The real power of this album is not only the showcasing 1-800’s collective musical prowess and their ability to mix and merge genres and style effortlessly to create music that sounds like nothing that has been released commercially in recent month, but of Trim’s vocals. Throughout the album he is the glue that holds everything together.

Some real quality lies within, but it’s difficult to lose yourself entirely when you know you can’t trust it not to wander off down the wrong path.

Refined yet audacious both in execution and delivery, Pinkshinyultrablast exemplify sonic pulchritude. Despite its lengthy gestation, Everything Else Matters offers living proof all good things come to those that wait.

If... you’re already a fan, this is definitely worth a listen, not only for the interest value, but for the multiple songs which are simply brilliant Bad Seeds moments.

A noble, high-headed intelligent record.

Across Crab Day, though, there is a lightness to Le Bon’s arrangements. She doesn’t go for dramatic shifts in tempo or tones, which makes subtle additions more obvious.

Come album three, they’re not tied down to something tired or fumbling around experimenting with ill-suited sounds, but instead are simultaneously concentrated and expansive, defined by an addictive and inclusive sense of purpose.

Regardless of their supporting tropes, the songs prove themselves consistently memorable and enjoyable. It’s another home run for Bejar--an all-too-short taster that will leave you dreaming of Spain’s mountains and deserts, and longing for more.

These tunes are fun and youthful, but also grown up and varied--there’s something for everyone here, whether you’re blasting this record at the park with mates or in the car on a road-trip or sitting on the beach--all you need is a little sunshine and wine (not in the car, though, please) and let Thomas, Garbus and Weisman take you to that place we all remember well (fondly or not).

Pe’ahi is an uneven reinvention, but it’s a brave one, too--the manner of its release isn't the only surprise that comes with it.

It’s a strange collage of effects and affects that sometimes don’t coalesce and sometimes do.

Tongue ‘N’ Cheek is a vacuous but fun party record, one that suspension of disbelief aids immeasurably.

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.

In the midst of all this evolution, Pulled Apart By Horses are still fun, and the enthusiasm with which they pummelled through their earlier efforts is still present here.

Familiar ground is where they’re most comfortable, and they still haven’t worked out how to successfully expand their horizons beyond that.

On Art in the Age of Automation they are back to their best and clearly enjoying this newfound vigour for their craft.

He lives and breathes it [music] like very little people today do, but for all the guitar work, humour, snarling vocals and at times great writing, there is consistently a level of cringyness that goes with it.

It is a blazingly enjoyable record, the most purely fun album the band has made since Fever to Tell.

Too much of Not Real is nondescript and dull.

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.

It is very easy to get lost in this record, but there is a miraculous balance that holds everything together.

Ultimately it’s a response to sugary summer pop songs that won’t keep you warm then the sun goes down.

While that’s frustrating the good stuff here is very, very good, and the less impressive fare on offer shouldn’t dissuade curious ears.

'Capture/Release' may not be the jolliest record in the world, but perversely, it’s damn good fun and a heck of a lot more.

Far from the bold reinvention initially promised, its restless energy masks over most missteps.

Close to the Glass isn't quite the luxurious auditory and emotional jacuzzi the Notwist's albums have been in the past. It's more a wading pool made of obligation and diffidence.

When it breaks down to an exquisitely put-together choral section it feels like the band are soundtracking a Tim Burton film, they manage to out-Sufjan Sufjan Stevens on a Christmas record... no mean feat. The admission price is worth paying for this alone.

At its core, Bad News Boys is a joyous celebration of all things rock'n'roll by two guys who seem to have it running in their blood.

This is the best album Garvey has worked on since The Seldom Seen Kid.

Even in the context of what is turning out to be a stonking year for electro-pop, YACHT have concocted a record to match their peers in Metronomy, Cut Copy and Friendly Fires.

Half one is lovely folk, half two is slightly less even, slightly more idiosyncratic folk.

This is the album Morrissey could have made if he'd been treated to MDMA and burgers.

At its best Home Economics tries to find some kind of ascension from this harshness of life. At other moments what is being said, what is got at is lost, and easily passed by unnoticed.

Minor criticisms aside, this is still a highly enjoyable record that knocks spots off most of the competition still tripping over each other's shoelaces to be the most shambolic lo-fi band in town.

While much of the album has you spitting out quicksand, the clear escapism theme of ‘Noah’s Ark’ is a hand dragging you out of the quagmire. And with the amount of misery The Body are offloading here, you’re gonna need a bigger boat.

Last Days Of Summer marks the point where White Denim left behind their schizophrenia and started speaking in one voice.

Sure, there’s less humour here than Conor Oberst or Okkervil River, but there’s also less caricature, and if Damien Jurado continues to play second fiddle in terms of success, he no longer does so in terms of atmospheric arrangements, captivating tunes, and dark poetry.

What Another One does provide--in abundance--is proof that DeMarco has the songwriting chops to back up his reputation as one of indie rock’s last true characters.

Flies The Fields is a masterpiece of foreboding that’ll both fascinate and terrify in equal measure.

The work of three individuals arriving at the peak of their powers, it’s likely to be the band’s OK Computer, their Music For The Jilted Generation, their Dark Side Of The Moon – the record that everything they produce subsequently is immediately unfairly rated against, ‘til time’s own sands sit still.

Twenty One revels in fun found in the cobwebbed corners of Alkan’s mix and the nightlifing minds of its lyricists.

The Bells is an excellent foothold into the baffling world of neo-classical composers. This is well worth a shot.

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.

They may have churned their sound into something new, but their heart and their character is still very much in the right place, and that’s what makes Heartthrob more than just a brilliant pop album, it’s unarguably a brilliant Tegan & Sara album and it’s very, very close to being perfect.

If Other Life isn’t so squarely on the money as Flamingo, it’s not immediately obvious why. Here the melodic riches found on that record are neatly converted to a cute, low-budget soul currency.

Somewhere in these two discs there is a very good hour long album laying in wait. In it's current form though, it's merely a decent one in need of editing.

What K-X-P are dealing in is label-less music; complex, iron-gripping sounds delivered with towering bombast. It should be a mess. It should be unlistenable. But it’s not--it’s extraordinary.

That this split LP showcases is two bands from different cities, on different labels and of a largely different generation of musicians--yet it's unified and generally very good throughout.

Nonkeen’s collective narrative may be charming, but more often than not the record fails to deliver on its many promise.

Creevy’s vocals are a controlled force, and it’s hard to image a woman who writes so incisively about her feelings ever recorded a song about grilled cheese. The potential was there from the beginning. It’s nice to see that they’ve realised it.

Like many such films (they exist, right?), Passage is endearing, with unforgettable peaks; it looks beautiful at first glance, and has no shortage of beautiful moments, but don't delve too deeply lest the mirage of a grandiose masterpiece dissolve.

As it is, it’s just satisfying. It’s ironic, then, that the record comes with such a momentous title, because really, it’s a gentle personal triumph.

It's rammed full of solid psychedelia that no one could really get annoyed at, but conversely, no one could ever fall in love with.

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

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.

The Queens’ music has always been a kind of battleground for the proverbial devil and angel on Homme’s shoulders – with the devil winning, of course – and that continues to be the case here, with Homme’s bewitching falsetto croon acting as the spirit to the band’s tattooed, hairy flesh, and bruising, cactus-dry workouts giving way to lush, psychedelic oases of darkly reflective sound.

Skit I Alt is definitely something of a return to form, in its own relaxed way, and once the listener has spent a little time with it, every performance and section becomes that little bit more tantalising.

The era of setting aside an hour or so to sit and listen to an album is anathema to some in the age of mp3s and YouTube distribution models, but that's exactly what you need to do for Beyond The 4th Door. It's for that reason that this one goes down as a (very slightly) qualified success.

This is a challenging listen, the rewards often buried, but they are there.

Rattle that Lock offers something of great merit to those lucky enough to see some of the live shows, however you can’t help but feel that despite crafting an album of such merit, David Gilmour may simply not want to carry on making music that owes so much to his late companion and friend.

What ultimately makes Feel it Break such a pleasure to explore is their inclination to consciously move away from making this a record that only works as a showcase for a distinctive singer.

Its creators will surely insist that they’re proud of their work and that’s all the approval they need. All the same, it’d probably be nice for them if you could imagine anyone who didn’t already like The White Stripes and/or The Kills buying this.

Hawk is the most energetic record yet from the pair, with several pointers towards the sound of the enduring record they may well have in them....That said, some old weaknesses remain.

Ultimately, Men’s Needs… is brighter, sharper and just plain better than anything The Cribs have produced to date.

As adventurous as it is tuneful, and sealed in cover art even Def Leppard wouldn't sign off, it's an aggressive little record that takes you into the cosmos without making you leave your bedroom or put down the joypad.

Goat haven’t set the world on fire this time around, but they continue to make alluring, fascinating and significant music. On their third they have assembled a warm and more open record that doesn’t sacrifice their inherent mystery.

Each song is chocked full of inventive counterpoints and melodies making it the most cohesive album Tiersen has released for a decade. With each listen you uncover another facet not just of of this complex and charming album, but of yourself too.

On Dodge and Burn, Mosshart really makes the album her own and consigns White to the shadows.

It is unmistakeably A Place To Bury Strangers and they're giving us what we want. The only additional complaint is that there's not enough of it.

MMorningside, the debut album from Auckland’s Fazerdaze, is a dream-pop record with both of its feet on the ground.

If you come to Safe Trip Home without expecting the big hits or a surprise collaboration with a rapper, you’ll be disappointed. If you’re a Dido faithful who’s just endured five years of hell, you’ll find she’s is still the perfect soundtrack to your life.

Warpaint are nothing if not ambitious, which is doubly proved on Heads Up.

It’s a messy record, in the best possible way: organic and live sounding, with few overdubs and little complication, tipping its hat constantly to its retro inspirationg.

Just when you thought Reznor and his obscenely large biceps had been plugging away far too long on what was essentially a Nine Inch Nails tribute act, he sets things straight again with an original, well-produced, no-bullshit record. More of this please, and less of that other stuff.

Like any covers album that translates between genres, there’s an occasional sense of frustration or compromise...but that's "occasional" within tracks--there are no duds here.

The song quality is set on an upward trajectory from start to end, with the last two tracks also distinguished by their fleshed out arrangements.

With rave reviews in Venice, The Master will undoubtedly earn its share of awards, and, if this soundtrack is anything to go by, it deserves to.

Tender but bold and with an array of melodies that strike straight at the heart, it has all the ingredients of a classic Swedish pop album.

Smaldone’s rattling, tumbling, ragtime ballads are engaging rather than just pretty; plus, the narratives are consistently well-realized, albeit that the interpretations are largely closed.

This is how the covers album should be done, with tight technique and loving affection blending together to give the new versions life and bite.

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.

The potential and promise that was spoken of so fervently when Minus The Bear arrived is slowly being fulfilled.

Iris is that very rare thing: a soundtrack that can make a superb stand-alone listen.

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

Patience is an album made by a band reaching the pinnacle of its powers. Their ability to merge indie, soul, electronica, gospel and give it a sheer pop sets them apart from their peers.

Despite its lengthiness, predecessor The Fool always felt structurally mighty. Warpaint, while a gentler, more complex thing, leans hard on atmosphere and collapses, elegantly.

It is a ‘safe’ record, one that plays to its makers’ long-established strengths without really stretching them--but fans of all the aforementioned predecessors are certain to find much to love across these 13 tracks.

It's predominantly a reflection, a look at things moving slowly and a stirring listen.

A wise, personal and vigorously ambitious album of the year.

When the mood is right, Trust sounds like one of the purest doses of emotion you can experience.

Granted, there are a couple of by-numbers moments that elongate Pure Mood by a couple of songs too many but such instances of self-indulgence are kept to a minimum, and ultimately the album becomes much more rewarding as a result.

Perhaps pushing their relentless extremity of the music is not the best way forward: there’s a more nuanced, skilled band lurking in here and it will be interesting to see to what extent they are allowed to emerge.

This is ultimately an unremarkable--and frankly forgettable--third album from a notably gifted songwriter.

If you only buy one album this year, make it Finelines.

It’s an album that’s playing it far too safe: melodies rise and fall, soaring and curving with painful predictability.

Black Moth Super Rainbow is unable to even meld the far out periphery around a dreamy passive sound.

The best record Orbital have made in the past 15 years and up there with their very best.