The Megaphonic Thrift marks a well-crafted progression for the Norwegian four-piece.

Whilst not wholly unique,Golden Suits is undeniably individual--a wholehearted, open but personal space--built from imagination, memories, stories: what he knows and who he knows.

A fascinating album and one which will reward with an attentive ear, just don't expect an instant, agreeable listen.

What’s clear is how badly Marr needs a foil, a counterpart, a collaborator, because on his own his ideas only seem to stretch so far, and so, sadly, does our good will.

Tracker is seamless in both embracing technology and adapting it; recreating the intimacy of personal experiences within the confines of an uncluttered, contemporary folk backdrop.

This sounds like Steve Wold, not Seasick Steve, and the result is an untidy, tedious affair.

Despite the difference between le Bon’s and Presley’s median outputs, they produce a fresh and rich stylistic centre on Hermits on Holiday.

The melodies are polymerous, and Hauff’s deft technical flourishes mean that different instruments merge in and out of each other to create ever changing, but constant patterns.

Each track contains a melodic or harmonic flourish, a synth layer, a moment of unexpected aggression or vulnerability which shows that, at the same time as delivering a potentially career-defining album, there is the exciting potential of so much further that Lily and Madeleine could go.

Morley’s high sheen, pop production and MacIntyre’s optimistic spirit and meandering imagination fills Dear Satellite with dreamy, acoustic-pop songs that hold cinematic ambition and lush, swelling, crescendos. The combination works a charm, and MacIntyre sounds more energised and alive than he has in years.

When experimentation is so often an exhibition of flashy (and flabby) production wizardry, they remain refreshingly committed to keeping you entertained rather than just impressed.

They are certainly light enough to float, and, if you will forgive one last crass metaphor, they may just provide a navigational guide to safety for anyone stranded in dangerous waters.

For latecomers to The Lemonheads this record isn't a bad place to start. For long-term fans it's a sure sign that Evan Dando isn't ready to be written off just yet.

This still feels exactly like the record they had to make, and there are startlingly good stretches to be found, but there’s enough of a disconnect between the songs to make it a slightly jarring experience.

Takes never truly shakes the initial notion of a missed opportunity: failing to place a distinguishable spin on the material it seeks to celebrate, ultimately coming off a well-intended curio ticking as many boxes as it omits.

Minor Love is a record of succinct pop ditties, with only three clocking in over 150 seconds long.

A welcome, and ultimately pleasurable return.

If you can get on board with Harvey's uniquely theatrical songwriting style, then there's a prismatic world of life, love, indulgence, abandonment, betrayal, and ultimately, death in this record. Sadly, for those of you happier to be six months clear of pantomime season, it's maybe a struggle to appreciate these songs as much more than histrionic fiction.

It’s a tricky album to judge, considering its best moments are easy to overlook, but there’s enough to make this worth a listen and suggest that better days might lie ahead.

Eels may not tread any new ground musically (aside from being generally less noisy), but never before have we seen such raw emotion on show.

Sun Structures is a record made with flair and skill by a band who know exactly what they’re doing--and that’s the problem. Temples are trying so hard to be something else that we lose track of who they actually are.

Smart, fast and visceral, debut LP Time Team is unpretentious and unfuckwithable; inviting, evasive and very occasionally serene, like a cosmic kaleidoscope peering beneath the totality of existence.

With the singular exception of the mournful, aching track ‘Mawal’, To Syria, With Love is a celebration of the music of Omar’s home. With the life and vibrancy of the compositions necessarily tapered by the sobering, harrowing reality of the honesty in his lyrics, he has brought us an all-too-real-life case of tears on the dancefloor.

This isn't quite there yet for The Phoenix Foundation; there remains the nag that they haven't quite satisfied the need for more infectious hooks, although to their credit efforts have clearly been made.

Clever, joyous and never patronising, O is a half hour bite of summer that’s perfect for fending off the darkening nights.

The Only Thing I Ever Wanted is a true album, a coherent trail of interlinked melody and domestic adventures.

The constant ricocheting of lofty instrumentation with visceral, storybook lyrics make Indigo an at times arresting listen, like the shimmering ambiance of ‘Flawed Translation’. But oftentimes the formula comes up short.

In Time to Voices is aggressive, it is irreverent, yet also very ambitious.