It’s Greenwood’s own work that’s most compelling. The album runs in a different order to the film itself, although, perhaps incongruously, still includes snippets of Joanna Newsom’s narration; there’s not a great deal of coherent relation to the picture’s narrative, then, and anybody who saw Newsom’s name attached to the project and hoped it might have finally heralded some post-Have One on Me material will be disappointed.

The Fool often sounds like it was assembled by a spectacularly talented committee, like the minutes of the recording sessions are probably filed away in a sterile LA duplex somewhere.

If ‘April’s Song’ is the low point of the record’s wanderlust--an affectless instrumental track that goes nowhere--elsewhere it blooms wonderfully.

Like many such films (they exist, right?), Passage is endearing, with unforgettable peaks; it looks beautiful at first glance, and has no shortage of beautiful moments, but don't delve too deeply lest the mirage of a grandiose masterpiece dissolve.

That Keith is capable of better records is a point proven by his past, but so far as 2006-born hip-hop goes, this is head and shoulders above much of the loudmouthed, uncouth and generic rabble.

Guthrie's creative spark is as bright as ever.

EUPHORIC HEARTBREAK should at very least cement Glasvegas' status as one of our most intriguing mainstream indie/rock groups and given a chance by those of a more cynical standpoint they might just find themselves enjoying the titular sensations the record promises and, for the most part, successfully delivers.

It can seem unfocussed on occasion, but that rush to cram in influences from disparate sources settles into a pleasing hodge-podge in the second half of this album.

Let It Be You is a real return to form for Wasser, and one for which Davis is due ample credit; when the two hit their stride they’re undeniable, making more material from the two a tantalising prospect.

In Electric Slave, Black Joe Lewis has crafted a reference point that’ll supplant those old YouTube performances and provide future Lewis scholars with what is arguably the defining point of his career.

Out with the old and in with the new, so to speak. Which is exactly what Pollock has attempted and, for the majority of Watch The Fireworks, achieved.

Kintsugi is a finely-made tearjerker of a record that evokes similar levels of sadness as those examples, featuring some crisp and well-structured songwriting that launches torrents of emotive air strikes to summon an appropriate degree of solemnity.

Individual tracks will wax and wane in popularity, and the genitalia humour of 'Sugar Lumps' et al might attract a wider audience who don’t understand the deadpan atmosphere of the rest of the show, but it’s hard to grow tired of this peculiar couple and their music.

It's little surprise that Mondo Cane is an album that--65 piece orchestra or not--is built around Patton's personality and voice, rather than his lyricism in the traditional sense. It's this continuity which lends it an appeal beyond mere authenticity and curiosity, to the listener prepared to devote a little time and dare I say it, research, into the album's background and source material.

Cerebral Ballzy is an album too desperate for your immediate attention to have any concerns beyond the last bar of 'Anthem'.

If viewed as a unique, and relatively unmediated collection of experimental tracks rather than an album, Collaborative Works is an enchanting listen. What it lacks in structural polish, it makes up for in quality.

Whilst arguably Beam's most consistent album for some years, there are fewer moments of raw beauty here than on past excursions, resulting in a whole that is somehow less than its impressive component parts.

Non-Believers may disarm at first, but after a couple of listens this will quickly hook into the ears and heart as every Mac McCaughan venture does. This is his dusk album.

While Causers Of This appears lo-fi on a superficial level with its rough, oversaturated sound quality, it's evident that Bundick has achieved a level of familiarity with his tools which goes way beyond awkward, sophomoric fumbling.

For all that pomp and bombast, it does remain difficult to fully engage with a record like this, and Strange Keys is never an effortless listen. Nor is it an entirely effective record.

Jakes and the band have so much inherent chemistry the flaws almost don't matter: the likes of 'Diamond Days' and 'Jaws of Hell' temporarily make the little misfires an afterthought.

Over 13 tracks Transcontinental Hustle casts its spells, a record that fairly howls at the moon.

The fact is that Boys Forever rarely changes pace. Small musical variations in tempo or atmosphere such as on ‘Things’ and ‘I Don’t Remember Your Name’ become ultra significant breaks from the Boys Forever norm and I would have liked to have heard a few more of them. However, the shimmery diamondness of the album still remains.

What In Dust lacks in sonic breadth, it makes up for by bringing richness to its palette of oppressive mists and dread-filled shadows.

Fortunately Grellier includes enough moments of excitement to keep Heritage less of a soundtrack album and more a French disco LP stripped of vocals.

As a starting point for Jim Noir, 'Tower Of Love' is a tasty entree that merely whets the appetite for the first album proper.

The record’s grip does start to loosen as it progresses, and while they have made less of a leap than their previous effort, Mother nevertheless demonstrates what a vibrant and fruitful partnership the two musicians continue to enjoy.

The songs might not be classics quite yet but the sounds on offer here suggest that the best of Siskiyou might yet be ahead.