You get the sense that all Sky Ferreira ever really wanted was for people to listen. Here, she gives them a reason. That's truth worth discovering.

One or two missteps aside, this is exactly what 9Bach do with Tincian--creating an ambiguous mood piece from fragments of traditional Welsh music and contemporary tension.

Crain’s effortless yet potent vocal is the centre of things, as she seems to sing about making a box for herself to hide in, appropriating what is normally a downhome positive genre for her own more maudlin ends.

[An] intense and epic album.

This is music that you dive into wholeheartedly when there's time to examine its mutilated layers.

Overall, Distortland represents the kind of mix and match bag of tricks we've come to expect from The Dandy Warhols and while not quite attaining classic status, is a welcome return for a band who've never been afraid to stick two fingers in the face of adversity.

Ultimately this odd couple have made for a very merry musical marriage, artists from seemingly disparate musical backgrounds proving themselves capable of collaborating on music that is worth listening to in its own right, as opposed to merely being a interesting genre-crossing exercise.

The North Borders is as ambitious a record as its predecessor, and it’s just as successful.

Stranger to Stranger’s effect is most potent when there’s some interplay between a complex, danceable groove and a salient philosophical offering.

Fever then, is an album with an audience already writ large. If the idea of ‘cosmic jams’ brings you out in a cold sweat, then this isn’t a record for you.

Since her emergence as a solo artist, Hannigan has been drawn to all things nautical. On her third full length, she continues that fascination, treading new water and exploring new routes on many of the tracks, but still ultimately in search of new shores.

The brisk bout of choral sighing that rounds off ‘I’ll Be Glad’ provides an effective grace note for this hugely likeable record, if underlining slightly the notion of Lie Down In The Light as a worthy, somewhat minor addition to Oldham’s formidable oeuvre.

Save Rock and Roll isn't life or game changing but it's probably the album FOB needed to make--if only for themselves--and as an honest portrait of the roller-coaster ride that is FOB's career, it finds them on a high.

You may not get on board with it as quickly as Gossamer, but it possesses greater replay value. Angelakos has made an album celebrating stability, and it'll be interesting to see what happens next.

Because Ash & Ice somewhat ironically doesn’t have much of the icy immediacy that typically marks The Kills’ work, the album is one you need to live with to get the full payoff.

She’s gone from making an album that felt in constant peril of collapsing under its own weight to one that carries her predilection for drama with genuine confidence--for now, at least, that’s redemption enough.

By the high standards of Mogwai’s soundtrack work--and therefore their work in general--it’s a bit tread watery. But it’s still bloody Mogwai, a band never less than magical.

They just seems to be writing the music they enjoy, about the things they care about, and it’s done them a world of good.

On Air feels like the other bookend [to Blue & Lonesome], with the track listing dominated as it is by similar covers; it’s just that, this time, they crackle with youthful energy, rather than glow in the warm gaze of riper eyes.

The trio trade lines like they’re flashing secret handshakes to each other--it’s a complex process, fingers flying and interlocking, each gesture laden with meanings that an outsider can’t even fathom.

It’s unassumingly loud, and intensely physical, wrestling with the listener in a swarm of noisy sax blasts, gnarly riffs, and often surprisingly catchy math themes. Nonetheless, it feels unfinished.

If you like Mew, you’ll like this. If you don’t like Mew, this is as good a place as any to begin, or to rekindle, your love affair with a wonderful band.

Even with these small blips, Peggy Sue have made the transition to a darker and bolder sound with ease.

They're not concerned with clunky subgenres or fitting into anyone's neat little boxes. With Instrumental Tourist, it is what it is.

That said, it's not all killer; a song or two in the final third fails to match up to the calibre of the rest, and at times the lyrics can descend into mild cliche, but overall it's evidence of a young man with a great understanding and love for a particular period giving it his best shot.

There's the occasional dud, and occasional dull moment, but Pale Green Ghosts mostly succeeds in expanding Grant's musical palette, and his wry, knowing observations and lyricism remain as sharp as ever.

Sound Kapitol is a successful, if slightly creatively stifling refinement of a fruitful and unique musical partnership.

Route One or Die is a heavy, sometimes dizzyingly diverse listen. Despite this, the band's emphasis on melody means these songs hook you in from the very first listen, while still having more wonders to reveal to you on repeated listens.

The best moments on the album are the ones that grab you just as things start feeling too samey.

Ultimately, an interesting album within its constraints rather than a hands-down triumph, but there were a lot of constraints.

It defies the listener not to nod their head and tap a foot, layering foreboding piano, languid acoustic guitar and a swampy riff under semi-rapped verses and a chorus about being found at the bottom of a river, and demonstrates Mason embracing his albatross with the ease of a man only too pleased to have one.

A few clunkers aside, the songwriting is sensational throughout. And Jones’ voice is more cat purringly perfect than ever.

As side projects go, this is one of those that will happily turn left rather than right when climbing onboard that transatlantic flight to you.

Berlin: Live At St Anne's Warehouse is basically one of the most creepily eloquent records of Lou Reed's career, tarted up in the sort of bombastic style that ironically may see it received better in the classic rockin' days of 1973.

Musically, she leaves things deliberately underwritten, rooted in bass or scratchy guitar as opposed to the shiny-shiny production of her earlier work. It lets the songs speak for themselves, though it does occasionally expose their flaws as well.

Tracker is seamless in both embracing technology and adapting it; recreating the intimacy of personal experiences within the confines of an uncluttered, contemporary folk backdrop.

This release strikes the perfect balance between pummelling the listener over the head with riffs and rewarding their shredded eardrums with hooks and honesty.

Boca Negra isn’t an album that’s easy to get acquainted with — this is music designed to induce a fundamental paradigm shift in our expectations of what a band can be and how they should operate, with two accomplished players bringing agitation and affection together at an uneasy meeting point.

Blake’s musical pallet is a fair bit brighter of late and you can expect a deeper, stronger and more solid vocal tone on much of the album.

In Cascade the loop is repeated fairly cleanly, although the piano is drenched in a magical, woozy and slightly unsettling echo; while it is certainly quite relaxing and takes you on a wonderful eleven minute journey there is something oddly otherworldly and plaintive about the whole thing.

Perhaps there's not enough variation on the album as a whole, with only the odd anomaly which then sounds rather out of place, but even the anomalies are very distinctly John Maus and at times that may be a grim, cold, dark, slightly pretentious thing, but it is no bad thing.

It’s the sound of someone getting the kinks out of the system rather than incorporating old influences seamlessly into a new sound. Still, the final verdict? Very decent.

It’s not that Rave Tapes is disappointing, it’s just underwhelming--but it’s beautiful enough that maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe.

On Face Tat, the chaos never stops: it's akin to a musical interpretation of all the theme park rides in the world, taken one after the other.

The most frustrating part of the brilliance is that it has been all too fleeting. Please Anni, give us more.

This is a seamless, and often glorious, album, one that showcases a profound peace and melancholia through a focus on ambient washes. Its lack of flourishes should, therefore, not be condemned but celebrated. Recommended.

These are strong songs. This is a coherent, mature piece of work.

While not all of King’s attempts to focus her talent into ‘proper songs’ come off, when she nails it, we can’t help but agree with Dave Grohl that she’s one of the greatest guitarists in the world.

This record is an excellent evolution for the band and is a long way away from the good times that were seen on tracks such as ‘Weekend’.

Five or so years ago, it felt like they were shedding relevance. This is the sound of them rediscovering importance.

When the beats eventually die down the album shows its soft underbelly.

Palmer has made a record that sounds not like the latest from Brechtian punk cabaret's leading light, but the thoughtful debut from an invigorated artist, striking out from the valley of the Dolls.

The album brims with quick 'from the gut' compositions that have been uncomplicatedly produced using simple instrumentation.

As the Richard Harris exhibition showed, by enabling us to momentarily confront our own mortality, morbid artistic meditations on death can be oddly and overwhelmingly uplifting.

Falkner manages to set up a sort of production halfway house, which raises everything out of the bedroom, but still burrows deep to the tender core at the heart of Daniel’s songs.

'Warmer Corners' is a timely reminder that the art of songwriting hasn't died - it just goes away and hibernates in the Adelaide Hills every so often.

The band remain an excellent and vital act, still producing worthy music which is head and shoulders over many similar, lesser acts, the problem, it seems, is that their evolution is a slow one.

Aabenbaringen Over Aaskammen attempts to splice that sound with a new, more varied approach. It isn't always entirely successful, it's sometimes awkward, but hey, what do you want?

While unrelenting fury is a major feature in the songs here, what really brings From Safer Place to life are the curveballs it occasionally lobs out.

HHowes’ debut album infuses swirling soundscapes, muted beats and nebulous bass into 43 minutes of forward-thinking electronic music.

Vanilla is an intriguing and often fun record that not only rewards repeat listening, but almost demands it.

Expect the Best stands out amongst other reverb-drenched indie rock for being exceptionally well composed.

Some Are Lakes is a record that grows in stature with repeated listens, whispering more of its secrets under the still blanket of late nights.

If Basement Jaxx want to hide their scars behind such easily enjoyable and well constructed pop music, then long may they continue.

It’s a cohesive experience, solidly held together within itself, spurring re-listening not just as a conscious opportunity for thematic re-evaluation, but through the compelling, primal sense of purgative compressed energy within their sound itself.

We Are The Pipettes is possibly the only pure-pop record you need own this year.

Silesia is still a relaxing listen: and all of its intense sound swells still leave you with a feeling of peace.

Repeated listenings reveal the record for what it truly is - the most human of comeback records.

For the most part, Small Craft on a Milk Sea slots back into that forward thinking mindset, creating further realms of possibility for Eno to operate in.

A sprawling debut which is as rich in its influences as it is in its sonic make-up. It is by no means an instant record – unless you happen to find yourself amongst some dynamic scenery or situation – but what it does is unravel, slowly and surely.

Overall though, Travellers In Space And Time is a fascinating collection that won't be everyone's cup of tea, but should at least cement its creators cult status for the forseeable future and some.

If you like your heart soaked in red wine, and your records to sigh and sway, come hither.

Their gentlest to date, 44 minutes of music arranged around a single, dreamy riff/motif. Listen to it on Bandcamp or Spotify without checking out the other stuff that comes with the music and it perhaps seems like a retreat from the sturm und drang of their previous work. But the accompanying words and art to Luciferian Towers posit it as the band’s most politicised set since Yanqui UXO.

It’s still simplistic and limited but it’s meant to be. That’s the whole idea. The converted will remain.

Even if plenty of the songs on this record could be easily mixed up with something from their past two records ('Window Sills' and 'New Schools' are straight off Everybody), their idiosyncracies never diminish any of this album’s terrific songs.

A fine album which might be too much of a period piece to truly be the 'sound of 2012' or somesuch, but has a greater chance of making Sophia Knapp into a minor unit-shifter than Lights or Cliffie Swan ever did.

As Program 91 soars over--here we go--fjords of excellence, it never really lands or takes off with any satisfying oomph.

Songs is an accomplished second album, that sees Woodhouse building on the foundations of electronica-tinged outputs that you'll quite easily appreciate and enjoy.

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.

Sure, there's no serious wheel re-invention taking place here, and only a sycophantic fool would suggest that. Nevertheless, Who We Touch can hold its head high, safe in the knowledge that its creators are by no means a spent force.

Overall, this'll be way more easily digested by trad-minded hard rock consumers.

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

This is an impressive record that occasionally tries to cram too many ideas into one place but more than makes up for it in sheer song-writing quality.

Is it Pulido? The absence of Smith? The third act crawl? In truth, all play a damaging part. Despite these irks, Antiphon is everything that it needs to be; a new beginning, loaded with promise. That's enough for now.

Further is at times a thrilling listen and barely puts a foot wrong, yet at a time when electronic music is expanding so quickly, it doesn't shine as brightly as it might have a decade ago.

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.

Ghosts of Then and Now floats just out of time and is as versatile a record as they come--your interpretation will change with each setting and mood.

So it’s good, but given the large amount of quality Nirvana concert stuff out there, does Live At Reading really have much by way of USP? Probably, yeah, if only because it's the band's sole full electric gig commercially available.

Though their own spirit may have mellowed and darkened over time, on Wild Go Dark Dark Dark couldn't be moving more resolutely towards the light.

Hall Music, continues this reticent foray, concealing its quaint charms until six or seven concentrated plays have been sucked up and digested.

But for all its momentary highlights, this is a record that doesn't tend to grow on you as much as sink and seep into your skin: and it does this slowly.

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

It's jolly and kinetic and greater than the sum of its songs.

Having explordd hiphop's darker alleyways for years, Gutter Tactics is at once appealing and familiar, yet resists understanding more than anything that springs to mind... or rather, complicates and perhaps even undermines its message.

What compels here, is Castle’s ability to have created a piece of art so intimately descriptive of her personal fear of death, and how it links to the songwriter process and her thirst for immortality.

A generally rambunctious mid-fi indie electropop sitting at an odd remove from the band’s devotional cause.

This album is Grubb’s most cinematic and balanced offering yet. It slowly burns through his moods, explores his Western panoramas and phantasmagorical musings.

Yes, this thing is ridiculously derivative. It won't change lives or rearrange the musical landscape of nations but Kahn was never going to win any awards for originality. It may just raise some roofs and shake some foundations though.