Post Plague provides the perfect soundtrack to an incendiary apocalypse only its creators could foresee. On this evidence, the invitation to join them is seductively tempting.

The Divine Comedy are, 26 years on from their debut and six on from Bang Goes the Knighthood, making a kind of pop music a million miles away from anyone more likely to touch the singles charts (assuming those are still a thing). It’s good to have them back.

Just as Only In Dreams confirms this bunch of self-anointed femme fatales as an impressive songwriting outfit, it's stands as a warning that their outwardly-facing facade is wearing thin.

It doesn't seem content with just being an enjoyable album, which makes it impossible for this listener to be content with its failure to live up to its own hype.

It can be a slightly heavy listen but when you’re as good at it as he is, it is fine to embrace it.

Of course it’s not perfect, but it revels in that deficiency and harnesses aggression via discomfort to maybe eventually find peace. That amounts to a collection truly worth clutching tight.

[A] charming if slight collection, still worthy of your time, and not just to hear the aching, unfulfilled potential.

It’s overblown, it’s almost too much to take in, it's got a sizeable chunk of dodgy singing, and it’s way too long--and as such it’s a wonderful tribute to The Grateful Dead, unlikely to ever get topped.

Overall, you can still expect the same and more from Guster on this very summery record: tempo changes that will catch you off your guard, melodies that will stay in your head forever, and lyrics that may seem simple, but actually go deeper into life than you originally thought they did.

This is one of the most rich and accomplished albums of recent times. Essential.

Comparisons or not, Rose exceeded the expectations that her EP drummed up and delivered a beautiful and tender, youthfully energetic album that crosses the line Rose herself has been toeing so carefully between indie and country.

And that's what makes Exotic Creatures Of The Deep such an interesting and deceptively ambitious record. Not only is Russell Mael still capable of using camp innuendo to mock himself, as on album closer 'Likeable', but he's also not afraid to put those who owe him and his brother a debt of gratitude - however small - in the public spotlight.

Where some records are maybe just too personal for public consumption, it's the uneasy fragility contained within Get Well Soon that renders it such a fascinating experience, highlighting Sarabeth Tucek as one of the most candid songwriters of her generation.

An obvious problem of the arrangements is that "big" often means cluttered, and most of the songs feel like they should have finished a verse and a chorus sooner.

...And Then We Saw Land is a satisfying addition to the Tunng canon and is one which proves them distinctive enough in their own right that the only label they need be tagged with is simply that of 'Tunng'.

Tackling weighty themes and wrestling difficult truths with aplomb, it ultimately emerges triumphant.

A guilty pleasure it may be, but when the pleasure is as intense as this, quite frankly who gives a fuck?

Either way, while Abe Vigoda 2.0 are a group to be respected, I have a feeling, going forward, I'm going to spend a lot more time listening to Skeleton than I am to Crush.

Kings and Queens is a resounding success. Okay, maybe it's a tried and true formula that Jamie T and Ben Bones have created, but their textured, layered songs each have something new to offer upon every listen, and they've mastered the art to near perfection.

That word, confidence, is one that can be applied to much of the record. For many other bands, it can be hard to pull off accessibility with credibility. Of course, that credibility could falsely come from their community more than anything, but this case is not that simple. There are real take you aback moments on this album that are based on plain pop sensibility above anything else.

By spending most of its brief running time in an uptempo, breezy mode, Sees the Light more than compensates for its relatively modest arsenal of hooks and similar sounding choruses.

Please is, as ever, a Sondre Lerche record full of competent, inventive pop songs.

To call 'Pretty In Black' disappointing would be an understatement in the least, particularly for a band whose delivery has matched their promise over their previous releases.

It’s the crafting of timeless, crest-fallen melodies infused with gripping characterisations that elevates Darnielle into the upper-crust of musical virtuosity. And that’s exactly where Heretic Pride leaves him: perched atop the pile of today’s try-hardy singer/songwriters.

It doesn't really matter how this record sits in comparison to the last few; it's gorgeous.

Citizen Zombie is a lot of fun, which is both a blessing and a curse.

Despite their lyrical nods toward the future, this self-produced diamond ought really to be nestling in your collection now.

Thanks to the calibre of the line-up’s musicianship, and Keenan’s ability to write lyrics that don’t insult the intelligence of his audience, the gems on Thirteenth Step outnumber the filler.

What we have here are twelve tracks of attitude, spice, intensity and verve, largely played at an uncompromising, breakneck tempo, but never compromising in terms of melodic accessibility or technical prowess.

While no one can argue that it’s not an accomplished and distinguished collection of songs, the doubts still remain--albeit fainter than before--as to why one would choose this collective over at least half-a-dozen similar-sounding yet ultimately superior bands.

There’s no doubting it’s a very good album. The band’s best? Probably not. A successful return from a hiatus overlong? Certainly.

Linguistic detective work aside, engage with natural scenery through scattered sound, this album does.

Master of My Make Believe has the feel of being made deliberately difficult to listen to; obstructionist for the sake of being obstructionist, confrontational without really having anything to argue against - except what might, ultimately, be self-imposed expectations.

Actually listen to Tough Love and you’ll realise that Ware has made a record that is totally ready for chart success, should her label promote it accordingly, but also deeper and more thoughtfully-considered than any British pop album that lingers in recent memory; the fact that it seems so reserved is nothing more than an indicator of Ware’s confidence in the potency of its sensuality.

Thing Of The Past is a comprehensive collection that dispels any previous notions that its creators are mere one-trick ponies, and as for that other bloke, Devendra what's his name?, Vetiver's identity crisis is surely a Thing Of The Past.

It is wistful in tone, but it's no nostalgia trip and summer or not it's a consistently blissful and thrilling EP that bodes well for any forthcoming album.

Ataraxia/Taraxis reinstates Pelican at the top of the instrumental food chain and, if they continue like this, they show no sign of coming down.

Overall, it’s fair to say that Long Distance Song Effects is pretty much what you’d expect if you were one of the few who heard Goldheart Assembly’s debut album, without some of the instant hit that record delivered, but with plenty of depth to be found once you’ve peered beneath the skin.

Musique de Film Imaginé isn’t quite the most moving album you’ll ever here, but, more than most, it works.

This is music to (quite pleasantly) while away dozy afternoons, but it’s far from being as transcendently atmospheric as the many great records Roedelius has been a part of in the past.

It is hard to criticise such a well-crafted, enjoyable album that appears to have been made specifically with someone like me in mind. The thing is that in six weeks’ time it will be even harder to remember it.

There are moments of decently sassy pop-rock here, songs that you can just about see someone singing along to, hairbrush for microphone, in front of the mirror before a night out. But these moments are few and far between, and are exclusively the tracks featuring a vaguely vibrant BPM count.

They retain their idiosyncrasies and their sense of history, and it’s these things that give this record an identity of its own, and make the Noisettes so very easy to love.

It's little surprise that Mondo Cane is an album that--65 piece orchestra or not--is built around Patton's personality and voice, rather than his lyricism in the traditional sense. It's this continuity which lends it an appeal beyond mere authenticity and curiosity, to the listener prepared to devote a little time and dare I say it, research, into the album's background and source material.

Some listeners will have been craving something more alienating to sink their teeth into, but what we actually have is an appetising, confident statement of intent from a band that want us to know that they are still a force in contemporary music.

Unlike the best of those artists, however, the variety of ideas on Further Complication do not have a uniform success rate to bond them, and this is what stops the album short of reaching classic status.

There’s enough growth here to accept the occasional stumble. Revival, like ‘Good For You’, is a damn fine, hook-laden surprise. Selena Gomez has found a voice worth paying serious attention to.

An unexpectedly outstanding and uplifting experience.

'Love Is Hell' is proof that Ryan Adams is still on form and as splendid as ever.

This is hip-hop for post-rock fans and vice versa.

Stiff is a hard record to dislike--sometimes all you need for a good time is some well produced, straightforward rawk n’ roll, a good throwback album to channel your inner guitar purist to. If that’s what you’re looking for, Stiff more than fits the bill.

Valtari might not be a huge digression for the band but that doesn't matter: this is quietly, entrancingly and thoroughly sublime.

The Cribs have managed to interpret the notion of 'pop music' into an often-spectacular record.

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

Having always been celebrated for his subtle wit and labyrinthine approach to pop writing, he continues to weave genius from his own mental dictionary.

There's a strong undercurrent of entrancing, psychedlic-pop to enjoy if you're prepared to listen hard enough. But if you're not into that sort of thing, if you're all about the tunes and the beats, it's still worth a go--I doubt it'll set your world on fire, though.

GLAQJO XAACSSO is a work befitting of inevitable acclaim, as it is a debut as riveting and obvious as it is shrouded in unanswerable questions.

While this isn't a mainstream record, it's perhaps Blackshaw at his most accessible.

This is their thing, their schtick. And for the most part, bending phil Spector out of shape and dragging him by his hair through a raft of distortional devices and all the while kicking the hell out of the ‘Leader of the Pack’ is a very good thing.

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

Although the themes in the album vary hugely--uncertainty, fear, hope, regret--the quality and confidence of the music is consistent.

Whilst there are many other bands doing futuristic disco, many of which band members have worked with, NZCA Lines’ unrelenting quest for a great hook and massive chorus pushes them ahead of the pack.

Its persistent gloominess makes it a challenge to get through, but it was never intended to be just a simple alt-country album.

Moments of quality do intersperse these drags.

Luminous marks another fitting addition to The Horrors' increasingly untouchable catalogue.

Just another chilled, spaghetti western-atmospheric SoCal indie rock venture then? Glad to hear it, keep 'em coming.

You eventually wish they'd give the stadium anthems a rest and be more of that small band from High Wycombe.

Emmy the Great's debut is a triumph, with a maturity beyond her years, and with a humour no less enjoyable for being subtler.

A Broke Moon Rises takes a totally different tone and is all the better for it. The overall impression of sitting with A Broke Moon Rises is one of music being created as a comfort blanket: Pajo weaving a warm, familiar and enveloping sound world in order to soothe himself. Fortunately, it’s a generously proportioned blanket that can cover the listener too.

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.

Pete Doherty has made a solo album with Stephen Street producing, and the result is some pretty good music.

As a debut, as a mark in the sand, Gracious Tide, Take Me Home is an endearing and beautifully drawn modern folk record

Despite a magnetically bitter prescription, this album's strong dosage of darkness is tough to swallow in one sitting and even more difficult to actively enjoy.

With Marks to Prove It, The Maccabees have created a record of gritty intimacy. While there are moments of astonishing beauty (the sizzling brass and ethereal vocals of ‘Dawn Chorus’ is one of many examples), true intimacy means getting close to something, often in spite of its flaws.

Most of the remaining 11 songs on Dear God, I Hate Myself are built around sequencers and beats rather than guitars, and while they’ve by no means called off their flirtations with dramatic bursts of noise, they are only intermittent over the 38 minutes

Whilst this ceaseless good feeling will be too much for some, even those who don’t list this style of music amongst their interests may find enough variation here to keep coming back, as each song differs enough in its construction to warrant repeat visitations.

Dave Grohl is a veteran -- the world does not need another record from him. The world needs Obits.

If debut In The Court Of The Wrestling Let's was the giddy spin of a colour wheel, then Nursing Home feels ever so slightly more unified in tone and shade, and, if not exactly refined, than certainly a little tighter and more focused in its abandon.

There are times though, when the record slips into a degree of smug self-reference that leaves you wishing that Lewis would spend less time considering what it means to be a songwriter, and more time just being one.

The Soft Moon's mission to transcend all levels of tolerance and pleasure via the conduit of sound is well and truly accomplished.

When Grossi nails the sweet spot between these two poles the result is nigh-on perfection (Curtis Lane’s 'I'm In Your Church at Night' and 'Hanging On' from 2011’s gorgeous You’re All I See to seize on the most obvious). The disappointment with Mercy is that he never quite finds that spot to the same extent.

Composition is one of Bailey's specialties, and she quickly rebounds from even the tiniest missteps.

It’s not so much sidestepped the perils of the second album as trampled them, taking the sound that won the band all those packed festival tents and driving it forward, matted and bloodied like Miles Teller at the end of Whiplash, no longer weeping and withdrawn but pulsing and alive. And it’s genuinely exciting to hear.

It’s vital for the maintenance of Gallows’ present profile that they curb their enthusiasm for experimentation and pushing the envelope of aggressiveness to some degree, and by doing this sensibly, they’ve produced an album that’s big on surprises but that also ticks the essential boxes of heaviness and melody.

The result is an album that is often brilliant, sometimes breathtaking, and never dull.

Konkylie is an impressive, accomplished collection of songs from a band coming into their own. They've succeeded in accomplishing what all so many artists strive for: cleanly synthesising their feelings and thoughts into sound.

Without the filter and guidance of a strong writing partner, and without a personality able to temper his every whim, much of this album contributes to the argument that Paul’s output urgently calls for restraint.

Between the Times and the Tides is advertised as his first 'rock album' which makes it sound more abrasive than it is, although it packs more of an aural punch than Thurston's latest Beck-helmed Nick Drake tribute album.

It would be churlish to suggest Suck It And See is Arctic Monkeys' finest record to date. By the impeccably high standards they've set so far it ranks as a good rather than great album, and only deepens the mystery as to where the Arctic Monkeys may venture next, both as a group and in their various solo guises.

Far from perfect, but confident and assured.

For sure, dollops of Franz, Blur and Supergrass have been whisked into this epileptic mix of guttural, quick-witted punk-pop but Little Death is no pre-packaged ready-bake; it’s an improvised, home-cooked palate-whetter, coated in rhythm and sprinkled with bite.

This is a work oft-enchanting and tenderly relayed: the sound of a first hand both confident and considered, whetting the appetite for more from this young American with a stately flourish.

The music frequently bludgeons the listener into wondering why the song wasn't cut dead about three minutes ago.

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.

Dignified, confident and packed full of elevating song structures, Piano Ombre is an album many will find euphorically addictive.

In its own oblique way, Shaken-Up Versions is the sound of The Knife having fun.

The Southern gothic touches strewn throughout the album help make this their best set of angry anthems to date.

The resulting work, and meeting of two minds who admire and compliment each others creativity, is something of rare, imaginative depth.