So far into his career this record might easily be overlooked, yet given the chance it's both a moving and rewarding listen.

This is wonderful stuff.

Ripe is one of the most unabashedly joyous and invigorating albums to have appeared in years. It’s a creative tour de force which marks the arrival of a new pop maverick.

Praxis Makes Perfect only suffers in comparison to its predecessor in that it lacks a clear standout track in the same vein as Stainless Style’s ‘I Told Her On Alderaan’, but it works better as a cohesive record.

Magic Chairs is an album that understands the importance of harmonies, and the importance of the score.

The guitar work almost borders on wankery. Space-rock elements of Sixties psych don't so much creep as stomp leaden footedly into your lugs. Does it feel a little out of place? Yes. Finest four and a half minutes of Let's Wrestle's brief career? Absolutely fucking yes.

A disparate yet cohesive collection of songs.

Though far from flawless, removed from any brouhaha Street Horrrsing sees Fuck Buttons carve their own niche and not only produce a debut record that will claw at any prejudices over its 40-minute span but show up their drone brethren as too often resiliently stuck in the mud.

Just enjoy their album for what it is, an absolute blast.

The result is consistently fascinating and occasionally completely enchanting.

The result is 7, a record that gets closer to the band's self-imposed boundaries than they ever have before without really threatening to break them down.

It doesn’t quite retain the piss and vinegar, lightning-in-a-bottle feel of its predecessor. But then of course it doesn’t: that album was turned out in a matter of days by much younger musicians, while this release spanned years and several recording sessions and it’s still absolutely exhilarating.

For a record that is largely improvised, it is stunning that such a cohesive piece can be put together and it will be fascinating to see what other tricks this trio has up their sleeve.

Condition should come with a label on the front advising "Approach With Caution". However, its creators' intransigent desire to confound and confront should be applauded. Spectres: simply one of a kind.

Instead of concerning themselves with matters out of their control, Motion City Soundtrack have knuckled down and at last knocked one out of the park.

The fact this singular Brit-hop record's "indie" production is the least interesting of its selling points is quite the testament to Dels and his masterful verbal/lyrical recoil.

It’s an example of a glorious spoken-word-music jive that’s becoming increasingly popular. It’s an electronic update on whatever happened to the eponymous Jonny from ‘Lust for Life’s lyrics. It’s a piece of nostalgia.

Sleeker, stronger and more confident than ever, on Complete Surrender Slow Club flourish with each strum and every breath.

It seems, in musical form, this album moves back and forth between sore tenderness and a violent turn - coercing the listener into adoring the beauty and open-wound vulnerability, but simultaneously pushing the same listener away with a dirty menace and obtuse lyricism.

Silberman has crafted an enthralling, minimalist mood piece on which the barely-there nature of the instrumentation belies deep nuance and forethought, with tension and insecurity rumbling softly beneath the face-value serenity. Gorgeous.

Diane’s strength lies in her assured voice and preternatural affinity for placing the perfect melody in the perfect place.

Whereas other pop-punk bands revel in sheer stupidity, Superchunk conjure up a profound musical purpose and sense of wonderment from behind every goofy-eyed chorus and oversized hook line. It is bloody impressive to say the least.

As the listens pile up--one realises suits Traditional Synthesizer Music (both the album and the notion) more than anticipated. A welcome return to top form.

It remains to be seen whether A Swedish Love Story marks the beginning of a new era in Owen Pallett's career. What it is for certain, however, is a small glimpse of the extraordinary range of songs he is capable of writing.

It is an almost endlessly intriguing record, full of mad ideas, strange microhooks and an air of rich elegy that just works.

A top-heavy track-listing does the album's more abstract curios no favours, and some will find it too much to take in in one sitting. But for me, headphones donned and lights extinguished, each submersion is every bit as worthy as the last.

Musically speaking, it's a perfectly logical progression from Fucked Up's second album, 2008's The Chemistry Of Common Life, which itself strode recognisably onwards from their 2006 studio debut Hidden World.

To pretend that Life is Good is flawless would be misleading, but it's a thoroughly enjoyable return to form.