There are a lot of sweeping strings throughout ...and the Pioneer Saboteurs, but don't come along expecting a smooth ride. Although he might look and occasionally sound like Richard Hawley's younger, scruffier brother, Hinson shares little of the Brit's romance here.

Love Yes feels like a radical step forward for the Brooklyn-based group. It’s a coming of age struggle wrapped in the slick, veneer of Eighties glamour, and ultimately TEEN’s synth-pop dreams are hard to beat.

There are plenty of fine moments in all the songs, whether it's a sudden burst of harmonies, or unexpected instrumental flourishes, from behind the singer.

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

Theirs is a career of true progressiveness, in every sense of the word. What was hinted at in parts on 2007's Grindstone has been, bettered, battered and even bludgeoned. Chalk up another one for Norway, then.

If you've refrained from taking advantage of more illegal means of hearing this thus far in 2011, you really have no excuse not to listen to this subtly charming record.

Treat Where Were You When It Happened? as the, in a very real sense, dry run for their shows. Their fun house is as much Pat Sharp as it is the Stooges, but it’s not without its merits.

Smilewound requires something of an adjustment of expectations.

There are plenty of strengths to Shulamith, not least that it chiefly shares its blueprints with its spellbinding debut. But in expanding its horizons, it dents the assured sense of identity which made Give You the Ghost so utterly enrapturing, and reverses the dichotomy of maximalist-emotion alongside minimalist-music.

Its incoherence might prove a bit frustrating, but Eleanor has proved that she can do perfectly well away from her sibling.

Matt Caughthran's vocals have never been stronger, more melodic or capable of holding centre stage. Yet coupled with the slicker sheen to the LP (self-made in their new home studio) it has pushed some of their material into territories traditionally inhabited by the totally underwhelming.

As colourful as its cover sleeve, Wildewoman is packed with a joyous authenticity that’s achieved through a well-structured set of songs that traverse a veritable array of musical styles.

Backspacer is very much calculated to sound the way it sounds, and suggesting Pearl Jam have lost anything would be premature. Ultimately there’s no point fretting about the future when contemplating a record that’s so very much a celebration of the moment.

Slow Club wear the album’s mood well, and its consistent feel gives the whole record a lovely cohesion, but there are some drawbacks to the approach.

Love Frequency might not be enough on its own to lift us from the doldrums of EDM--but it’s always refreshing to hear dance music with a human heart at its core.

It is an album which requires patience, which, once granted provides ever increasing rewards.

By no means reinventing the wheel then, but not about to carelessly buckle it either.

Blurry Blue Mountain is another late career album that falls in the 'good enough to listen to, not quite hot enough to buy' category. The highlights will bolster their setlists, the rest will clog up your hard drive.

There is a nagging sense with this attempt that they are leaning on their influences even more than usual, however this is also stands as their best-produced and most accessible record, so there is a balance struck. Whether those outside of the proggy, psychedelic set will acknowledge that, remains to be seen.

At times the record does dip, as some tracks don’t seize your attention quite as strongly as they might. But all-in-all, BSS have made an album that trumps any cynicism that they may have faced, and in the process Hug of Thunder is as hearteningly unguarded and positive a record as you are likely to hear this year.

It's an unabashed throwback, but it's a throwback that's accomplished, likeable, and a lot more fun that it probably should be.

Congratulations is no more impenetrable than the Flaming Lips at their most commericial, with Sonic Boom offering a bright, upfront mix that keeps the baffling array of omichords, guitars, sitars, synths, organs and FX percolating in dynamic, uncluttered fashion.

Where this EP lacks in progression, it makes up for in the strength of the songwriting.

Not the most essential thing ever, but then does anyone ever NEED fried cuts of pork? No, but you’ll devour it anyway. Hence, this album.

Listen to Still Night, Still Light for what it is and its unlikely you will end up disappointed.

While the revved motors and displaced robot pop satisfy your expectations, you find the virus progressing too quickly for you to evaluate its efficiency. A blue bar at the bottom tracks the virus’s progress to completion; you’re quite alarmed to see this already halfway full, as if someone twisted the fabrics of time in your ears.

A step forwards, if not a giant leap.

It is an album that demands attention, not to mention repeated listenings, to draw out the beauty.

At times Kidsticks feels a little uneven. Tempos and timbres shift regularly, never allowing the listener to truly settle into one mode, or gain a true sense of what is the coherent sonic voice at the heart of the album. That is, apart from Orton's voice itself, which has never sounded better or more in control.

A bit of musical beauty, some interesting lyricism and a pinch of hippy bollocks--still distinctly Patti Smith.

So while there are a few moments of blandness, a few moments where tradition sits a little too comfortably for a little too long and where some of us may be a little lost lyrically, there is never any question of the inherent power of Staples’ voice.

Kanye’s eighth, deeply egotistical, candidly self-aware, frequently cringe-inducing, captivatingly produced and infuriatingly compelling record.

Produced differently, A Deeper Understanding could be really startling stuff; as it is, it feels like The War on Drugs have made an agreeable, fan-pleasing album to escape into and hide in, not to a record to take on the world--but perhaps that’s not such a bad thing in 2017.

This isn't quite there yet for The Phoenix Foundation; there remains the nag that they haven't quite satisfied the need for more infectious hooks, although to their credit efforts have clearly been made.

A shimmering DJ compilation which sounds a bit cerebral, all in all.

There are a lot of great songs on Islands, lyrical depth is partnered with enough melodic and harmonic twists and turns to keep things interesting. Underneath it all, though, there lies the sense that here is a band who are playing it somewhat safe.

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.

It’s an extremely sprightly record for a man pushing 90, and though there’s no way he can recapture the era-defining energy of his classics--cuts so pervasive their DNA is present in every rock song for the last 60 years--there’s a lot of the spirit of that era here.

If Luminiferous has a flaw then it is its length.... On the whole, however, this is a difficult album to throw too many critiques at.

For latecomers to The Lemonheads this record isn't a bad place to start. For long-term fans it's a sure sign that Evan Dando isn't ready to be written off just yet.

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.

It's a nagging feeling that despite the sheer addictiveness of the material, the stonkingly monumental percussion and the band's fledgling yet highly-accomplished abilities, it’s a bit devoid of that certain spark.

The Avalanche is a great record, but one that may have benefited from its creator learning to be a little more detached from his compositions.

Palace is neither quite as original nor quite as good as the hype would have us believe. As an album, however, its strength lies in its depth of feeling being instantly recognisable to any listener who's ever had their heart broken, broken a heart, or generally had a romantic endeavour that's gone a bit shit.

All in all, there’s not much here that’s likely to blow your mind; if you’re already a Motörhead fan then you know exactly what you’re getting yourself in for, and even the most die-hard may find themselves wanting to skip a track or two, but there’s always something impressive about a band so dedicated and single-minded about fulfilling the simple goal of being the best rock band on the planet.

This collection is worth picking up, purely because it is nice as a listener to have a rummage around 60-odd songs in the search of something good; the challenge might be to narrow that batch down to ten songs worth keeping, and to forward those songs onto someone you know.

It is definitely a record that demands repeated attention, as a cursory listen will not unveil all its hidden gems. It's instantly accessible than his previous records, but when Cudi is on his game he reaps unignorable rewards.

Not everything works perfectly here but when he gets it right, he really nails it.

For an outfit who've been heralded as the industry's great white hopes of 2009, The Big Pink undoubtedly have several moments of pure genius here, but ultimately, A Brief History Of Love lacks the consistency to elevate it from the status of a good debut album to that of a great one.

Although some of the themes and content of the music may be a little heavy, Dare uses the most basic of tools available to him and us as humans to express himself--words.

While they’re unlikely to achieve the same reach awarded them by ‘The Middle’ (although Taylor Swift’s endorsement won’t hurt), their dedication to honest, wide-eyed songcraft has resulted in their best album in over a decade.

Initially addictive and tantalising, an hour of consuming their slickly engineered autopop leaves you with little more than a faint sense of emptiness.

Make Another World finds Idlewild balancing their twin loves of volatile angst-rock and vivacious indie-pop neatly and professionally.

Preteen Weaponry’s psychedelic rout may be far from their finest hour, but it serves to remind all that these jesters should belong as part of the furniture.

It’s a swaggering, pyschedelic road album, which we’ve generously been allowed to ride shotgun on. Buy the record, take the ride.

The record loses its way a touch over its second half, ultimately lacking the songwriting craft to deliver emotional gratification, though it’s naggingly close.

This is not the best Marissa Nadler record, but it kind of feels like her most perfect, potentially the resolution of a subtle identity crisis that’s run through her music over the years.

It isn't highbrow or ground-breaking, but it is fun and uplifting.

Amygdala is a thoroughly immersive album, possessing so many layers that it seems to change upon each listen.

Interpol is quite possibly the record that the more rabid end of the band's fanbase would have wanted Antics to be; a consistently flowing album, the whole of which is exceedingly better than the sum of its parts.

It’s Greenwood’s own work that’s most compelling. The album runs in a different order to the film itself, although, perhaps incongruously, still includes snippets of Joanna Newsom’s narration; there’s not a great deal of coherent relation to the picture’s narrative, then, and anybody who saw Newsom’s name attached to the project and hoped it might have finally heralded some post-Have One on Me material will be disappointed.

The Fool often sounds like it was assembled by a spectacularly talented committee, like the minutes of the recording sessions are probably filed away in a sterile LA duplex somewhere.

If ‘April’s Song’ is the low point of the record’s wanderlust--an affectless instrumental track that goes nowhere--elsewhere it blooms wonderfully.

Like many such films (they exist, right?), Passage is endearing, with unforgettable peaks; it looks beautiful at first glance, and has no shortage of beautiful moments, but don't delve too deeply lest the mirage of a grandiose masterpiece dissolve.

That Keith is capable of better records is a point proven by his past, but so far as 2006-born hip-hop goes, this is head and shoulders above much of the loudmouthed, uncouth and generic rabble.

Guthrie's creative spark is as bright as ever.

EUPHORIC HEARTBREAK should at very least cement Glasvegas' status as one of our most intriguing mainstream indie/rock groups and given a chance by those of a more cynical standpoint they might just find themselves enjoying the titular sensations the record promises and, for the most part, successfully delivers.

It can seem unfocussed on occasion, but that rush to cram in influences from disparate sources settles into a pleasing hodge-podge in the second half of this album.

Let It Be You is a real return to form for Wasser, and one for which Davis is due ample credit; when the two hit their stride they’re undeniable, making more material from the two a tantalising prospect.

In Electric Slave, Black Joe Lewis has crafted a reference point that’ll supplant those old YouTube performances and provide future Lewis scholars with what is arguably the defining point of his career.

Out with the old and in with the new, so to speak. Which is exactly what Pollock has attempted and, for the majority of Watch The Fireworks, achieved.

Kintsugi is a finely-made tearjerker of a record that evokes similar levels of sadness as those examples, featuring some crisp and well-structured songwriting that launches torrents of emotive air strikes to summon an appropriate degree of solemnity.

Individual tracks will wax and wane in popularity, and the genitalia humour of 'Sugar Lumps' et al might attract a wider audience who don’t understand the deadpan atmosphere of the rest of the show, but it’s hard to grow tired of this peculiar couple and their music.

It's little surprise that Mondo Cane is an album that--65 piece orchestra or not--is built around Patton's personality and voice, rather than his lyricism in the traditional sense. It's this continuity which lends it an appeal beyond mere authenticity and curiosity, to the listener prepared to devote a little time and dare I say it, research, into the album's background and source material.

Cerebral Ballzy is an album too desperate for your immediate attention to have any concerns beyond the last bar of 'Anthem'.

If viewed as a unique, and relatively unmediated collection of experimental tracks rather than an album, Collaborative Works is an enchanting listen. What it lacks in structural polish, it makes up for in quality.

Whilst arguably Beam's most consistent album for some years, there are fewer moments of raw beauty here than on past excursions, resulting in a whole that is somehow less than its impressive component parts.

Non-Believers may disarm at first, but after a couple of listens this will quickly hook into the ears and heart as every Mac McCaughan venture does. This is his dusk album.

While Causers Of This appears lo-fi on a superficial level with its rough, oversaturated sound quality, it's evident that Bundick has achieved a level of familiarity with his tools which goes way beyond awkward, sophomoric fumbling.

For all that pomp and bombast, it does remain difficult to fully engage with a record like this, and Strange Keys is never an effortless listen. Nor is it an entirely effective record.

Jakes and the band have so much inherent chemistry the flaws almost don't matter: the likes of 'Diamond Days' and 'Jaws of Hell' temporarily make the little misfires an afterthought.

Over 13 tracks Transcontinental Hustle casts its spells, a record that fairly howls at the moon.

The fact is that Boys Forever rarely changes pace. Small musical variations in tempo or atmosphere such as on ‘Things’ and ‘I Don’t Remember Your Name’ become ultra significant breaks from the Boys Forever norm and I would have liked to have heard a few more of them. However, the shimmery diamondness of the album still remains.

What In Dust lacks in sonic breadth, it makes up for by bringing richness to its palette of oppressive mists and dread-filled shadows.

Fortunately Grellier includes enough moments of excitement to keep Heritage less of a soundtrack album and more a French disco LP stripped of vocals.

As a starting point for Jim Noir, 'Tower Of Love' is a tasty entree that merely whets the appetite for the first album proper.

The record’s grip does start to loosen as it progresses, and while they have made less of a leap than their previous effort, Mother nevertheless demonstrates what a vibrant and fruitful partnership the two musicians continue to enjoy.

The songs might not be classics quite yet but the sounds on offer here suggest that the best of Siskiyou might yet be ahead.

While Observator may be no step forward, it is affirmation of a great formula.

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

The whole record comes in at almost exactly 30 minutes - a nice round number that allows for ten songs of in and around three minutes each - which keeps it punchy and makes the whole thing move: no time to get bored, here comes the next song, anyway

Do It Again is eccentric and ends too quickly, but those considerations pale next to the fact that within less than half an hour, Robyn and Röyksopp go from eyeing each other with genuine suspicion to sounding as if they’ve never been apart.

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

Despite the heterogeneous nature of the album as a whole, Patton is never out of his depth, even when paired with unusual collaborators.

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.

What War Room Stories makes clear is that the way forward is further exploration and boundary pushing. Unsurprisingly, given both their sound and their ethos, Breton are not at their best when static, but rather forging ahead--cramming the bare bones of their sound into new and unsuspecting genres and influences.

Some will decry Valhalla Dancehall's essential familiarity, but on their fourth album proper British Sea Power are a band unique, complex and confident enough in their own right to remind us why we loved them in the first place whilst making modest refinements to their sound.

Not only is there too much going on in each song to think of them as simple pop numbers, but Why Make Sense? touches upon a huge range of styles.