To call it album of the year at this stage wouldn't so much be pre-emption as an actual understatement.

She's made an album that only she could have made, and frankly it's refreshing to hear a female singer from a folk background whose most obvious and overwhelming reference point isn't Joni Mitchell via Laura Marling.

[There are no] outstandingly bad offerings, just several more forgettable ones than can be briskly ignored.

Electra Heart is a reasonably fun listen, and even if it falls short of its stratospheric ambition, still has more to say than many of Marina's contemporaries.

Keepers of the Light is a rarity for a double album: its indulgence (seriously, 144 minutes?) rarely grates, and its individuality doesn't cramp its funkiness.

This is a modern masterpiece, it's as simple as that.

This is a hard, dark, inventive record that strongly suggests that give or take an imaginary sister and some fiddles, Jack White is pretty much the same boy we've always known.

He circumnavigates his more common interest in black humoured songs in favour of playful experiments removed of vocals but layered with electronic production.

It's not a monumental leap forward from the band's previous work, but Harmonicraft displays the signs of consistent refinement and revels in that fact.

The Money Store thrills like no other set heard this year.

The good far outweighs the bad here, and with Generation Freakshow Feeder have created another strong addition to their mostly impressive back catalogue.

Ty Segall and White Fence haven't reinvented themselves, nor have they revolutionised garage rock, but Hair stands as a welcome reminder of how enjoyable guitar and drum music can be both to play and to hear.

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.

A record that leaves no seam un-burst in its insatiable quest for mainstream adoration and success.

Not so much a natural progression as a foray into new fields, Skyline is a wonderful album brought about by a sense of restlessness and curiosity.

It'll take about half an hour before you are asked to leave, but it'll be avery special half an hour that you'll only slightly and in some ways regret.

Fin as an album appears to be the requisite cross-over hit of the year, following in the footsteps of Caribou's Swim and Pantha Du Prince's Black Noise.

There are some brilliant tailpieces on Black is Beautiful and some wonderful impressions of a travel sick Alan Clavier, but they're hampered by too many dead ends and retreaded ground.

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

Pink Friday: Roman's Revenge isn't bad because of Minaj's cross-dressing it is bad because she often tries on some very banal, characterless outfits.

three of the five new tracks are worth getting hold of, but the rest will be familiar. Does it hang together as an album? Definitely--it's a pretty accurate summation of the band's career so far, and would be a terrific way to introduce yourself to them if you haven't already done so.

Comforting, unsettling, danceable; one way or another Macaroni is a record to make you sweat.

All in all, With Siinai: Heartbreaking Bravery has the air of a project to it rather than a vital artistic pursuit.

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.

There really isn't much not to like about Time Capsules II; it would take a lot of energy to summon up any hatred for it, like hating a new-born puppy, or your own child.

Despite all the kooky, twee melodies that make up Beware And Be Grateful, despite the glossy production and multitudinous fragments of ideas that feature on it, even despite the fact that it's hard to think of another band that Maps & Atlases particularly sound like (maybe Grizzly Bear, a bit), this album fails the ultimate test – it's no fun.

It is, all in all, a pretty solid front half of a Spiritualized album that sort of transmits intermittently in the middle and then totally falls on its arse for the last three tracks.

Weekends is an inspired assortment of astutely executed ideas packed into 12 flowing pieces that deserves a wider audience than its likely to receive.

Telling Tales gladly succumbs to its own whimsy, has no stylistic compass beyond the inherent tones of a female vocal harmony group and is a delightful series of songs that are both beautiful and bizarre.

Inventive and playful, their songs play out like animated thought processes, you're invited to figure things out with them as they try to make sense of the world around.

In the cold light of day the album feels flat and utterly predictable.

When it's good, Rhine Gold has got everything you want. There's ambition, surprise and innovation. It's just that it feels like COYB go on autopilot at certain times, which detracts from the album as a whole.

Despite the quality of the execution, it's difficult to shake the sense that A+E has been done before.

It's as if Hospitality are using these songs to channel gnawing anxieties about their futures on one hand, while using insightful lyricism and breezy pop stylings to romanticise the plight of barely scraping together rent on the other

If you are willing to be patient it offers more surprises than you'd expect, flourishing on repeated plays.

Like all Ward's best records, his eighth solo album plays like an intimate knees up. You'll swoon. You'll smile. You'll spin it over and over again.

Most of the tracks here would sound great in that context, but put together here and it leaves you wanted something a little more ragged.

Although not quite out of this world as its title suggests, Interstellar represents a haughty development in Frankie Rose's artistic capabilities.

There are moments worth latching on to but for the full effect, go stand in a club with him and watch him perform.

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

It's damn smart and it's damn catchy.

Classic Futureheads tracks are reimagined with quadratic complexity, with polyphonic rhythms weaving in and out of time, and piercingly tight multi-tracked vocals. On a technical level, it is brilliant... But let's face it – Rant isn't the sort of album you're going to listen to every day.

They have an eerie guitar pop sensibility that instrumentally makes for a pleasantly surreal ambience layered with intriguing lyrics and gratifying vocal harmonies.

Most impressively of all, it comfortably lives up to the promise that Auerbach apparently made to the Doctor that he would help him craft 'the best record you've made in a long time.'

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

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 it turns out, the defining feature of Out Of It... is this lack of a subtle affliction or blockbuster cataclysm with which to gel these 11 tracks together. Dig deep enough and you'll find a sketch of significance, a glimmer of greater worth but it's too ill-formed to really make out meaningfully.

While Hooded Fang's two-and-a-half minute pop songs are absolutely fine, you'll struggle to find the time for them when there are already so many better ones out there.

It's the interpretation of a human voice that elevates this record beyond a curious obscurist record and makes the simmering (but never boiling over) electronica truly shimmer.

While there's plenty to admire from a distance here, those who get in close will find little to cling onto.

A powerful, graceful album.

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.

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.

While it perhaps doesn't achieve all it sets out to, it is regardless an intriguing, immersive combination of old and new.

You feel there's meaning to be sought for by the listener in Roberts' songs, but they simply aren't inviting enough that you'll want to open up the gates and step inside.

Although it still occasionally feels like there is something distant about Ekstasis, something yet to thaw (chalk this up to its chilly aesthetic and Holter's wilfully eclectic approach to her art), it is a genuinely enthralling listen.

Over the course of OF Tape Vol 2, souless-ness has curdled into banality.

Transverse is an exhilarating collection that becomes a new listening experience on every subsequent hearing.

Koloss, however, is a real triumph of its genre: inventive, surprising, pleasingly punchy, unashamedly aggressive with just enough shade, tone and melody to balance the raucous but impressive production.

It's Madonna's conservatism that drags her latest record down to the status of a ragtag collection.

Prepare to bow down to the new Queen of Singing Sad Piano-Based Songs.

Mirrorring have created an album that never coalesces, in which it's difficult not to remain conscious of its parts, wonderful as they may be.

Setters of trends, they will not be, with this offering. Providers of mindless, chaotic R&R, they most certainly can be.

Nostalgia doesn't often feel as good as this. Prepare to feel both spooked and studious.

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.

Sadly, moments of well executed originality are thin on the ground, as indeed are examples of the band effectively channeling the transcendental shoegaze of their established contemporaries.

The remastered first disc makes up for the lack of any truly juicy bonus material, being that it's a great album in itself, and is more than worth the price tag.

Yes it may be comfortable and familiar, but Silent Hour/Golden Mile is never samey.

Regrettably, there's little substance to take in here.

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.

Weller seems enthusiastic, upbeat and genuinely inventive across the whole LP, with only a couple of minor missteps throughout.

Older, wiser, maybe a little less caustic in the execution - but as still sharp as a knife.

Father Creeper is most certainly not a perfect record, the ride is a trek back in time to the fairground, riding the dodgems, and getting shunted, lumped and banged-up as sounds collide.

It's to Mercer's credit that Port of Morrow, which could have so easily veered off into soulless corporatism or self-indulgence, manages to remain nothing less than both a universal and personal joy to listen to.

Although not quite the timeless classic its creators had hoped for, Prisoner is a solid debut that bears all the hallmarks of a bright future for The Jezabels.

The Clearing is a woody, creaky, but ultimately gorgeous folk record.

A record that has clearly been crafted with great care and a terrific talent behind both the songwriting and the production.

The end product is stern, frigid and heavy minimalist-techno, which also happens to be pop as ...: urgent, impatient, sculpted, immediate, and incident-packed.

As a first achievement, the album it manages to inject a degree of zest into the songs from The King is Dead, jolting them from the somnolence which occasionally bogged their studio equivalents down.

Above all and aside from the frustrations, the album is a well-crafted beast, beautifully constructed.

It's true that Love at the Bottom of the Sea does oscillate sharply in terms of quality, though the stature of its finer moments comfortably overshadow the lesser offspring.

There really is very little out there like this, and Demdike is a very acquired taste. If you've got the stomach for it then Elemental is their banquet - 18 nightmares you'll want to revisit.

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.

Centred on trippy improvisations, this is a record which moves whilst going nowhere.

Ultimately, despite the odd moment of off piste brilliance (ie 'Death to My Hometown'), Wrecking Ball is at its best when Bruce sounds the most like Bruce.

It's too precise, too ordered to fully lift, and, unlike the band's live shows, too damn earnest.

It might not rocket them out of their obscurity but Disappears have created a record that can appease fans happy with how they sounded anyway and those that are searching for something new.

Toward The Low Sun finds Dirty Three functioning at a consistently (and characteristically) high level--offering nine varied and concise pieces showcasing the gauntlet of their past successes, performed with a vitality which decimates any accusation of retread.

By playing it straight and singing it even straighter, he's created an intensely listenable and emotional album that's impossible not to relate to.

While Ternion doesn't have the class, flair or essential brilliance of The English Riveria, it often shows the same gift for understatement and ability to embrace the spaces in between the sounds.

Another Happy Day creeps you out, sucks you in and gracefully spits you back again, with a renewed sense of comfortable discontent.

Whilst Hanne's music has evolved since her debut Little Things in 2004, Featherbrain is an album that pulls various strands of that development together to make something new.

After multiple listens, the desire to rip apart Martin-McCormick's stitched together freak is assuaged by a desire to submit to it and play it on repeat, to revel in its drive, energy and emotion.

Though harder, happier and a little more direct, Animal Joy is above all a Shearwater record: swooping, eloquent, concerned with nature.

There are some minor criticisms with Underrated Silence, the most obvious being the similarity between most of its ten pieces.

They're a strong band musically, and The Slideshow Effect is a good, well put together piece of work which creeps up on you slowly.

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

Nils Frahm is clearly a prestigious talent and this is a remarkable tumble through the sounds and shapes of his imagination.