It's not a perfect record in any sense (the occasional lyrical couplet falls awkwardly), but within such punk atmospheres, flaws perversely become strengths.

Marilyn Manson has always possessed the ability to write and produce music that can speak at its own compelling length and pitch. Here he unleashes that side of his frayed character for the first time in about 14 years.

This album has a scale to it that occasionally transcends the intimacy one may associate with much of Youngs’ back catalogue.

Niches, of course, tend to hide most of metal's jewels, and Iron Balls Of Steel is the genre's first great album of 2012.

The result is an album that is often brilliant, sometimes breathtaking, and never dull.

There aren’t many musicians in the country as creative and as interesting as her at this point in time, and Welcome Back To Milk represents another triumph in her weird and wonderful saga.

Legacy collects about a decade of Boo recordings under one roof, although there’s no obvious arc of progression here--he’s consistently out on a limb, and with very few exceptions (‘There U Go Boi’, ultra-pitched-up and relatively linear ghetto house), this could only have come from his brain.

The real genius of Tomorrow’s Hits is its shaking off not just fan expectations but the almighty shackles of credibility, innovation and, for want of a subtler term, corporate buzz-band etiquette.

Deeper represents an exquisite documentation of post-punk's darkest hour.

Volume 3 is essential listening and another triumph.

It might not be much in the way of a surprise for those who’ve listened to ‘Thrown’ or ‘Looped’, but working from divergent influences is rarely simple, and Kiasmos iterates on the ideas explored in these earlier tunes with serious skill, electronic and traditional influences so tightly woven together that the LP maintains a very definite sense of identity throughout, and is pretty much impossible to poke holes in.

There is much to enjoy here and if you have the slightest interest in contemporary classical music or you’re a soundtrack buff, give this a whirl. Jonny Greenwood may be one of those scruffy oiks in a pop group, but he’s proved once again that there is an incredibly musical mind under the haircut.

It’s a beguiling mixture of the unknown and well established, and as a cohesive whole it demands your utmost attention for the duration.

While Deerhunter may not be a solo project--though a couple of the songs here were recorded solo--this band is the musical realm of Bradford Cox. And if he hasn't found the same amount of fame as Win Butler or even Avey Tare, then probably it's because the lethargically gorgeous world he has crafted isn't inclusive enough allow large numbers of people in.

Women write songs, but they tease us by keeping them hidden, interspersing the teeniest seconds of dazzling clarity with cool sounding sonic murk. And credit to returning producer Chan VanGaalen for whipping up an ambience as dense and seductive as that sepia blizzard on the front sleeve. His proteges are writing good songs, but it's not so much a production job as a sleight of hand trick--VanGaalan stops you from seeing Women's full workings.

It’s esoteric and unsettling, because he’s done trying to reason with us.

As it stands, it’s an emphatically rich and addictive work. It does sound a whole lot like Dylan, yes. But it’s a whole lot of excellent itself, thanks very much.

The band sound relaxed about who they are, what they do, and how they work best alongside other people.

It will be interesting to see where Protomartyr go from here and if they can sustain this incredible level of output, but if nothing else, Consolation gives hope that this band will continue to be the real deal (pun intended).

There are no preconceptions about an album acting as a whole piece of work, and it’s certainly allowed him to be a little less bogged down in all that and freed him up to just try stuff out.

Sick Scenes isn’t a doom and gloom exercise, nor miserable thousand-yard stare. Instead it is the sound of a band doubling down on what brought them to their particular dance, peppered with unflinching honesty and conviction, all dressed up in requisite ‘take us or leave us’ glamour.

Even when downcast, Love & Devotion is a sensual, lively record and anyone mourning the death of Air France should find much to enjoy here.

There’s only one test a live album has to pass, and this one stands up to it: if you were there you’ll be prompted to bask in the memory, and if you weren’t you’ll be wishing like hell that you had been.

It's challenging yet fairly catchy beneath all the layering. It's abstract vocally yet painfully direct musically. It's not for most yet potentially has crossover appeal at its heart.

At its best, it’s the purest yet expression of Garbus’ exploration of the corporeal: an album with sounds you can see, a voice you can feel, and music you can all but touch.

With nothing masking itself as filler here, it would be difficult to trim anything off without Mauve losing any of its impetus or impact. Indeed there's very little negative to say.

A welcome, and ultimately pleasurable return.

We have instead been blessed with an embraceable record from a contemporary dance music auteur and a partner who proves a skilful wingwoman.