If There is No Enemy was a pretty concise record of dreamy guitar pop, then Untethered Moon sees the band get back to a gnarlier sound, with roughhewn, grungy production and two songs that yawn far over the six-minute mark, erupting into hackingly primitive Crazy Horse-style jams.

Although their lyrical palette is limited to shades of grey or black, musically they allow themselves variegated freedom that allows glimmers of light in the dark night. For all its bleakness Endangered Philosophies is also strangely beautiful.

AFI has little in the way of stumbles and no real clunkers to speak of, but a sense of familiarity and repetition creep in before the finish. It’s not enough to tarnish the gems but a greater commitment to ruthlessness would have been welcome.

Its quickness to reach the climax leaves it a bit devoid of resolutions and making it feel like a bit of an empty statement. It's a shame because, Love is Love, for what it is, is such a well-composed album, that it feels like it's close to being a band-defining statement given its all too real context in which it exists.

Listened to absentmindedly, its deep, rumbling groove and overlapping rhythmic lines may initially seem nothing more than an artfully assembled soporific swirl. Live with it a while, though--give it time and space in order that it may weave its beguiling spell--and delights aplenty unfurl.

Holding down lyrical matter which often floats in the air are drum machines and timers, and the production of the whole record is incredibly clean. Sometimes a shininess works. At other points I can’t help feeling a little more griminess would be more apt for the subject matter.

The first half connects the mind and the body equally, which is why they are such successful songs. The second half of is just body music and that’s where it falls a little flat. That’s not to say it doesn't work at all.

More often than not, Peggy Sue derive passion from poignancy, taking their listeners on a journey that makes having a broken heart interesting again.

This is Happening might not take us as far as Sound Of Silver, yet at times it’s still an exhilarating journey with ample opportunity to revel in another idiosyncratic lesson in the art, and joy, of sonic bricolage.

So yes, these are intimate lyrics and stories told first person for the first time--and not just intimate, but vulnerable, self knowing, open and loving. And definitely not embarrassing.

While there is nothing even marginally groundbreaking here, Placebo have still returned with another steady record in Meds.

Trimmed of a couple of tracks and with more than a single change of pace offered, the record could have been an excellent one. As it is, Velocifero stands as a fine piece of work that proves there’s a lot of life left in these synthetic machines.

Some of their critics will remain unmoved, but the fact remains: Kodaline have acquired confidence in their abilities and are on top form throughout their second LP.

As with any good experiment the failures are almost as important as the successes. The old school reggae and the auto-tuned idiocy are utterly redundant, as pointless as water in whisky. There are four or five properly innovative and exciting tunes here.

'I'm Still Believing' and 'Dream Orchestrator' provide capable reminders of Toy's cosmic rock outs from yore but its the dreamier, lovelorn compositions that steal the limelight and honours here.

This isn’t the sound of him stretching himself, or pushing boundaries--it’s the sound of him comfortably in his sweet spot, and that’s no bad thing.

Taken as a body of work it is certainly more consistent than Hot Fuss.

Hayman's production has resulted in a noticeable evolution in the band's sound. Unlike the off-roading experience of their previous albums, Beer In The Brakers is an often much smoother ride.

Lucifer is definitely not for everyone, but for some it will be their album of the year.

Everyday Robots is a lovely record, and in its lack of duds or whimsical twattery it’s probably one of most consistent things Albarn has ever put his name to. That doesn't make it the best, though: it doesn't take risks--not by Albarn’s standards, anyway--and in the most literal sense it's not all that exciting.

En Form For Bla is a record where it's tempting and possible to zone out of and forget that you're even listening, let alone any specifics of sound.

Blood Speaks a largely timeless-feeling piece which not only sounds like it could have been written any decade over the last 40 years or so, but feels eternal in the way it runs its course.

All in all, Wide Open demonstrates a band in transition. Methinks, overall, Burke and her motley crew are headed the right way in their conflicted and thus accurate portrayal of our tangled ids, egos, and libidos.

Largely acoustic, it is a drowsy, potent EP.

A remarkable turnaround then, and although not quite a 360 degree shift, this is a damn fine record that Feeder should be proud of.

The boisterous, almost-live feel of the production, and a leaning towards big, striding choruses and unashamedly anthemic moments means that things never get too ponderous.

For all its clever-clever effects and pose-throwing, In Love With Oblivion is a big fun record meant to be blasted through the loudest speakers possible.

Days of Abandon lets the songs breathe and ultimately speak for themselves.

It's certainly not a bad second effort; simply they have attempted to downsize the large breast-beating anthems to something a little more crafted and understated, while still retaining their populist nous.

This album is just that – an album in the truest sense, a collection of songs that work together as a whole and one that doesn’t rely on a strong single or two to make it work.

Without any obvious signifiers, Kid Kruschev could resonate for many other voices--which, granted, was also true for Jessica Rabbit, but still satisfying. And while Sleigh Bells deliver no knockout punch this time around, don’t let your guard down, or else.

As good as he evidently is as an arranger for the modern pop market (props, too, for song-penning collaborators Paul Epworth and Anthony 'Eg' White)--lacks lyrical consistency: for every neat tongue twist guaranteed to have you mouthing the words back in the shower the next day, there's some truly atrocious couplet that's best forgotten before it's heard.

Chesnutt’s vocals never intimidate, and Elf Power’s accompaniments and choral tongues are tasteful, careful not to overpower the vocals while innately aware how important the supporting cast is in shaping the overall mood.

As a complete body of work, the album stumbles in very few places.

It's the sound of a group ably treading water while its scars are glossed over with a Golden State tan.

In Evening Air employs a clear formula where guitar and synth play off each other, where at points they're indistinguishable. It's this close partnership that gives the record an architected feel.

The record will likely serve newer fans of Bonobo better than those that maintain a stronger fondness for his earlier work, but his journey is a fascinating one and only time will judge its permeance.

At its best, Glitter In The Gutter is a compelling journey into another time and place, perfectly pictured and realised.

I have finally arrived at the conclusion that this record somehow actually works. Quite well in fact, so much so that by the time 'Here Comes The Day' reaches its glittering, Broadway-themed conclusion, one almost forgets whose name is on the front cover.

Minor Victories is a thoughtful and regal opening bow, but you’ll want for a little more teeth when Act Two comes into play.

It continues one of the most singular artistic visions of modern times and while it may not push it any further it’s often so damn charming as to make you forget about all that and just drift away into Lynch’s meditative world, in wrong love with the weird.

Nonetheless, if you sense that Preoccupations have yet to nail a defining sound, then it’s part of their appeal that they may in fact never be defined by a sound. New Material hits the spot more often than not.

This is beautiful, disgusting, danceable, and nightmarish music. It allures and repels in equal measure, bursting with thoughtful concepts and successful experiments in sculpting electronic noises into something danceable, melodic and meaningful.

Liquid Love doesn’t try to be anything other than forty minutes of groove-tastic electro-pop, and as such comfortably hits its goals.

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.

When AiC hit home though, as they often do, Black Gives Way To Blue becomes the quiet triumph it set out to be.

There's a completely unique blend of textures and a desire for musical experimentation running through the bloodstream of The Golden Age of Apocalypse, and it would be a great shame to see that overlooked.

This effort is laudable, but she sounds best when pushing the envelope. A lively talent like hers shouldn't be so concealed.

It’s no laugh-a-minute ride, but there’s a beauty in Raposa’s misery that’ll appeal to acolytes of Will Oldham and his aforementioned collaborators alike.

When experimentation is so often an exhibition of flashy (and flabby) production wizardry, they remain refreshingly committed to keeping you entertained rather than just impressed.

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.

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.

After the sometimes frustrating, frequently exhilarating journey, the thrilling, head-shattering, Captain Eugene Cernan-sampling 'Contact', manned by DJ Falcon, simply soars.

There is much to enjoy in I Aubade, though, if you’re willing to pay attention.

Yes, it's enormously derivative, but it's also frequently exhilarating.

But then after a couple more artistic false starts and nearly-getting-it-together moments, the clouds part and Stay Where You Are' shines through with its grainy 12-string splendour and thrownback halo backing vocals and they finally seem to wake up to what they are: a good pop group.

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

As was the case with Jinx, Days Are Gone benefits from limiting its affections to a single golden era of its genre. It gives the album a sense of cohesiveness when it would have been so easy to create a tangled mess (cf. Everything Everything), so it’s to the band’s great credit that they’ve made something so pleasantly easy to listen to.

The strange thing about the record is that the tracks just keep getting better and better as you go along.

Turn this one need up loud to fully appreciate it--it's hardly bedtime listening--but you might want to have a little sit down and gather your thoughts after listening to it through for the first time and then listen to it again.

Ironically, this package was always going to be one for the completists, but those who’ll actually get the most from Bleach are still the "Nevermind" fans left feeling alienated by the gnarled triumph that was "In Utero."

For the most part it’s a successful approach, etching out real depth from twisting jaunts like the excellent ‘Ghosts’ and ‘Jamaica’. But as soon as they tread away from the angular indie pop paradigm, Theme Park begin to lose their edge.

A swift punch of an album which inevitably hits some artistic limitations, but succinctly delivers all the timeless qualities of in-yer-face riffage from a snotty garage band.

65daysofstatic have captured the sound of space as one of excitement and exhilaration: whether you experience it in isolation or as part of the game it is certainly one worth listening to.

The lack of bang, where a band like The Whip for instance might do a good job with a similar collection of tracks, is well and truly compensated by its overall arc and atmosphere, its leisurely strides into a lazer-filled sunset proving climax enough without gimmicky drops and pandering.

So if you want to thrash around your bedroom playing air guitar, pretending to be the rock star which you're never going to quite be, stick Steeple on and let the air guitar sessions begin.

Warp & Weft is a welcome return from Veirs and proves the chemistry between her and her producer husband Tucket Martine. The instrumentation, songwriting and melody-making effortlessly comes together thanks to the clever layering and lovingly crafted placement of each and every sound.

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

Even on a album where they might not produce a one off moment to rank up there with the best of their long career, the Beastie Boys are still inventive enough to make a rhyme about a shawl or "coming together like peanut butter and sandwiches" engaging, and by extension. Things wouldn't be the same without them.

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.

Expo 86 is good, it's just not great. Wolf Parade, the 2010 model, are good, not great.

The resulting record is, given time to grow on you, really rather loveable. Like someone taking all of your favourite Eighties 12-inches, remastering them and making you your own extra special mixtape.

There is enough great music here to make Ivory Tower a worthwhile listen, but this soundtrack drifts in the void between the two extremes of his back catalogue.

It never really lets itself go enough to really explode and take things to the next level but it’s in its reserve, precision and craft that its charm really lies.

Sonically speaking, Hunx And His Punx have hit on an essentially 'vintage' sound without being terribly authentic.

Beautiful, if rather impenetrable at times, Sonnet succeeds when holding back - teasing soft, sometimes brittle melodies through reverbed layers of atmospherics, giving just enough away to engage and envelop.

Piece everything together and this is where your mouth might, quite rightly, start to drool a little.

It's feverish, unbalanced, disturbing, and for the most part captivating.

Silver Age's songs come across as a little homogeneous, but it's an exhilarating homogeneous mass, which is all that really counts.

Rather than re-invent the wheel, they’ve instead covered it in thousands of sequins, loaded it into a fluorescent cannon, and fired into the deepest, trippiest stratosphere in the whole solar system.

The trio continue to demonstrate their chops and their wit over these 41 minutes.

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

They seem satisfied enough with their place as one of the underappreciated underdogs of the American alt rock scene, and it's hard not to get a kick out of hearing such an independent spirit raging through this album, even if commercially, Simple Math doesn't quite add up.

This album has five more absolutely brilliant tracks.

While Gurnsey still keeps his tunes all tight and trim like the most on-point DJ, Physical sketches out enough of the night life to convince us that anything could still happen.

Within its perameters It’s an inventive and carefree album, a joyful re-engagement with a well loved sound, one that will undoubtedly remain fresh for as long as its creators are happy to stir the electro-rock-cauldron.

The front-heavy momentum of Pigeons is enough to ensure that that the dreamy beauty of Here We Go Magic's debut has been fiercely preserved.

It doesn't have to be anything more than the two things it certainly is: a tribute to a longtime bandmate and friend, one in which he gets to take part in spite of departing the planet, and a collection of songs which at different points are clever, funny, fulsome and moving.

The Bride Screamed Murder isnâ??t the best Melvins album ever, but it is rarely less than arresting as a listening experience. Moreover, they sound like theyâ??re having a blast, unconstrained by draconian label expectations.

Compared to Ferndorf, and its staggering highpoint Freibad, it's far more introspective and thoughtful, and requires far more effort to become fully absorbed within. Which, surely, is no bad thing, but you occasionally long for a little whimsy back.

Depending how much you dig [Alt-Country], there are either one or two fairly splendid albums embedded in these 22 songs, running to 64 minutes in total.

Gripes aside, a good chunk of BORN LIKE THIS.. shows an angrier, more cynical, and, hell, maybe even better DOOM. A day may come when the mask starts to rust, but it's not just yet.

Octahedron lacks sparkle enough to raise it above previous creative highs--it’s a recommended affair, at times truly scintillating, but it doesn’t quite deliver to the extent where all caution can be tossed to the breeze.

Harvey Milk has been referred to as The Bob Weston Sessions for some time; the remaster given to its ten songs serves to emphasise, rather than undermine, Weston’s keen ear for the dramatically heavy.

There will be those who'll look at the sleeve, read the controversial title and dismiss the record on the assumption that Anton Newcombe has lost his marbles again. However, venture beyond Who Killed Sgt Pepper's disparaging parameters and there's several exquisite gems to be discovered here.

As a collective effort, The Bundles offer a different kind of intimacy; the closeness of a tight-knit group of friends rather than emotive fervour of the individual confessional.

The music wisely remains sombre; eschewing the cheesy crescendo you kinda fear is coming at the chorus only for it to stick to gloom as the vocals reach to be optimistic.