Overall Menuck seems to have made a record no less personal than the first. Pissing Stars is mysterious yet relatable, and as always, a distinctly singular experience.

A resolutely minor key offering, it’s even less instantly gratifying than before, precipitating its one central flaw: that these songs unfold at a leisurely pace – growing in stature as they progress from unassuming beginnings to sweeping crescendo – is admirable, but a touch overwhelming; even a little daunting on first exposure.

Coconut, then, is a baffling, dirty, even exhausting listen at times, but never less than engaging throughout.

The USP of Attention Please lies in Wata, Boris' lead guitarist: she sings on each of the album's ten songs, the first time a Boris full-length has been entirely female-voiced.

The milquetoast, wholegrain rock of My Old, Familiar Friend never really rises out of the mire to become anything other than a pleasant and forgettable toe-tapper.

It will not blow you away and, though well balanced, it's not a 'dipper' in that proceedings are constant and hand-picking the best selections does a disservice to the remainder, which complete a strong but not astounding record.

The result is exactly what I Believe wasn't: tasteful, sensitive and containing a fair few memorable tunes.

The songcraft is back, but the romance is still missing.

Despite this not quite equalling the dizzy heights of their earliest recordings, there's an adventurous slake in its dysfunctional make-up to suggest this won't be the last time we hear from its evasive creators.

Temple sets out to tinker with rather than drastically disfigure his familiar surroundings and for the most part succeeds, with occasional flashes of casual brilliance. That these flashes occur with minimal fuss merely adds to the enjoyment.

In Heaven sees them take the scenic route to vindicating their claim to be pop with a capital P, maintaining enough of their atmospheric qualities without being in thrall to any genre's limitations.

As a whole, it’s a 3 [out of 5], but the first two tracks are worth the extra point.

There's no doubt that Skee-Dat-De-Dat...Spirit of Satch is a project of love, but by the closing stages there's no getting away from it; the album is a bit of a... drag.

R.I.P. suggesting a fitting final ceremony, where Ghettoville evokes Actress driven over the abyss, As an obituary, however, it’s a fittingly emotional, opaque and confounding conclusion for a project that has been an outlier amongst a scene of outliers from its inception.

With Trans Love Energies, Death in Vegas do well to avoid such pitfalls, instead creating an album that is musically and thematically filled with space, both roomy and outer.

The way it continues to go to the extreme within more conventional confines seems to have extracted both more emotional engagement as well as energy from The Mars Volta.

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.

For the most part, Small Craft on a Milk Sea slots back into that forward thinking mindset, creating further realms of possibility for Eno to operate in.

Born Under Saturn sounds like what it probably is: a bunch of smart musicians having a great time.

As it stands it’s an indulgent and, at times, gorgeous listen that merely helps restate your concrete opinions about Muse.

Everything about Beak> is a cohesive, ambitious and thoughtfully-executed murky delight. A godsend of a record in these times of landfill indie.

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.

It might tend more towards solid songwriting than reinvention, and might not quite reach the heights of lunatic brilliance of its predecessor, but as far as most people's dream of what a proper pop album should be, Lupercalia certainly comes closer than most.

There’s a distinct lack of choruses, and if you don’t like the rest of Yorke’s ouvre it would be kind of bizarre if this won you over. But really, if you have a tolerance for drums that go ‘fzzz’, Tomorrow’s Modern Boxes is a lovely, lovely record, easily Yorke’s best non-Radiohead effort.

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.

Although not quite the timeless classic its creators had hoped for, Prisoner is a solid debut that bears all the hallmarks of a bright future for The Jezabels.

A truly elemental opus.

Restraint and getting to the point are valuable commodities in music, but Too True misfires in this regard.