What The World Needs Now... is solid proof that reformations never sound good on record.

This still isn’t for everyone, but it’s sounding less like a side-project, and more like a super-group.

It’s with a sense of relief then perhaps that Revolution Radio, whilst feeling a little like a pastiche of their forms selves, sees the trio steering a steadier course on more reliable ground.

Regrettably, there's little substance to take in here.

As an insight to a world within a world of black American music, Personal Space elicits interest. As a compilation, it fails to sustain it very long.

Charm aside, it's an album by a cat.

I Go Missing In My Sleep is a collection of beautiful songs made infinitely more beautiful by the way they've been meticulously put together. The lightest touch lets Wilson's exceptional vocal sit effortlessly close, without sacrificing complexity or interest.

While there may not be any surprises here, this is a small record holding some big thoughts--and Beam doesn’t need a big band sound to do them justice.

It's to Mercer's credit that Port of Morrow, which could have so easily veered off into soulless corporatism or self-indulgence, manages to remain nothing less than both a universal and personal joy to listen to.

Ultimately this odd couple have made for a very merry musical marriage, artists from seemingly disparate musical backgrounds proving themselves capable of collaborating on music that is worth listening to in its own right, as opposed to merely being a interesting genre-crossing exercise.

Augustines is a record that was born to run, taking hearts along with it as it goes, and is, to these ears, one of the great rock records of recent years.

Plague Park possesses an unsightly surface layer of cluttered sound and alien screeches that require swift penetrating to enjoy the sticky gooiness that resides within.

Although Blood only features ten predominantly short songs, the myriad flashes of brilliance render the album’s brevity irrelevant.

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.

Life Is Sweet! veers so frequently from densely orchestrated to intimately raw and back again - often within the same tune - these little throwaway breaks tend to work as conveniently placed little palate cleansers.

While '...Ghosts' is all very pretty and nice, there isn’t quite enough to get your teeth into.

If Lovers Know initially feels like it’s dipping into the golden age of the American songbook, then this must be the most fruitful panning for gold to be released in eons.

Black Dice still belong in the DIY basement space but with Load Blown they’ve made their most accessible album yet.

13 does what you’d expect it to, no more, no less.

As long as sincerity still counts for something and melody remains king, we'll let these qualms lie and lap up a record that's chock-a-block with comfort food choruses.

This is Butcher Boy's finest hour to date, but by the signs of it the best is yet to come.

A compelling record then all told, and one which should hopefully ensure Marshall has the benefit of a label suitor for his next release if there's any justice.

A strong bottom line is that Whine of the Mystic is, above all else, an enjoyable album.

By providing himself with a narrow set of parameters, he’s discovering what he’s capable of in a less-than-optimal creative environment, and if Intermission is anything to go by, a protracted lay-off from Ghostly releases whilst he pursues other avenues would be a real shame--nobody’s capturing that midnight mood quite like Shigeto at the minute.

They are not in tune with trends, or even an aesthetic, so much as something earthier...the seasons perhaps, because there’s no denying that Gorgeous Johnny has a latitude and a longitude... it’s the sound of a fading summer.

Alegrias never sips the same poison for any length of time, like a cocktail that doesn't care how it gets drunk. It should be noted that like anything meant to satisfy innumerable tastes, Alegrias is likely to impress and frustrate in equal measure.

Weekends is an inspired assortment of astutely executed ideas packed into 12 flowing pieces that deserves a wider audience than its likely to receive.

Despite the immense joy of the final five songs, the prospect of a repeat play is a discouraging one when the first five brought forth a cynicism entirely unwelcome among a collection designed to elicit wonder.