New Order have made a really good album, one that easily justifies their soldiering on.

Some Loud Thunder is a partial success. When it shines, it shines brightly and showcases a skill at crafting - when they have the balls to carry their ideas through - insanely catchy left-of-centre quirk pop a la Talking Heads.

As a whole it's a musically and lyrically a beautiful reflection on the less than smooth course life can take. But it is not recommended listening if you’re going through a rough break-up or are feeling generally sad, unless weeping yourself senseless is your aim.

You have to turn Girl up loud to hear the 'meshes of voice' that make this a more complex album than on first impression.

Here, Laura Jane Grace is emerging from her shell, grasping her icon status with both hands and speaking up for what she sees as a largely invisible, voiceless group of underdogs. And it doesn't get much more punk rock than that.

Whether Ogilala will count as one of them remains to be seen. Like its author it too is both fascinating, brilliant and unlikeable by turns. An interesting curio in an always-compelling career.

An enjoyable offering from a genuine treasure.

The catchy songs are catchier; the melodies are tighter; the peaks and troughs dip higher and lower. ... If crossover hits were still a thing in the indie game, 'Watering' would be the low-key bridge to a more post-punk-savvy crowd. But other moments just fail to pop, like the title track that’s blown out and unfocused.

Lollipop is the sound of three relatively _cheerful old men continuing to ignore and deride contemporary fashions and faddisms, playing the music they like to play and having a ball doing it. And what could be more punk rock than that?

They’re not badly written songs, but as the band contentedly set sail towards genteel Robert Wyatt-esque pop-soul balladry, fans might be left back on the shore wondering what happened to the idiosyncratic Hot Chip they fell in love with.

Some will accuse them of cynicism, and they may be right, but there is enough intriguing material which is unarguably theirs here which keeps this an inventive and enjoyable pop-rock record.

A tastefully produced, solid entry into the Man Man catalogue.

Haunting until its final breath is drawn, Conatus pretty much does what it says on the packaging, its creator's endeavours in no way wasted on what is a worthy addition to a body of work of uncompromising consistency.

There are moments of heart-stopping beauty throughout, as well as a newfound optimism that propels the songs to swelling heights.

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.

Only time will tell whether CSFLY turns out to be as seminal as Crooks and Lovers, but that isn’t important. What is important is that it’s an accomplished, interesting and thoroughly enjoyable body of work that will be played again and again and again, on the radio, at festivals and in bedrooms the world over.

Goat haven’t set the world on fire this time around, but they continue to make alluring, fascinating and significant music. On their third they have assembled a warm and more open record that doesn’t sacrifice their inherent mystery.

There are certainly active emotions fuelling the themes laid out on this album, and I daresay you could identify fragments of meta-commentary. It's just that you need to take most of it on good faith.

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.

PUP’s second record is one of moments and contrast--huge musical and lyrical leaps forward, some magical trickery and sleight of hand, a few stumbling mis-steps and finally a huge bright, beaming light offering this budding band a path to follow down which they can flower, grow and hey, maybe one day, not be quite so fucking hard on themselves.

This album runs the same gauntlet as any best of: inevitably any one given will adore 50 per cent of the selections and being various-levels-of-nonplussed about the remainder. While the collection does slightly skew towards the contemporary material, May Death Never Stop You essentially plays out like an evolutionary tree of My Chemical Romance’s sound.

On Sugaring Season she captures both the melancholy and the confidence that comes with growing older really rather well.

Human The Death Dance is a little too boastful, a little too obvious; the subtleties that made Francis’ previous offering so enjoyable and provided it with plenty of longevity have dissipated somewhat.

The nature of this very premise could so easily have made for a messy and confused effort, but Africane 808 somehow manage to make a cohesive piece of work out of so many conflicting elements.

Though an admitted level back on the recent disco-drone of "Growing’s Lateral" and even their fantastic EP release of "Living" from last year, these noise troupers have set up a decent new stall.

We Will Not Harm You is well-crafted enough that the looping repetition is pleasing, with the dominant bass thwacking out grooves which just play on and on.

There are moments of abject terror and suspense that perfectly sum up the show, that are flawlessly executed and deliver such a rush that you are swept along with them, and only after do you question what just happened. Like all the best things in life, this album is not what it initially seems.

Perhaps a little soft in places it is nevertheless beautiful and gently bruised, a welcome rush of emotion blowing across the borders of adulthood rather than a visceral shove between one state and the next. A solid album from a band beginning to bloom.

This Is My Hand is a good example of how sometimes less can be more. But when the ‘less’ is as good as some of the songs in the second half, it’s easy to see why you might want more.

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.

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

Humbug is a pretty good album that’s pleasingly incongruous amongst the pre-fab boredom of much modern Brit indie. It’s eminently not astounding but it is inventive, and likeably so.

Love Songs For Robots is ambitious without being overblown, intimate without falling to sentimentality and subtly, delicately lovely.

The slower songs can certainly be felt to add a rounded edge to what would otherwise be an unrelentingly pointy poptastic delivery.

Quietly, creepily and insidiously catchy.

The record captures and remains stuck in a moment, circulating a narrative where memory serves and is replaced over and over again, like an acid flashback with a locked groove.

Altogether, Popular Problems is another very good record from someone who many thought might not have such a thing in him, a concise collection of nine tracks curated by a man who has rediscovered his musical spark.

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.

Unlike Robbers and Cowards and Loyalty to Loyalty, the Kids have taken a completely different angle on their music writing, taking a similar road to that of Arcade Fire's The Suburbs by adding a slice of pop to their sound.

It’s an honest record, one that puts Iqbal’s own deftly balanced sound and influences to the forefront, while also having some piercing yet thoughtful insights into contemporary society. As a first step under her own name, it’s a hugely confident stride forward.

It seems it will take a third record for it to be fully realised, meaning that 'promising' once again seems like the right word, but on Where The Messengers Meet the Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band do a good deal of delivering too.

This persistent juxtaposition of dynamics makes for a particularly striking, if challenging, listen.

All together, Alpha Mike Foxtrotis a lot to take in at once--over five hours of material, and Wilco enthusiasts will have heard much of the contents already.

Record Collection is an accomplished piece of work, but you have to wonder whether Ronson'd be able to achieve something of a similar magnitude and quality if he was left alone in a recording studio; no guests, no help, no connections.

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.

This is a fascinating record that enjoys toying with musical boundaries and unnerving the listener.

Accomplished and polished, if a little slight compared to its predecessors, AGE doesn't quite equal the consistency of The Smell Of Our Own or Awoo but is, nonetheless, a welcome return for one of this century's finest songwriting collectives.

If it hasn't already been made clear, there is a pretty constant, not to mention obvious, Eighties aesthetic permeating these eleven tracks. But it's been put together well enough that its never really overbearing or worse, a contrived mess.

It's always impressive when the ballads on an album neither slow down its pace nor detract from the rest of the album. It's a true testament to how well-rounded this album really is.

I like it a lot. Much better than their first.

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.

On its own, Orphaned Deejay Selek 2006-2008 definitely manages to holds its own as a brilliant slice of pure AFX acid, and a sure fire way to get your Aphix for a couple of months.

It's the sound of a band completely at ease with themselves despite hostile surroundings, where music becomes both a document of life and a means to ease away from its greatest challenges for a little while.

Dos! is a reliably fun, garagey treat--and should be viewed as no more than that.

Fanfarlo are similar fare, and that’s a perfectly fine thing to be. The band make pretty, guitar and organ-led indie, with discreet swirls, parps, and trills of brass and strings.

Ape In Pink Marble may not quite measure up in quality to Mala, but it is definitely a fruitful album by one of the most respected musicians in the business.

Remind Me Tomorrow isn’t as consistently captivating as Tramp or Are We There, but it’s nonetheless a delightful return, one that gives us a new (pleasingly less traumatic) window into Van Etten’s world.

Snow Globe is one of the more palatable additions to the Christmas cannon, and a really good Erasure record to boot.

Don't like it? Well Cee-Lo has two words for you.

It might be churlish to suggest that First Aid Kit introduce some rougher edges or explore some other musical avenues, when they’ve nailed what they do so exquisitely. However, over time they’ll have to if they're serious about taking the roads their heroes have travelled.

While City Forgiveness does allow the trio breathing room, they never use that space to justify the length--they’re doing what they do, and doing it well, but the over-familiarity when faced with 90 minutes of this stuff does great songs a disservice.

By no means is this a bad album, it is just one that in the modern day holds little relevance and offers nothing significant.

Whatever looming shadow might darken your homeland, Music for the Long Emergency offers a substantive retreat, with enough room for minds to rest and wander in peace.

Whatever angle you examine it from, Lucky Shiner is an impressive statement, especially for a debut, and when Gold Panda lets the house beat sink into the background and experiments a little more with space and structure the results are gorgeous.

It's neither forward looking nor, overtly retro or especially of the moment--it just is, in the best sense.

The rest of the record is suddenly and gracefully, if somewhat confusingly, scooped up in the slightly irksome breezes of troubadour lo-fi, though considering the chops of that opening brace it's hardly a deal breaker.

Florence isn’t Hayman’s most ambitious or thrilling work ever, but it’s not supposed to be. A moment’s rest can work wonders on a tired soul.

Isla is nothing revolutionary. That's not to say that its originality is completely lost, but perhaps a touch more adventure and earnest into the mix would change the Portico Quartet's breeze into something much more powerful.

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

Despite his vocal inflexions bearing more than a passing resemblance to those of the great man, he is a formidable artist in his own right with an ever-expanding canon of powerful and affecting songs. Not everything works quite as well.

Like the three series of Deadwood, you could spend time picking between each of the three Brokeoff's releases, but they should instead be seen as a single evocative triptych, although one that would nonetheless leave enthusiasm for another blood stained instalment.

This is not a classic – each high is paired with a low of similar scale, so whilst ‘Down In A Rabbit Hole’ scales heights previously thought unreachable, ‘Ship In A Bottle’, with baby samples screeching over the top of the most base-level beats, is plain annoying.

Despite its heavy subject matter, this record sparkles and whirrs in a way that is very easy to fall in love with.

Thanks to the similarities in vocal styles, it’s easy to compare Widowspeak with other acts around, and it’s fair to say that there’s plenty here for fans of such acts to admire. However, there’s also more here for anyone willing to look deeper, especially if you’re fond of a little country-tinged drama with your reverb and wistful vocals.

It’s stirring, tragic fare that demonstrates why For Willie is a good introduction for those new to Nelson and Houck alike.

While Campbell's music hasn't done a complete U-turn and embraced sonic maximalism, the nine tracks on Hinterland benefit from greater depth, evident on even the sparsest cuts.

The Errant Charm is marked by subtle beats and expansive drones that underpin most of the tracks and add an interesting new dimension to the band's sound.

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

So what is there to learn here? How about ‘Hal are generally good, although they’re usually better when they’re trying to blow our minds rather than win our heart’.

Ultimately, Bitter Rivals offers the comfort of familiarity while being different enough to avoid breeding contempt.

In fairness, We Were Dead... excites almost as much as it frustrates; the problem lying not so much in its commercial aspirations per se as an occasional inability to integrate them into a satisfying whole. That, and there’s too much shouting. And it’s way too long.

Minor criticisms aside, this is still a highly enjoyable record that knocks spots off most of the competition still tripping over each other's shoelaces to be the most shambolic lo-fi band in town.

It's a strong departure from the more sedate haunted seaside sounds of their last album, Butterfly House. It’s the sound of a band revitalised after a five-year-hiatus, ready to conquer the world once again.

You can hear a band recognising that the journey is important as the destination, and the process important as the final product.

Overall, you’re left the impression of an artist genuinely expressing themselves. It may not be his Born In The USA--despite what Vile claims--but Bottle It In ultimately succeeds in its intentions and further escalates Vile’s reputation as part of a rare breed of authentic songwriters. And that’s alright for now.

Friendly Fire is better than anyone could have predicted.

Patchy, perhaps, but there's plenty over the course of American Gangster to suggest that, even if sullied by a lack of prolificacy, at least the Brooklyn beatnik is keeping the right company again.

It's one of those hard to grasp music forms--listen to it on headphones and the acuity of it improves, listen to it on speakers and another side is revealed.

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

Even if they wrap themselves in prettier packaging, they’re as sharp as ever.

Overall, Regions Of Light And Sound Of God is a good rather than great album, lacking some of the spine-tingling dynamics of My Morning Jacket but delivering a consistent vision than many of their efforts.

Despite her numerous contemporaries, Torres stands out as a distinct and compelling performer.

While none of the tracks here equal the individual brilliance of the album standouts ‘Rode Null’ or ‘Barfuss Durch Grass’, Snowflakes and Car Wrecks hangs together far better than a collection of offcuts might reasonably be expected to.

On The Air Conditioned Nightmare some of the songs feel reverse-engineered, with vocals serving to glue the songs together rather than providing a focal point in themselves.

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

As 'The Little Death (In Five Parts)' started I questioned whether this record would start to fall down a slippery slope and plummet to the ground faster than a lead balloon falling from the sky. Fortunately 'The Little Death (In Five Parts)' reinstated my faith and any trepidation and scepticism I had is instantly diminished.

It’s hard to properly describe an album which needs to be experienced from start to finish rather than intimately analysed. Give yourself the opportunity to become part of Meg Baird’s brave new world. You won’t be disappointed.

It may be somewhat on the lofty, artistic side, but bounty manages somehow to avoid ostentation; it is largely elegant, grounded and rewarding.