The Megaphonic Thrift marks a well-crafted progression for the Norwegian four-piece.

What Xiu Xiu demonstrate throughout Always, is the way in which they can lay down so starkly how terrible life can be and how fucked up one can feel and create something amazing, angry, political, fierce and defiant out of all of it.

A most wonderful storm of a record indeed.

It's not exactly love at first sight with Rooms Filled with Light. But like all the best love affair it endures, and reveals new sides of itself with each listen.

The risks that Damien Jurado and producer Richard Swift take on Maraqopa are small and subtle adjustments to those already made on Saint Bartlett, but they are small steps which reap exquisite rewards for the listener.

Will Bevan's done the unthinkable in managing to both appease and pull the rug out from under his fans.

What isn't in any doubt is that these compositions, from Hadreas' distinctive, fragile vocal through to the orchestration behind the compositions themselves represents a significant progression from the bolt-from-the-blue that was Learning.

Through the heartache, there is a sophisticated definition of sound; this is no guts-on-the-floor album of raw country blues.

So with six months worth of perspective since their debut album's first release, Azari & III didn't quite create a storming LP to match the promise of those early singles.

Learning is a likewise bruised [as the album cover] and suggestive affair; of catharsis and rare, redemptive beauty, which ranks as one of the most uniquely endearing and quietly forceful debut albums of recent years.

In a lyrical and musical exploration of the themes of duality, Cursive have come out with a conflicted gem.

A record built on restraint, tinged by poignancy and wrapped up in poetic human emotion. Quite wonderful.

Mr M is an honest but tough old ride.

This is as useful and high quality a starting point as just about anything they've recorded.

Form & Control's only real highlight is its title track... But when it's surrounded by so much dross, it's hardly redeeming, and getting loaded may well be the only way to endure the rest of this tripe.

Perhaps one of the greatest, and certainly most underappreciated, post-hardcore rock groups of all time.

Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light II represents not only the most overt and successful attempt to capture the patience, subtlety and fluidity of Earth's talented cast, but also the most accurate document of their patient, stoical and determinedly psychedelic ethos.

As a work of art, it's sometimes sketchy, always pleasant and gentle, often uplifting, skilled and technically confident. As a statement, it's a bold one.

A deeply affecting album which preserves everything that was so marvelous about her beloved folk-opera [Hadestown], and ultimately performs a very handsome job of keeping out of its vast shadow.

Plumb is a good bet for the end of year polls already.

It's still retro, of course, but it's starting to sound retro in a way that only Tennis can.

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

Although Stage Whisper comprises very much atypical pieces of music from Gainsbourg, it's still equally as lovable and interesting as her other works.

With only the occasional deviation into science fiction filler, Themes for an Imaginary Film is an album to strut to.

This is bliss, it's that simple.

there's no denying Format was made by pop geniuses; maybe pop geniuses being slightly hit and miss, but that's still pretty good.

Such relaxed saunters down musical memory lane have been done before, and often better.

Attack On Memory might be on surface a pretty routine blast of crashing percussion, throaty vocals and biting guitars but repeated listens reveal a more nuanced affair full of charisma and spark.

A surprisingly excellent singles band.

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.

The bulk of the problems lies with the performance itself, and the material chosen.

Despite its heart of darkness, Paralytic Stalks is a deceptively gentle, rambling record that gains integrity but loses focus via the strong suspicion that it was recorded more for the benefit of Nina Barnes than for us.

Despite being twice the length of the film it soundtracks the album still clocks it at around 30 minutes and captivates enough with its sense of atmosphere, drama and melodic capabilities to make those 30 minutes fly by like a rocket straight into the moon's eye.

Purer than innocence and richer than gold, No One Can Ever Know confirms that The Twilight Sad are simply too good to remain a-little-less-than-well-known outside the restrictive realms of slightly-less-than-world-conqering 'zines.

Yours Truly, Cellophane Nose is a success, in that it captures what Beth Jeans Houghton has been doing in her live shows for the past couple of years, without diluting or rushing it for the sake of a time-specific tag.

While most would expect nothing less from a Mark Lanegan Band LP, the end result is a record for ardent fans and not casual admirers.

It's a wonderful record, a colossal achievement, and features some of the most breathtaking, moving and downright beautiful music you'll hear all year.

It will surprise no-one that they sound more natural and free when they sing in their native French tongue, but the tracks sung in English are far, far beyond any vowel-rolling cliché and are actually rather sweet and touching.

dEUS manage to exhume an unbridled level of consistency throughout the nine pieces that comprise Keep You Close.

It feels effortless. Even after repeated listening it somehow grows on you.

12 immaculately crafted slabs of grandiose sound.

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

In many ways it's a hip joke of an album.

Understated, sloth-like and quick-witted all at once.

What the trio lack in pure, ear-fizzing originality, they happily make up for in solid listenability.

The album just about manages to avoid the trappings of both quirky and medieval, which is no mean feat for a flute based album.

However, as difficult second albums go; and given the circumstances Something emerged from, difficult would be the operative word; Chairlift can be proud at what they've accomplished.

If he's not yet unanimously considered the greatest cardigan-stylee speccy-sporting dweeby loser type songwriter-man of recent decades, he's surely on his miserable, merry way.

Just enjoy their album for what it is, an absolute blast.

This insistence on maxing out on subplot, comes at the expense of an initially intriguing premise and, ultimately, your attention span.

He filters these gifts of poetry and keen observation through his bruised, romantic outlook, into a fully-formed album that sounds as if it was always in there, waiting to see the light of day. Or the darkness.

Despite its flaws this first solo offering is a human record; brave and honest, both in content and purpose.

Niches, of course, tend to hide most of metal's jewels, and Iron Balls Of Steel is the genre's first great album of 2012.

This album will infuriate many but bewitch some.

For every full colour oil on canvas there are two doodles that fail to engage this sympathetic listener even after five or six plays.

A gorgeous, gripping study of English and north American folk music that covers as many of the genre's quirks as it can, without crawling from cliché to catastrophe.

Although La Grande is no huge departure from what Gibson has been practicing for years, it's a wholesome and welcome addition to a back-catalogue which has very few flaws, even if the moments which stand up and make you take notice are not numerous.

What's striking from the outset about Hymns is that little has changed in Davies and Matthews' elegant world of classically-inspired chamber pop.

Sonically the songs are strong.

Boy & Bear sound more like a personality-free replica of a radio-friendly sub-genre of the folk tradition, and fall way short of convincing us that they're the real deal.

As the sound of a band still in development mode and not quite sure of their identity, Future This offers a lucid insight into where their next sonic adventure may take them.

Whilst Vernon's production does add a glossy sheen, Edwards' captivating character is ultimately untouched and as a result, she can finally stand loud and proud as a truly talented individual.

A sterile, witless turn here.

Catchy, bratty and phenomenally uninspiring, America Give Up is not so much shouting from the rooftops as howling at the moon.

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?

I listen to Milagres but I hear Coldplay.

Ester doesn't quite have a narrow enough scope for us to be able to say that Trailer Trash Tracys have a sound that's all their own, but they're close to finding their voice, and with a little more refinement it will come out, not loudly, but clearly.

If you got concussed during the first Pearl Jam tour and have only just come out of your coma, boy, have we got a great new sound for you.

What at first appears to be aggression is actually 100 per cent anguish, and the prevailing sense is that, like Black Flag, every ounce of that angst has been funnelled into edge, bone-crunching rigour and the sculpting of their largely unprecedented style into austere angles.

Too many cheesy keyboard presets, no engagement with contemporary 'urban' forms, no distinct personality, one half-decent song, a facsimile of a thing as opposed to the thing itself.

Somewhat uneasy listening in places, yet sublime in others, Given To The Wild should rid The Maccabees of those 'landfill' jibes once and for all.

It's a glorious mess of contradictions, and what could say 'Manic Street Preachers' more than that?

An album that as a whole sounds like a collage depicting a comprehensive list of everyone who's anyone from the past 40 years of popular music.

As a whole the record is coherent, but contrast, juxtaposition and the element of surprise are the missing pieces of the puzzle.

Overall it's about as perfect as introduction to the band as you're likely to get, and perhaps a timely chance to give the Archers an opportunity to climb back into the upper echelons of your record collection.

The combination of Emmy and Tim's vocals is also a consistent issue throughout the record; partly a result of a seeming refusal to harmonise, but mainly because are both blessed with mellifluous tones that, whilst effective on their own, offer little variation or texture together.

Though few would have predicted this unlikely pairing and even less would have actively willed it to happen, the fact is that Smith & Burrows have forged a handsome partnership.

Oh Land, however, inhabits a tepid middle ground between the two extremes – offering neither gilded Scandi chart-pop (Robyn, Annie) or the artistic mettle of Scandi indie bands, most of whom are able to turn out sublime pop anyway.

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

Andy Stott seems to be evolving with each new EP, and scales new heights with this one.

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.

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

Although this is a fantastic looking package, it really doesn't strike me as a particularly essential addition to the Smashing Pumpkins canon.

Although the consistency of last year's Your Future... is not reached, there are some fine moments.

As for the deluxe aspects of this release, the record sounds about as good as it always did.

Yet, as a whole, the record has one obvious flaw: it's dreary.

A few bursts of energy on the record make up for any lags, and should be enough to sustain those expecting Broderick's typical depth.

Bang & Works Vol. 2 also captures a genre in transition, as both the old guard and the young producers increasingly look to other genres for a way to progress the sound, or at least re-flavour it.

Arguably the most influential rock album ever recorded... everyone that matters – and many who don't – between Bowie and Radiohead cites it as an influence.

Mixing classic rampant riffs and exploring newer matured sounds, Moss and Co. have crafted another hearty album that should satisfy even the hungriest of followers.

The Singles Collection 2001-2011 proves that at times Albarn touched on a warped pop genius, and to his credit comes out of the project with his reputation as creative wanderer intact, but from the off the constructed barrier meant that there was always little to really love, songs hidden too much behind their glitteringly presented shells.

As is often the way with collections of B-sides, EP remixes and rarities, The Juan Maclean's Everybody Get Close is a mixed bag featuring some very lofty highs and a whole bunch of stuff that the world probably never cried out for, but will be more than happy to have gleaned as a result.

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.

This really is a fantastic record, a heartfelt postcard from our old friends who formed a band.

The five songs that Radiant Door is comprised of shows the band's pensive, if occasionally exploratory side.

Believers isn't a rousing album. Its allure is slow-burning, almost unnoticeable.

Polymers Are Forever lurches, strives and sneers with all the subtlety of a bulldozer through the houses of parliament.

As a beginner's introduction to Cornell's work, Songbook is exemplary, but for the fans, who this is apparently aimed at, it fails to completely satisfy.