In its totality, Back on the Planet works as a decent upgrade from Spacebase, despite its weird results.

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.

They’ve defied compartmentalisation again, managed to avoid crippling themselves in their dramatic reduction of outright 'singles' material, and left the door open to a number of future experiments. Unfortunately it just means that Tonight becomes a makeweight.

Even if, as a whole, The Deep Field isn't quite as rewarding as Wasser's first two records, it's an altogether different, diverse and challenging experience. Thankfully, that voice remains intact: vulnerable but somehow powerful.

Overall, then, This Is All Yours is a respectable follow-up to an acclaimed debut that raised the bar for alternative music.

While it’s an intriguing album, it’s one where ideas lack a little conviction.

It's too precise, too ordered to fully lift, and, unlike the band's live shows, too damn earnest.

This brooding, almost gothic feel is the key to this album’s success, and proves that Purity Ring are far more complex than their surface lacquer of innocence may have led us believe.

It's just as easy to loathe this record as it is to love it, but enough moments of merit exist to stifle any doubts over the quality of Rodriguez-Lopez' output as a solo artist.

The worst thing you can say about anything on this record is that they’re solidly crafted, faultless songs.

There really isn't much not to like about Time Capsules II; it would take a lot of energy to summon up any hatred for it, like hating a new-born puppy, or your own child.

The songs flow by and are engaging enough, but as soon as they’ve finished you’ve totally forgotten them.

When a soundtrack works this well, with each track slotting naturally into a strongly cohesive body of work, you begin to wonder about the clamour that is sure to come from bands and singer songwriters to put their work forward towards featuring on the next film's soundtrack.

Berlin: Live At St Anne's Warehouse is basically one of the most creepily eloquent records of Lou Reed's career, tarted up in the sort of bombastic style that ironically may see it received better in the classic rockin' days of 1973.

There's much to admire here, but when you’ve stared into the sun for too long, it’s hard to see the dimmer lights.

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.

Sure, the Foos are excellent at what they do. It’s just unfortunate that what they do is so unavoidably mediocre.

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

It's those thematic ideas of self-worth and pride that beget the sort of personal, intimate relationship that we've come to recognise in the music of many of the Erased Tapes family over the last five years, and that's something that will always be worth hearing.

Although at times Thirst does a very good impression of perfect throwaway pop, it is just an impression.

A great example of someone following their musical instincts into new areas and finding success, Bloodlines is also a highlight of the year so far.

Plastics represents a significant first step upon which the group can move upwards from, and it’s exciting to see what they do next. But it’s a shame they couldn’t carry the excellence through to the end of a record.

It’s a Big World Out There (And I Am Scared) has taken Kurt Vile to new heights, proving that his offcuts and extended versions are infinitely better than most bands' singles.

This is by no means a ‘bad’ album... and you’ll be hard-pushed to find a more topical anti-Bush punk album released this year, but after 20+ years and umpteen albums that - lets face it - haven’t really strayed much from their influential style, does anyone really need another Bad Religion album after this one?

The album is in desperate need of more Alex Turner. Too often it feels like a Miles Kane and chums holiday extravaganza record.

The key to 'So Jealous' is that it's a mall-prancing hit jukebox but with, y'know proper non-bubblegum pop sensibilities.

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

BRMC’s third album is a triumph.

Overall, The Third Eye Centre succinctly packs ten years' worth of eccentricities and oddments into a pleasant, if slightly oversized compendium.

This won't be Evian Christ's greatest moment, but it could be a crucial stepping stone.

For the most part, In•ter a•li•a is content to exist as a barrage--add ‘Call Broken Arrow’ to the ‘confirmed belter’ list--and almost never strays into more experimental territory as explored by The Mars Volta. There is one sort-of exception, however, in the form of ‘Ghost-Tape No. 9.’

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.

There are times when Into The Diamond Sun hits a lull, most notably around the midpoint.

LNZNDRF lacks the deft, enchanting musical nuance of The National or Beirut but it does make for enjoyable, if not startling, interim listening.

There’s this frustrating sheen over everything--likely from Fitz and Joy’s formal training--which makes the violins too syrupy to be sweet, the steel guitar too rustic to be real. By the same token, Joy’s lyrics also lack any lived-in landmarks.

As a whole, Remember us to Life feels a little patchy, with enough ups to make it good, but too many downs to make it great.

Predictably there’s a slide towards more abstracted material toward the latter half, and parts of Saturdays=Youth are all hairspray and no body, but the whole thing sweeps along with such an irrepressible mix of youthful invincibility (‘We Own The Sky’) and flouncing fatalism (‘Too Late’, ‘Graveyard Girl’) it sucks the wind right out of your cheeks before you’ve had chance to huff.

While the album is nicely succinct, it lacks a peak, a song to get really excited about.

There's a definite identity to the band on this third album, and its highest points are some of the highest of the band's career thus far, but to this listener, the band lack the kind of killer edge displayed by newer challengers to the retro-rock throne, such as San Francisco's Wooden Shjips. That said, if you like the influences clearly on display, there's little to fault, and plenty of fuzzy swagger to bask in.

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.

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

Whether or not the album really captures the bands reputable live show is utterly debatable, but it’s certainly one to inspire the imagination.

Playing to their strengths at last, they've taken the lustre of their energetic live shows and injected into their second record with an enthusiasm that shines out of every song.

What was once pin drop quiet is now grand; one soon adjusts however as the key to all of the songs here is the inner shell, not the protective exterior.

The Bees have made a record sparkling with enough wit and ingenuity to make the past seem an undiscovered country well worth visiting.

The 13 songs on Six are rich and exquisitely constructed, perfectly-pitched baroque riffs and orchestration are juxtaposed with searingly compelling lyrical imagery.

Although Kember's trademark floaty production sound is omnipresent at the forefront throughout, its Porpora's disconsolate vocal performance that steals the show.

A richly ambient affair, it makes for a particularly strong listen via headphones, dread-soaked mist and hopeful shimmers given heightened impact.

The real strength of the record comes in giving you that reason to come back to Nobody Wants To Be Here and Nobody Wants To Leave in a way that provides something new. If you loved that album, you’ll love this and probably prefer the original.

It's the simplest track on this album, built from ascending string motifs, plonks of piano, and a straightforward beat that offers welcome respite from Rossen's obvious obsession with dislocated rhythms.

Nocturnes comes off as a monochrome drag.

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.

Though the component sounds are familiar, they've been engineered into a blur.

Four's own structure helps this insisted variety stick together, resulting in another piece of theatrical songwriting that confirms Harvey's genius as an arranger.

Much as it tries to be quirky and difficult, it is in fact a wonderfully satisfying listen.

There are delights to be discovered here for fans of Mac DeMarco’s grinning sleaze, the reedy pop of Best Coast and the straight up tunefulness of the UK’s largely overlooked Weird Dreams and it is clear that The Growlers, when not obsessing over gimmicks and borrowed tropes, are perfectly capable of graduating to become a great, insightful pop band.

This sunny half hour lacks an overarching aesthetic or a big, ten-minute cathartic blowout.

The result with For Crying Out Loud is that it has bright moments but ultimately adds to the collection of below-par efforts that will do little to extinguish the elitism scorn that they attract.

It has flashes (man this is writing itself), but they are like good new Simpsons episodes: few and far between.

Suuns don't need to be a Queens of the Stone Age, but they have the potential to do more than just throw a cool clutch of songs together.

It’s as accessible as his debut, that much is true – Tricky’s welcomed the pop infection that’s spread through his system since the bleak Angels With Dirty Faces – but it lacks a standout single voice.

The Evening Descends isn’t actually a concept album (at least, I can’t find any hard evidence saying it is), but the mixture of overblown seriousness and misfiring silliness, cut with a bludgeoning lack of subtlety and some well-worn-out running themes, mean it sure as hell sounds like it would’ve been if it’d been given half a chance.

Stopping short of outright pop and heading in a direction that has yet to fully materialise, let's hope things eventually progress for Ra Ra Riot as well as they started.

Washed Out always stood above his supposed peers; the more he progresses out of his shell, the farther his voice will soar clear of the soon-to-break wave of generalised chillwave nonsense.

While it's obviously been personally cathartic, you have to think that it's far from the best record Benjamin could have put out.

Danger Days is a record that too often passes by with a few cursory nods of the head and the odd prickle of emotion and swell of pride that is soon washed away by another ill-considered chorus repeat or bashful refusal to drive for the summit. It ambles, it slouches; it says little of consequence.

What Neufeld shows again in The Ridge is that the violin and her superbly expressive playing is more than enough to make for a great record but it shows this at the expense of making the other elements thrown in occasionally feel superfluous or underdeveloped by contrast.

Where this album sets itself apart is with Roche, her contributions otherworldly and out of time, strange Wicker Man chants both charming and sinister. Her siren song laces Amen & Goodbye's best moments.

A patchy return, then, from a band whose prolific status never looked in jeopardy before. While it's good to have The Coral back, it's unlikely that Roots And Echoes will win them any new converts.

If you had to single out something as being symbolic of 2011, you could do a lot worse than this album.

Leave your prejudices behind, shut your eyes and just enjoy.

Listening to 'Blueberry Boat' is a little like careening around an enormous multicoloured funfair - joyous, unpredictable, kaleidoscopic, tacky, and at times scary and sinister, sometimes all in the space of one song. But even if it occasionally makes you sick, it’s a thrilling ride nonetheless.

There is no such contrast on this album, nor much of a sense for a distinctive or special musical moment.

Don't listen to it because it's dubstep, or R&B or soul or from a singer-songwriter who isn't a David Grey clone, although it's all those things. Just listen to it because in any genre, it's a great album.

The thing is, Mogis’ ‘Americana’ treatment of Lavender Bridge’s core material all too often saturates each song, soaking though to the core of Hynes’ material and threatening to set in to rot.

There are moments worth latching on to but for the full effect, go stand in a club with him and watch him perform.

Sistrionix could be a foundation for something much better or something infinitely worse, but for now Deap Vally don’t particularly deserve your hate or your love.

Intuit is, unfortunately, probably not a high profile enough release to be mentioned in the end-of-year lists nearly as frequently as any of the aforementioned albums. But it’s easily the equal of any of those releases, in terms of its breadth of vision and depth of emotion, and it really establishing Knopf as a supremely talented and truly heartfelt songwriter.

Sequitur feels very much like a whistle stop tour of the history of ambient/electronic music.

There really is nothing of great merit to this album.

Although not entirely perfect. And it's highly unlikely even the most wisened Mary Chain diehard would have expected it to be. Damage and Joy heralds the dawning of a new era in its creators' colourful history, providing a worthwhile addition to a canon of musical eminence in the process.

It is, all at once, accessible as a song, but interesting as a piece of music. But the problem with Let Me Come Home overall is that, as before, there is a bit too much of the former and nowhere near enough of the latter.

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.

Semicircle manages to reconnect the group with the childish creativity that powers their best work.

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

When it's good, it's very very good, and when it's bad, it can veer from dull to irritating and back again over the course of a single verse. Thankfully though, there's enough of the good to make this a hugely enjoyable album overall, and more than deserving of your attention.

For the moment, In Light is hamstrung by its creators' raw ambition.

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

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

Nine Black Alps clearly do 'get' what is so satisfying about the particular well of alternative they drink from, even if it hasn't really been all that alternative for 20-plus years.

His work until now can only be seen as preparing the ground for this body of work, an album so satisfying, accomplished and beautiful.

Division Street is Simon’s sweet step into the twilight sun.

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

It's admirable to hear a follow up LP trying to push itself out of comfort zones but Invisible In Your City finds Gang Colours falling short of his peers.

If the band have got their eyes on a full-length record then they might want to consider varying the pace a little more--it certainly feels like they’ve got at least a couple of rapid-fire numbers in them--but for now, Lowtalker will certainly help to blow the wintery gloom away.

Mysteries is by no means terrible, but Tigercats are a long way from earning their stripes.

It’s a massive, honest mess, loaded with love. And as such, it might even be called his most definitive album yet.

Though it would have been nice to feel a greater sense of ownership, it’s a solid enough new chapter for a group who always kept it light, so why change all that much now?