Life Will See You Now doesn’t quite hit the heights of 2007-era Lekman, but in his mid-thirties, Gothenburg’s favourite son remains a vital artist. May it not be another five years before he returns.

The way it continues to go to the extreme within more conventional confines seems to have extracted both more emotional engagement as well as energy from The Mars Volta.

As a body of work, Golden Worry is a fine representation of Thank You mk. II that allays any fears their fanbase may have had about the band seeking more commercial pastures with their new drummer.

Although Heavy Rocks is a palpably different album to its release-day sibling, it also covers a fair amount of ground, and there are moments which would have made perfect sense on Attention Please (and vice versa).

It’s a mixed bag then: sometimes they hit bull’s-eye, other times they miss the board altogether, but the erratic results reveal a band dragging themselves out of their comfort zone.

Their least bowel-emptying tremor to date, it does make one anticipate Sunn O)))’s next move with both excitement and anxiety.

The Kills are back - still covered in dirt, sleaze and reverb, but with a cleaner, softer centre.

It's just as loveably imperfect as its predecessor. The only shame is that it isn't more so.

With Hot Dreams Timber Timbre have continued to perfect their sound and aesthetic: no matter what influences or styles they are drawing upon, they are still at their most powerful when they're sending mixed messages.

This is not a record for the fair-weather Frank fan, rather one in which he sticks to his story with the stubbornness of a mule.

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.

There is the air of HEALTH now being at a cross roads. Their rampaging style of yore feels a little constrained and tamed by the booming production and ‘nice’ singing, but at the same time they are beginning to write some pretty stupendous ‘proper’ songs.

With Beautiful Trauma then, Moore proves that she’s both still relevant, and a vital, confident female voice on the pop circuit who has impressively never really succumbed to the pressures of the overly-sexualised pop machine.

Celebration Castle does rather suffer from a midsection slump.

In the end, Electronic Earth comes off more as a greatest hits collection than an album proper but that's no bad thing.

Unlike its predecessor, this isn’t quite a thrilling record; its energy and invention, though, points to big things for Parquet Courts, especially if they can continue to adhere to such a ferocious work ethic.

Concrete Desert may--for some listeners--be missing an excavation of the dark musical hearts of each of these two fine musicians, but what it offers instead is something tangibly unique in the catalogues of two legendary figures.

This brooding, almost gothic feel is the key to this album’s success, and proves that Purity Ring are far more complex than their surface lacquer of innocence may have led us believe.

Era represents a pleasant contradiction in that it is an unhurried, languid collection of music, but not one which is at all difficult or daunting to get into. Nor does it ever feel laboured or drag at any point.

Certainly on this album class is more straightforward.

The result is a warm, fuzzy embrace of an album; a release that will delight fans of James’s work as a solo artist and bandleader of My Morning Jacket, and likely anyone else who happens upon it.

In your [Tricky's] other albums, the landscape would scuttle and drift, and you’d blink in and out as you willed; here the room remains a room, and yet you remain... well, I still don’t know what you are now. But that’s for the good. I like you better when I can’t define you.

Whether the songs zip like ‘Ringfinger’ or sprawl like ‘Rainy Summer’, they all feel very much of one piece, giving them a cumulative strength beyond their individual merits.

Glasvegas maybe won't change lives but with its rich indie wall-of-sound nostalgia trip, it should get a few kids delving through their influences and forming space-rock bands.

It is not his finest album, or the one that will win him the most new fans--unlike Colours of the Night--but for anyone with a love of modern classical and a taste for the expressive flavours of the piano it is a very worthwhile listen.

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.

Despite its occasional charms, Easy Tiger feels like an uneven piece of work.

World Eater contains some of Power’s most serene work to date.

Whole thing sounds like a poppy Bond soundtrack remixed for the clubs, although even her faster songs sound slow.

Put simply, The Pains...are a pop band with songs about young love and teenage misadventure.

Everybody Down is powerful and gritty and it tackles subjects such as sex work and drug deals with wit and subtlety beyond measure. It’s just not as good as it perhaps should have been from such a prolific talent.

Death Is This Communion slays in all the right places, but had it ventured into some of the wrong places we might’ve had an album really worth dribbling about.

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.

You can’t help recognising a kind of supreme inspiration behind the thing, fuelled alternately by manic rage and exultant gratification.

Focusing on expanding the limitations of a genre that’s still very much in its infancy, Wonder Where We Land proves that the SBTRKT name is still very much worth following second time round.

Oh Fortune is full of unashamed, orchestrally embellished pop-rock-folk hybrids, instantly accessible and almost as speedily rewarding.

While Rebel Heart is greatly superior to her last set, MDNA, it suffers from the same malaise of of overabundance.

A modest release, Tribute To will obviously be of most interest to My Morning Jacket and George Harrison admirers, but the quality of the covers deserves a wider audience.

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.

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.

Underworld have forsworn the well-trodden path of replication and opted instead for another path. Gone are the tub-thumpers of yore in favour of understated, yet nevertheless, euphoric electronica bursting with hope.

From start to finish, the melodies are sweeter than sugar, the music bright and sparkling, with Rhys' charming falsetto resting on top.

Folk Songs probably won’t soundtrack a woman exhorting you through your flatscreen to buy yoghurt in the foreseeable, but it will be received with a deserved warmth by an established cluster of fans.

Fucking insane, whatever way you listen to it.

Twilight Of The Innocents is surprisingly, frustratingly, bafflingly good.

Four albums in thirteen months may have led to a case of familiarity breeding contempt, but it still feels like the first half of this album is treading water from a songwriting point of view. The second half is a fine musical journey, and if this were a vinyl record (it soon will be) then maybe you'd just put side two on repeatedly.

Here Belong have depersonalised an already stark landscape, making a record that's easy to admire but hard to love.

It’s an emotional record.

This represents their first attempt at creating a bonafide album and when all's said and done, they should be proud of their achievements.

Before Spotify, this album could have qualified as a pretty decent starting point for anyone looking to bridge the gap between 'Friday I'm In Love' and 'Primary'. Now you can just arrange the studio polished tracks into a playlist, this kind of release is demoted to the status of fan favourite.

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

This is yet another dance album that avoids the pitfalls of stringing together separately conceived singles.

Although White People doesn’t break any of the barriers ‘So…How’s Your Girl?’ did, it is none the less a graduation.

Ultimately, it's an enjoyable record, but one that's more likely to point you in the direction of their original influences than achieve notability in its own right.

[The title track] may not be very Bonobo, but it is very beautiful, and--like much else on his latest long play--begs to be listened to.

Okay, at times the journey might seem a little too long--Miss Tambourine Wrist' does grate with repetitive ideas--but for the most part, the pacing between the slow death like marches and the adrenaline injected thrash falls are executed brilliantly.

If you expect anything that deviates from their cemented formula or a radical reinvention, then Junto is not for you. If you are happy to enjoy the ride while it lasts, it is the perfect soundtrack to an Indian summer.

The balancing of ironic humour that raised a smile on earlier albums is absent here, which leaves us with almost nowhere to hide.

On Black they sound fully invested into exploring, and more than capable of handling, a new pop sound. This is a unique addition to Weezer’s discography that sees them preparing for the future, however bleak and overwhelming it might seem.

On the whole, To Lose My Life is a solid debut that will certainly divide opinion, but approach with an open mind and dividends will be reaped en masse.

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.

Whether thrashing out punk anthems Bikini Kill or turning out dancefloor-ready disco pop as on ‘This Island’, Hanna has always had something to say, and never has her message sounded so clear.

International is brilliantly pop in substance and spirit.

Warble Womb is unquestionably lighter than Dead Meadow’s previous psych-stoner releases and the restoration of original drummer Mark Laughlin does not signal a return to their meatier roots.

While Irreal might prove a difficult conundrum for those that favour their music structured in an orderly, compartmentalized fashion, perseverance has its rewards. Intriguing.

Despite the sometime over-the-top dynamics of its voice--the USP that’ll actually be the main appeal to certain admirers, anyway--this album is an engaging listen, one that builds on the promise of its maker’s debut and suggests that, with a little taming, My Brightest Diamond could enjoy the sort of recognition the likes of Bat For Lashes can attract--neither will ever be Björk-sized of profile, but each is creating engrossing, romantic music that transcends genres.

Ten is just Ten, and I guess for all their reservations, the band have come to accept that: there’s no mystery to the new cover, just Pearl Jam in plain view, big shorts and all.

Her second full length is a compelling pleasure that rewards additional listens.

While the likelihood of Surfing The Void achieving the same levels of critical or commercial success that Myths Of The Near Future enjoyed is debatable, Klaxons' status as one of the most confounding entities in the UK's languid music scene is cemented.

The raw elements are present, but Rossi is only 22, and has much time. Nevertheless this EP is a consistent 20 minutes of raw beauty, and holds as much worth in itself as it does in the anticipation of what could follow.

The unwillingness to risk emotional connection seen on Mars meant it often slipped into the background, but the shift to more straightforward songcraft and the continuing successful genre fusion means Mean Love both demands and rewards attention.

Baby 81 is simply BRMC doing what they do best, and for the first time since their debut record six years ago they actually sound like a band that enjoyed themselves while making this album.

Make no mistake, these are all energising pop tunes, but by the time you reach the seventh track, you’re left wondering how many of them you can take in one go.

This is an often bold and sometimes brilliant offering, even if its heart is more mechanical than you may hope for.

Even with these flirtations with violins and brass, Let’s Wrestle are still the band they’ve always been: self-deprecating, scruffy and charming.

The announcement of XOXO, Panda And The New Kid Revival heralded if not a double-footed leap of joy, certainly a raised eyebrow and fuzzy, dual sense of a) knowing exactly what to expect and b) being pretty happy about it.

Under closer scrutiny, a three song lull holds it back from being as powerful as it might have been, but I’m happier listening to this flawed, fumbled and underdeveloped Kanye record than I am a thousand other records that came out this year and didn’t even try to change the world.

For all its celebrity tricks and years of pipeline evolution, ‘Auf Der Maur’ still has all the hallmarks of the debut record.

Maniac Meat is only really disappointing when compared to what came before, because try as it might, it can neither supercede nor outdo its predeces at it's own game.

On the whole sometimes the production frills work and other times they sound a bit too much. But either way his solid songwriting skills and lyrical wizardy remains and makes sure that when you listen to this, that you're not gonna anywhere else except in Deez land.

Push the Sky Away, then, is not the Bad Seeds at their zenith, but pretty bloody spectacular for a fifteenth (or seventeenth, or twentieth) album.

Live uses Simian Mobile Disco’s past to signpost their future--resulting in a record which is occasionally frustrating and even underwhelming, but one which is also a demonstration of confident execution, and a promising forecast of mature dance music to come.

While it may be the most proficient musical record that Morrissey has put out in aeons... it doesn’t quite measure up to the high standards set by You Are The Quarry or the superlative debut that was Viva Hate.

Mostly, A Pink Sunset… is truly beautiful background music, gently chiming and pulsing and ricocheting off of itself and into your subconscious.

It sits alone in his cannon as being slightly uncomfortable but in turn is a brilliantly concise work (it runs to a little over 30 minutes).

When they push the boat out and go prog on the lengthy title track (which clocks in at a wildly indulgent near-four-minutes) the effect is one of ethereal loveliness, a lysergic suspension of normalcy as the band’s warming lo-fi offers a moment of transportation.

Much like kindred spirits The Beta Band once did, this is a band plugging the gap between pop finesse and esoteric art school gristle without reverting to gimmicks or cliche. And, for Found, that's very little to be surprised about.

Initially overwhelming, Gamel is a gloriously bonkers concoction of flavours that turns out to be extremely delicious indeed.

Despite being released in weather incongruous to its content, there's so much heart to this record that it simply demands to be absorbed.

The instrumental and compositional mastery on show is staggering. Whether it will make a dent in the consciousness of those who don't spend their time watching at the edges of the prog-rock firmament is another question entirely.

It seems that despite decades of oversharing, self-analysis, bombast, outrage and drama, Eminem does, still, have something to say, as well as the means to say it.

[Darcy's] never sounded more relaxed, more relieved to be relaxed--and the soft edges, the familiar refrains, the gentle tones, they’re all windows to that light in [him].

It’s one almighty journey through realms uncharted by The Futureheads thus far, and it’s done in fine form.

Waiting For You is hardly the kind of record that grabs and demands your undivided attention. Instead it offers gems buried deep amongst its cityscape’s gently fluorescing streetlamps and slow-moving traffic, crafting a distinctive, defiantly twenty-first century urban soul music that, given due care and attention, leaves an afterglow simmering long after the CD spins to a halt.

Another summer album of frisky, playful, intelligent, tune-filled wonder from a great songwriter born to put a massive slobbering smile on yer face.

Its minimal drum patterns and and playful touches speak of a deceptive lightness of touch, but four albums in and The Raveonettes are making plain they know what it is to have lusted and lost, and therein lies the key to unlocking Lust Lust Lust’s poignant pleasures.

This an attention-grabbing debut album from a unique and fascinating talent, who has more than demonstrated her validity and potential as a solo artist.

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