All of the time, Will Roan's vocal proves to be the most engaging aspect of Rewild, even at its least explosive.

The formula established in track one is repeated in the combined half hour of the other two tracks here to less devastating effect.

With Quarters King Gizzard they have produced an album which can be analysed to death if need be, but actually works better as something to be consumed as a whole.

It's still retro, of course, but it's starting to sound retro in a way that only Tennis can.

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’.

This album is a good introductory statement to a new world for the novice, and in that sense it's a solid first step and pretty much a success.

While not quite on a par with the band's self-titled debut album, [it] still stands up quite proudly alongside anything else it's curators have recorded either as The House Of Love or any subsequent solo projects.

This is good but not as great as it probably should have been.

So far into his career this record might easily be overlooked, yet given the chance it's both a moving and rewarding listen.

Album three in Chromeo's discography, it sees a return to the Eighties electro funk upon which they made their names, albeit stripped down slightly.

One Way Ticket To Hell...And Back is a sturdy rock album with some saucy titles and odd instruments, but sadly it is less than it could or should be.

Erland and the Carnival make good at being a group who successfully accent their modern indie rock with olde world aspects of folk in a much more effective manner than so many acoustic troubadours.

Dead Confederate are good at ballsy, sinister, twisted rock‘n’roll, and this they deliver by the bowlful. Unfortunately they show their weakness when they step beyond this brief.

Michel Poiccard is an inconsistent, raucous, sleazy mess. But that's what The Death Set do best--and you sense that Beau Velasco would approve.

It means you can put on LP4 around any mixed group of people at a barbeque or house party this summer and people can simply enjoy the sensory pleasure of interesting, lively music without analysing the cultural baggage than comes with it. The King of Space-age Pop would surely be proud.

'Gods And Monsters' isn't a bad album, merely average which is a real shame.

It's hard to get excited about music which never gets too excited itself. What good ideas The Phenomenal Handclap Band do have are spread a little thinly on this debut.

Paradoxically, despite--or perhaps even due to--its directness, Living With A Tiger is a challenging record, only revealing its full depth on repeated visits.

When it works, Long Black Cars condenses the finest elements of The Wave Pictures into some impressive moments.

Long time fans are going to lap this up while newcomers will likely be wondering where this band has been all their lives.

Some sparks of brilliance fly in Instructions, but not enough to distinguish the spectacle of Heck from their recorded output.

A rhythmically dense album that suggests Carey’s ever-evolving sound is in its prime stages.

The imposed restrictions are evident on this album and the effort to overcome them more so. The result is that tracks like 'Execution' and 'Frustrated Operator' sound amateurish, even awkward, in their extreme simplicity with nothing to mask the mundanity of their composition.

For diehard fans Gravity The Seducer is replete with pleasing moments. For fans of novel musical statements, not so much. Listen, feel your mind wander, forget.

Dessner has captured performances that have a depth, a soul, a reality to them. Even if you hate country, this is downright good music.

While occasionally striking like a brilliant, blinding lightning bolt, they all too often seem to ride a wave of bleating mediocrity to multi-platinum heights.

It's not that bad an album--it's executed with all the gumption you'd expect from the SOAD mainman--but if you've heard any of the band's previous output you just don't need this in your collection.

Sadly, there’s little to add to that post-Bracket mixtape here; aside from the single and 'UnBiloTitled'--a track that first appeared on internet forums years ago. Sedated by Street's production, the band lose the wild, rubbish quality that Mick Jones' incompetence presented them with just as they're learning how to write focused songs.

The carnival-esque, unsettling vibe permeating forms both its strong appeal and sometime downfall, as sustaining momentum at the pace O’Death strive to can prove alienating. Peppered with stark imagery and carried off with consummate musical skill however, for the most part it’s utterly absorbing.

FOW just seem go through the motions. No sweat. No tongue in cheek either.

Because Ash & Ice somewhat ironically doesn’t have much of the icy immediacy that typically marks The Kills’ work, the album is one you need to live with to get the full payoff.

Mesmerising throughout, it's a beguiling and brilliant listen.

While Ternion doesn't have the class, flair or essential brilliance of The English Riveria, it often shows the same gift for understatement and ability to embrace the spaces in between the sounds.

Maze of Woods is a superb record and one that should give confidence in the continued potential of the band.

With the exception of the dingy, dirty and grandiose boom of ‘Pulled Up The Ribbon’, most of In The Rainbow Rain is made up of occasionally-sombre songs cleverly disguised as up-beat, harmless, light-hearted tunes, which of course they’re not.

While all the productions presented on End It All show real depth and attention to detail – like most releases associated with Anti-Pop Consortium – the words leave a bitter taste and the faint suggestion that Beans is way better with APC than without.

Oh Fortune is full of unashamed, orchestrally embellished pop-rock-folk hybrids, instantly accessible and almost as speedily rewarding.

There is a lack of substance in the middle of the album as tracks fly by, melting into each other, and because the album bombards us early on, it doesn’t pick up until the final stretch.

Although not quite being the pièce de résistance Bobby Hecksher and co. were hoping for, Skull Worship is a welcome return and when all's said and done, the musical landscape would be a much duller place without them.

They have evolved from the formula of the debut album, delivering a better album without compromising that which made them good in the first place.

Despite any popularity which may come their way, what Mumford & Sons have produced in Sigh No More is nothing more than an empty shell of a half-decent record.

Perhaps where Midwinter Graces suffers most is that it will be resigned to the world of the holiday album, making brief appearances from only late November to early January, garnering at most a passing mention the rest of the year. At the very least, though, it is a holiday record that will be remembered once a year.

It has an idle drifting quality that suits casual listening very well. Whether that's all you want from an album is another question.

It's probably the most engagingly brilliant heavy metal album that'll be released on a major label all year.

Unfortunately, Indigo Meadow is a so-so affair that never quite fulfills expectations.

Friendly Fire is better than anyone could have predicted.

Just seven tracks seems an odd length for an album, especially when they are chunky (all between four minutes 40 and seven minutes, most around five-and-a-half-minutes) rather than substantial. Ultimately, it is hard to shake the feeling that My Best Human Face should have given a lot more.

There’s a lot here that’s nice, but nothing that really screams out its demands to be listened to.

While Hooded Fang's two-and-a-half minute pop songs are absolutely fine, you'll struggle to find the time for them when there are already so many better ones out there.

In all Too Old To Die Young could be listened to in 20 years and it wouldn’t sound a day older, but it is unlikely to warrant interest past the first weeks of purchase.

Ukulele Songs is an album brimming with integrity and enthusiasm and, most importantly, it boasts great tunes.

Nina Persson may have dropped the guise of A Camp, but Animal Heart is too emotionally unengaging to leave you feeling like you know her any better for it and compared to Colonia’s more colourful palette it feels, if not quite beige, then at best a dull taupe.

They do little to advance on the template, but at their best they produce some thrilling pop music, and while failing to create a consistently brilliant album

Sometimes there's a feeling of business as usual--both 'Heathens' and 'Avalanche Of Light' fall into that category--but then when your legacy is as distinguished as The Cult's, such a trait should not be scoffed at.

By no means an awful record, but certainly a disappointing one.

It’s a little too smooth in places, and also a little lacking in assurance, but just like my friend, it’s worth making the effort to get into this party.

On Rapture he’s traded atmospherics for dominating vocals, making the stylistic leap towards ‘tell don’t show’ music. It’s a move that will undoubtedly bring Tropics to a wider audience, but robs the listener of emotional nuance and understatement; everything that made him interesting, back when he was still making music in his bedroom.

Perhaps with a little more nuance they can exploit the potential of their partnership to be one of the most intriguing electro-pop duos around--but on Ice on the Dune that potential remains unrealised.

Free The Universe reeks of chasing the success of Baauer’s 'Harlem Shake'--shich, incidentally, came out on Diplo’s Mad Decent label--like a rabid dog. As such, it’s just another notch on macho rave’s bedpost.

Conduit is short, vicious, angry and their most singular album to date but this lean and stripped down approach isn't a total success.

After five albums, and after seven years of silence, it’s obvious now that Art Brut work best when they’re back to basics, reminding us what it might have been like to be fresh out of university in pre-recession times, and ensuring that we can dance along with them while they’re at it.

What we get is Britain's best proper rock band doing what they do until we're numb to what makes them special.

Emotional ambiguity never sounded so good. Business as usual then.

As it is Weathervanes remains a catchy album that will satiate those with an indie-pop sweet tooth, (the type who can bear glockenspiel on every track) and maybe even offer the odd moment of genuine inspiration. Many of us will find it all a little too familiar and unengaging to get that far.

Unfortunately, the hour-long main section of Jojo Burger Tempest is too hollow to be of much merit. The great variety of timbres on the album creates a psychedelic vibe, but the songs themselves are simply lacking in focus.

Patricia Hall and Ian Hicks have found the perfect balance between the moody and the danceable, making the whole home clubbing experience all the more realistic.

As long as her music remains as bold, inventive and occasionally thrilling as it is here, long may that continue.

The co-writes--not as many as you might’ve expected--generally boom from the speakers. The self-penned efforts are bare-boned, erratically excellent but frustratingly blighted by Adele’s penchant for going beyond her capabilities as a vocalist.

For the most part, though, debut album Between Places cuts and pastes a series of well meaning but unengaging pop vignettes.

It’s undoubtedly Avey’s best solo work to date, and another welcome reminder of Animal Collective’s ability to rejuvenate, surprise and delight.

Ultimately, it seems that the likes of Springsteen, Dylan, and the rest of the well-worn idols, call many more of the shots than Blitzen Trapper as an independent entity.

With greater vision Sea of Bees may one day become a more substantial proposition, but for now Julie Ann Baenziger's solo project barely papers over the cracks.

Catchy, bratty and phenomenally uninspiring, America Give Up is not so much shouting from the rooftops as howling at the moon.

One suspects the end product here may have had more to do with the record's producer than its creators, and as a result, this album is as unconvincing as the band's hollow assurances that they're open to embracing new horizons.

The immediacy of ...Night Fall's melodies and the satisfaction derived from its buttressing rhythms will generate just about enough pleasure for most.

Goldfrapp make another proficient genre hop, it simply feels like they’re failing to consolidate their last bout of proficiency. They've moved on, changed their sound, and it's just okay... again.

Wavvves does tend to tail off down repetition high street towards the end, but all in all, even where the experimental interlude segments of 'Goth Girls' and 'Killr Punx, Scary Demons' knit the record together like butterfly clips around a gaping wound, there's enough here to suggest Nathan Williams has the potential to become a very special talent indeed in the none too distant future.

Face Control, the new record by Handsome Furs (Alexei Perry and Dan-from-Wolf-Parade), sounds like "Born in the USA," if the Boss had allowed a little more evil in the mix, and tried replicating Alan Vega’s demented yelps. Yeah, it’s THAT good...

It stands alone as an album which is well-rounded--there's not much here which is lacking in quality, but much is lacking oomph.

The album showcases their massive creativity and playfulness and is a fitting testament to the power of pop music to move your heart and head as well as your feet.

It’s a decent snapshot of that nebulous minimal-not-minimal sound at present.

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.

The reality is that it's more complicated than simply saying I preferred their early stuff, because all bands have to change. The fact is though, it's impossible to forget that Jimmy Eat World can, and have, done so much better.

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.

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.

There are some brilliant tailpieces on Black is Beautiful and some wonderful impressions of a travel sick Alan Clavier, but they're hampered by too many dead ends and retreaded ground.

On A Bedroom Wall is a work of music that won't be matched this year for its pained beauty.

Ultimately though, they don’t commit enough to the sonic range which they eventually bring to bear, focusing too much on middle-of-the-road indie-folk.

It’s an oftentimes stunning piece of neo-pop that’s enabled La Grange to catch up with the zeitgeist that so eluded her two years ago.

What ultimately makes Condemned to Hope a real success, however, is not so much any of these things but the sheer conviction with which it delivers the goods.

This is the richest, most musically complex she has ever been.

It’s more that as a whole, Bizarster just feels a bit lazy and thrown together, and fails to have any real continuity which can hold your attention for the hour that it plays out.

Comprising of a sound that, though perfectly pretty, has already been done, and words that have already been said, Theyesandeye doesn’t really bring anything new to music.

There’s a sense of being 'finished' after every single track, and it often feels like you’d get the same experience but quicker listening to any single track individually instead of the album as a whole.

For the most part it's good. Very good.

While Not Too Late is a shade darker than her mega-selling, Grammy-winning template, it's highly unlikely to win all that many new converts, and fans may find this album a little bit of a slog in places.

If it's quality songwriting you're after, you've probably come to the wrong place this time, but what New Chain does offer is a 35-minute celebration of the spirituality of sound, bursting with life and soul, as thrilling as it is giddying.

Liquid Cool is at its best and most interesting, though, when Gonzalez’s sound plays with the way our brains and human interactions have been rewired in the modern age, raising the bar by creating impactful moments via osmosis.