it progresses, and while they have made less of a leap than their previous effort, Mother nevertheless demonstrates what a vibrant and fruitful partnership the two musicians continue to enjoy.

Whereas at times in the past it seemed like he was searching for his place in the crowded field of modern singer-songwriters and in danger of sounding too much like others, here he clearly finds his own voice. ... This is a really fine album.

Ruins is a thoroughly pretty piece of work, lovingly presented. The question hanging over it, though, is how long First Aid Kit can get away with making revisions to the original model before the law of diminishing returns begins to kick in hard.

The agony is there, but none of the nuance or substance that would make you empathise or relate with it.

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

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.

Wrong Creatures is just disappointing.

It is, ultimately, an unimaginative album from a promising band. Better records may lie ahead for them, but for now they will struggle to reach far beyond their existing fanbase.

The trio’s meandering avant-rap is somehow more encumbered by its lack of ideas than its lack of editorial savvy.