Still as irksome and tuneless as ever.

It’s not that there’s a shortage of good ideas on Depersonalisation; it’s just that, in its attempts to sound lo-fi and to shroud everything in darkness, a fair few of those ideas have been smothered.

A solid, quality record with atmosphere and character in spades that proves its creators as an active and current force.

Further is at times a thrilling listen and barely puts a foot wrong, yet at a time when electronic music is expanding so quickly, it doesn't shine as brightly as it might have a decade ago.

With giant gyrating reverberated guitars and a grandiose brass section, this is the sound of a rock band attempting the sweeping gallantry of Sibelius or Tchaikovsky and getting away with it. It represents a smugly victorious ending to what is a phenomenally strong and well-polished album.

The Birds of Satan is a fun record--it doesn’t aim to top the charts, be name-checked by politicians, or indeed supersede anything that the Foos have ever done.

For every one of the album's fumbled subtleties, there are several moments when The Districts feint at being great. Enough to show they’re flailing in the right direction.

It’s odd, yes, and quite, quite daft, but executed with some real charm.

Here, Aereogramme have created something more than deserving of all the praise lavished upon it.

There probably won’t be a better instrumental album than this in 2015. It will certainly be one of the most inventive, delicate and fearless records the year will offer.

This album is a reminder of the healing power of three dweebs, or how much fun it would be to watch Brian Wilson getting caught in a triangle of punk.

This emotional rollercoaster of an album has a few cleverly disguised cliches similar to 'emotional rollercoaster' embedded in the music and lyrics.

Green Lanes, the second album from Ultimate Painting, is really, really nice. It doesn’t do anything special, or new, or especially original.

While the album’s steady pace makes for few edge-of-the-seat thrills, World Waits is a success of consistency and coherency.

Ludicrous song titles and minor flaws apart, ‘Deja Entendu’ is a defiantly intelligent and singularly rewarding piece of work.

Stereolab will always provide excitement, but in the past, part of that excitement came from a band having no idea of how they should sound, so that the result threw polemics and tangents together with an unmatched grace.

For all its glitz and shine, Dungeonesse feels slightly disingenuous--a rather contrived leap onto the 'summer of disco' bandwagon.

Ultimately Perch Patchwork has some good pieces that just don't combine to make a great album. It's hard to call a band that is just releasing its debut full length "overcooked," but that's exactly what some of these tracks sound like.

The aforementioned 'The King' is a string-laden lament on changing times and love in their small pocket of the world, and it's better than most of the songs that precede it. But it’s not enough to pull Once Upon A Time In The West out of it’s own lumpen mediocrity.

An odd little journey, but one worth making.

While there are some moments of transcendentally dazzling pop nous on display on Hunger, it is, fundamentally a cosy, harmless record in a retro stylee, made by an all accounts pleasant bunch of musicians who have enjoyed a fairly smooth --by today's standards--ride to where they are now.

Throughout the album DM Stith acts a man far off into the galaxy, oscillating between space and sound, and without much vocalizing, extends a gracious hand to the listener as well.

On this record it’s all too common for the songs to merely float by, neither enticing you to pursue nor burdening you into reflection, which is a shame as Ólöf is more than capable of writing stunning songs.

There is an amiable and glowing exterior to Warm Blanket that does offers some occasional sustenance--just don't expect anything to really get your teeth in to.

If you’re a fan you’ll know what that sounds like and you won’t be disappointed by Repentless. If you’re not, well you’ll probably still find much to enjoy until the next Metallica album finally comes out.

Modest Mouse have written 15 good tracks that don’t amount to a great album.

The 2nd Law is seriously fun.

It’s a frustrated listen, thanks to unrealised ideas and a potential that you sense has yet to fully unlocked, but there are enough good songs and great moments studded amongst the mire to make Red, Yellow and Blue both a worthwhile purchase to cherry-pick the best from as well as an indicator of good things to come from the Canadian trio.

The band have retreated back to their pre-4AD line-up and reined in the overtly pop instincts of After the End, instead content to needle at a single idea in the hope of coaxing something memorable.

It's different without being aggravating and intelligent without ever being overbearing.

The most frustrating part of the brilliance is that it has been all too fleeting. Please Anni, give us more.

It's at the safest of removes; emote by rote, numbness by numbers.

Ultimately, it’s all just too lazy. Yes, I know that’s the point, but this really is slacking overkill.

While Part II is broadly a success, it is a qualified one. Lines often come across as clunky and trite.

Along with fellow Birmingham rabble rousers Table Scraps, Sunshine Frisbee Laserbeam have made a record that proves the spirit of DIY is alive, well and living somewhere off the M42/A34 axis.

The songwriting is definitely more consistent than before.

Twilight Of The Innocents is surprisingly, frustratingly, bafflingly good.

Slaves of Fear isn’t perfect, but then I’m not sure it’s trying to be. It’s all over the place, but is also strangely connected. It’s good, just leave me alone now--I need a lie down.

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

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 hardly makes for the most exciting record of the year.... But it is clearly a very accomplished album.

this album is never less than interesting. It’s just that with but a touch of discipline, they could create something truly magical.

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.

A generally rambunctious mid-fi indie electropop sitting at an odd remove from the band’s devotional cause.

The joy and longevity emanating throughout is at once jubilant and effortless: a luminescent pop-not-quite-masterpiece as much an indication one waits a little further down the road, Nights Out is eminently worthy of your time and investment.

It is nothing more, and nothing less than a decent Morrissey album, and for some that is all the recommendation needed.

Although Liima’s first offering is somewhat of a mixed affair, it is worth sticking with, for both them and us.

The first two singles released of the album, ‘J-Boy’ and ‘Ti Amo’, are enjoyable enough, setting the scene with shimmery ripples as you’re engulfed by the clubby rhythm, disco-balls swirling through every riff. But they also reveal the main flaws in the album: both build promisingly into grand reveals only to stall and go nowhere, like revving a car in neutral.

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.

Throughout, Sitek’s production dusts the stark techno basslines and percussion with ambient touches, and renders them human again, embellishing with swathes of guitars and treated synths, and allowing the vocals to come to the surface; untreated and clear as glass.

While ‘Hustle And Cuss’ and ‘I Can’t Hear You’ rely too much on the practically prehistoric blues template White has employed throughout his career, the slinky stomp and lusty roar of ‘Gasoline’ and the crashing, panting, hair rawk solo-infused ‘Jawbreaker’ show that The Dead Weather have found the balls to break free of such constraints.

‘Burned Mind’ isn’t music; it’s a vision of a decimated future.

As an album King Animal remains a somewhat numbing listen, its components, as excellent as they individually often are, making for a rather wearing collective, undeniably muscular but curiously unmemorable.

They’ve pushed themselves on this album, striving to achieve something honestly different to what was released before it. Occasionally they’ve fallen short of perfection, but for the most part this album is a certifiable success.

Unfortunately, though, almost a third of the album is devoted to namby-pamby ballads which, stripped of the band’s trademark sugary hooks, sound truly wispy by proportion.

Something For All Of Us isn't going to change anything for any of us--Canning will go back to doing whatever it is he does in Broken Social Scene, Drew will remain its fire eye'd leader, and the Presents... series is profoundly unlikely to shift a single unit to anyone not already a BSS fan. But in his own quiet way Canning has both proved and defined himself.

While there are tracks of beauty and wonder, there are duller moments too, where the history that First Aid Kit derive their music from overwhelms their songs, reminding us always of what came before.

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.

Much like kindred spirits The Beta Band once did, this is a band plugging the gap between pop finesse and esoteric art school gristle without reverting to gimmicks or cliche. And, for Found, that's very little to be surprised about.

Helioscope is another example of Vessels' growing ability to map out enormously ambitious journeys that go beyond the obvious touchstones and influences. In short: definitely worthy of your attention.

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

Whilst not wholly unique,Golden Suits is undeniably individual--a wholehearted, open but personal space--built from imagination, memories, stories: what he knows and who he knows.

A fascinating album and one which will reward with an attentive ear, just don't expect an instant, agreeable listen.

What’s clear is how badly Marr needs a foil, a counterpart, a collaborator, because on his own his ideas only seem to stretch so far, and so, sadly, does our good will.

Tracker is seamless in both embracing technology and adapting it; recreating the intimacy of personal experiences within the confines of an uncluttered, contemporary folk backdrop.

This sounds like Steve Wold, not Seasick Steve, and the result is an untidy, tedious affair.

Despite the difference between le Bon’s and Presley’s median outputs, they produce a fresh and rich stylistic centre on Hermits on Holiday.

The melodies are polymerous, and Hauff’s deft technical flourishes mean that different instruments merge in and out of each other to create ever changing, but constant patterns.

Each track contains a melodic or harmonic flourish, a synth layer, a moment of unexpected aggression or vulnerability which shows that, at the same time as delivering a potentially career-defining album, there is the exciting potential of so much further that Lily and Madeleine could go.

Morley’s high sheen, pop production and MacIntyre’s optimistic spirit and meandering imagination fills Dear Satellite with dreamy, acoustic-pop songs that hold cinematic ambition and lush, swelling, crescendos. The combination works a charm, and MacIntyre sounds more energised and alive than he has in years.

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.

They are certainly light enough to float, and, if you will forgive one last crass metaphor, they may just provide a navigational guide to safety for anyone stranded in dangerous waters.

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.

This still feels exactly like the record they had to make, and there are startlingly good stretches to be found, but there’s enough of a disconnect between the songs to make it a slightly jarring experience.

Takes never truly shakes the initial notion of a missed opportunity: failing to place a distinguishable spin on the material it seeks to celebrate, ultimately coming off a well-intended curio ticking as many boxes as it omits.

Minor Love is a record of succinct pop ditties, with only three clocking in over 150 seconds long.

A welcome, and ultimately pleasurable return.

If you can get on board with Harvey's uniquely theatrical songwriting style, then there's a prismatic world of life, love, indulgence, abandonment, betrayal, and ultimately, death in this record. Sadly, for those of you happier to be six months clear of pantomime season, it's maybe a struggle to appreciate these songs as much more than histrionic fiction.

It’s a tricky album to judge, considering its best moments are easy to overlook, but there’s enough to make this worth a listen and suggest that better days might lie ahead.

Eels may not tread any new ground musically (aside from being generally less noisy), but never before have we seen such raw emotion on show.

Sun Structures is a record made with flair and skill by a band who know exactly what they’re doing--and that’s the problem. Temples are trying so hard to be something else that we lose track of who they actually are.

Smart, fast and visceral, debut LP Time Team is unpretentious and unfuckwithable; inviting, evasive and very occasionally serene, like a cosmic kaleidoscope peering beneath the totality of existence.

With the singular exception of the mournful, aching track ‘Mawal’, To Syria, With Love is a celebration of the music of Omar’s home. With the life and vibrancy of the compositions necessarily tapered by the sobering, harrowing reality of the honesty in his lyrics, he has brought us an all-too-real-life case of tears on the dancefloor.

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.

Clever, joyous and never patronising, O is a half hour bite of summer that’s perfect for fending off the darkening nights.

The Only Thing I Ever Wanted is a true album, a coherent trail of interlinked melody and domestic adventures.

The constant ricocheting of lofty instrumentation with visceral, storybook lyrics make Indigo an at times arresting listen, like the shimmering ambiance of ‘Flawed Translation’. But oftentimes the formula comes up short.

In Time to Voices is aggressive, it is irreverent, yet also very ambitious.

What is different, however, is the focus the band have found. In the past, there's been an unfortunate tendency to take songs a chorus too far, but that doesn't appear to be an issue any more.

Everything about Wonderful Crazy Night is utterly predictable, from its subject matter to its comprising 100% mid-tempo ballads, be they boogie-woogie piano (‘Looking Up’, ‘England and America’) or acoustic guitar lighter than a Peter Kay show (‘I’ve Got 2 Wings’, ‘Tambourine’). But despite this--and perhaps in no small part thanks to T Bone Burnett adding a lovely warm country tinge in the production--none of it grates.

Computers and Blues, ultimately, just passes the test with a studious recount. It is neither atrociously bad nor staggeringly good: no stand-outs, no teeth-clenching clunkers. It is just okay.

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.

Think of Sensuous as like walking round a modern art museum: sometimes difficult to fathom, always a perverse thrill.

For an album so heavily influenced by architecture, it’s sorely lacking in structure and shape, and ultimately fails to make an imprint in spite of its broadened horizons.

When SSVIIB play to their strengths--most of the time--the songs are so smooth that you lower your expectations for any strong hooks, as you would when listening to ambient, only to discover that you’re caught up in a glorious anthem,making this a kind of secret dance-music you didn’t know you were swaying to.

In Our Bedroom After The War feels like the conclusion of a journey towards the summit of mount indie pleasance.

Space Ducks is a must have for fans, and a superb introduction for those unfamiliar with his work.

Delirum has the feel of a late-period Britney album, where production is prized above personality.