As an experimental project, it's clever and varied, and a vital chapter in the history of electronic music and sampling. As a pop record, it's tantalising, sensitive and essential; if you don't already own My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts, the reissue's extra tracks make now as good a time as any.

In spite of its gloomier mood, it’s a record every bit as spirited as Half Way Home, and possibly even more affecting.

Yet another satisfying record from the London-based producer, who, while loses marks for his perhaps too similar creation, remains an important figure in the UK electronic scene and for good reason. Ultimately, Singularity will shape your summer of 2018 the same way Immunity did of 2013, and all power to it.

Halo cements itself into yr ears. This is logic in motion, and it’s dead beautiful to watch every piece of these puzzles fall into place.

Bang & Works Vol. 2 also captures a genre in transition, as both the old guard and the young producers increasingly look to other genres for a way to progress the sound, or at least re-flavour it.

When this album is good it’s superb--probably the Jicks’ finest yet; and when it’s less so--less focused, more haphazard and wilfully out-there--it’s still pretty damn great as well.

As its title suggests All Nerve is never a passive listen, it shifts you, touches a nerve, and leaves a timely mark.

True Widow have laid down an album so strong that I can't see anything usurping it as album of the year for me (or anyone else who gives it a few listens). And at the end of April, that's a mighty bold claim. But the glove is on the floor now, and everyone else will simply have to step up or cower away and hide.

It’s hard to overstate the extent to which the excellence of this record is sealed by Timony’s bullish approach to sonic economy; there are no flourishes, no accentuations on Rips, only precisely what needs to be there; noodling guitar parts and an unyielding punk aesthetic.

If it’s their lighter side that appeals, they’ve never made such a consistent pop album, and I use the term with not the slightest hint of cynicism.

The Earlies are like a stripped-down take on the [Flaming] Lips: psychedelic, lo-fi and indie in the purest sense of the word.

Tarot Sport doesn’t pause to bang or whimper. Tarot Sport accelerates.

Over twenty years later their music continues to connect.

Our Love lacks the element of surprise that Swim had, but still holds in abundance all the hallmarks of a master: so rich, so textured and despite being predominantly electronic, so human--speaking with painful honesty to a condition that ranks just below death and taxes in uniting us all.

This is a record that demands your reflection and immersion, rather than just mindlessly wigging out.

She’s created an album that’s worth more time than a quick fling on the rebound, another engaging entry in her ever-expanding catalogue.

As a whole, Heavy Ghost is considerably subtler even than "The Crying Light."

Basinski brings to his craft an understanding that music structures time just as much as time structures music. Among his most entrancing work.

The whole affair is deeply involving, full of odd punctuations and wonderful non-linear compositional structures.

What really stands out is how …Dog literally hits the ground running from its opener, 'Pagan Angel And A Borrowed Car,' cutting a clear slice from the organic and distinctive junkyard percussion and deep-fried blues stomps of Tom Waits.

Grand without ever being bloated, humane without settling into pessimism, the best indie band in North America remind us why sometimes, the rewards do not equal the output.

Rather than sound like two guys in their fifties messing around with some expensive equipment to recapture their past glories, it’s strikingly modern.

Frost has ditched much of the subtlety and minimalism that echoed within his previous work and birthed a surging, hard charging, straight to the rim, go-hard-in-the-paint beast of an album.

Where this EP lacks in progression, it makes up for in the strength of the songwriting.

The new record by Vampire Weekend is the best alternative pop album you will hear this year. Unselfconscious, technically brilliant in a way that crucially you will never actually notice, shimmering with beautiful, strange melodies and just a small smidge of actual bonkers.

All the essential elements of greatness are here in some small form or other, but Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s time is not now.

Asunder, Sweet is Godspeed at their most conciliatory, most bloody-minded and most untouchable.

It is a great record, at times. But when the elements don’t quite chime it suffers.