If you hate Ben Folds, you’ll hate this album just as much as anything else he’s ever done. If you’re a fan, you’ll be quietly satisfied.

Although, Gough has always said that he finds music instantaneous and the lyrics the hardest part to write, It's What I'm Thinking showcases Gough at his most insightful to the human condition and himself.

The ten songs which make up Everything Last Winter drift along without saying anything at all.

When AiC hit home though, as they often do, Black Gives Way To Blue becomes the quiet triumph it set out to be.

The trio trade lines like they’re flashing secret handshakes to each other--it’s a complex process, fingers flying and interlocking, each gesture laden with meanings that an outsider can’t even fathom.

Do It is simply a case of Clinic once again doing what they do best; but with a new-found vigour that rediscovers the confident swagger of earlier releases while building upon realms explored on later excursions.

Whatever magic they once had appears to have deserted them.

Ultimately, Lex Hives sadly conforms to the patchy-at-best trajectory of the band's major label releases, but at least does so while taking a decisive step back in the direction of being the ferocious rock band which The Hives unvaryingly claim to still be, and indeed unquestionably once were.

Despite the fact that a few of these nineteen tracks could easily have been cut, or that its mid-tempo pacing may drive it dangerously close to sounding monotonous, the evidence still points to that of a songwriter clawing back to his best.

Sure, Two Gallants might take a good four tracks to get going, but the five that follow are outstanding--alive, almost.

This album is grounded. Slightly lost and, sadly, all too findable.

Mice Parade have never before been quite this accessible.

If French-born London émigrés John & Jehn don’t quite succeed in nailing the stroppy friction of their live shows over the course of their self-titled debut, third base is at least within groping distance.

This is a collection of elegantly assembled, fat-free pop songs, made from light and air and heart, and great choruses.

On the moments that they commit to one priority over the other, Crushed Beaks show an energetic flair which most likely translates to a blistering live sound. But when they try to split the difference, the results are middling on Scatter.

Each song on Adult is smashed into, torn apart and then scattered like feathers from a pillow. And there is nothing, nothing, better than hearing guitars being pummelled on a double down-stroke as a bass line tries frantically to keep up on sixteenths.

As left field and innovative as they come, and while that doesn't always make for the easiest of listens, Invocation and Ritual Dance of My Demon Twin should be applauded for daring to tread where many others would whimper at the thought.

The album as a whole is amongst the best showcases of her piano work because she allows herself to meander about the keyboard and never lets production to drown it out.

This is one for the ‘pleasant but unremarkable’ file, and it seems that’s all the band was striving for in the first place.

This ultimately is Untogether’s crowning victory: despite being mapped by its lack of psychological surroundings, this firmly inward-looking record transports you head-first to Blue Hawaii’s special place, a serene vista where alien syllabic whimsy feels genuinely spiritual, and fuck-giving is most strictly forbidden.

The only spoiler is Sam Herlihy’s lack of vocal abilities.

This project is evidently a labour of love for Polachek, allowing her to capture moods and ideas in the immediacy of the moment. But the result isn’t matured enough to be considered a definitive statement of artistry.

Sadly, moments of well executed originality are thin on the ground, as indeed are examples of the band effectively channeling the transcendental shoegaze of their established contemporaries.

With Oczy Mlody, The Flaming Lips have managed to take us on apocalyptic journey that’s also fun, which is no mean feat. If the 'real' end of the world is half as fun, we’ll all be alright.

The result is a collection of workmanlike indie-rock songs that fall some way short of being a good album and a long, long way from being the work of a Godlike Genius.

Tokyo Police Club have finally made small sound huge.

When the beats eventually die down the album shows its soft underbelly.

The conviction put into every moment of this record, much like that they put into every second of their original reunion shows, makes Freedom a more than worthwhile comeback.