The one slight that could be pinned on the The Hungry Saw is that there’s very little here that couldn’t slot seamlessly into any of the group’s output over the last 16 years.

Okovi won’t topple Stridulum II as the most essential Zola Jesus record, but it’s another excellent record that once again showcases a unique and powerful voice.

This is music to be experienced, not read about or analyzed for political and sociological meanings.

What sets Traxman apart from most of his current footwork peers is an ability to preserve the tenderness when he's strip-mining house, soul, disco and Prince... This should not detract from his equal skill at conjuring unruly, drums'n'samples raw bangers, of which Da Mind Of Traxman has plenty.

While unlikely to win many prizes for originality, I Will Be possesses likability in spades, not to mention a hefty selection of demurely constructed tunes that might delve into the past for inspiration but smile brightly into the future as a result.

Underneath the jarring keyboards and jerky percussion is a delicacy gives the LP international appeal, one that means it won’t be confined to cars and packed warehouses.

Too often you can get a good read on a track in its first few seconds, making moments of genuine surprise a rarity.

It’s the kind of album that restores a moribund set of ears into the the place of loving music and all it has to offer, once again. It really does have the potential to draw in fans of multiple genres around the love of one band.

The shining jewels in Forever Sounds’s crown are the ones where Warner takes centre stage, and shines a light on her own cryptic narratives.

They’re not badly written songs, but as the band contentedly set sail towards genteel Robert Wyatt-esque pop-soul balladry, fans might be left back on the shore wondering what happened to the idiosyncratic Hot Chip they fell in love with.

If Oh, Inverted World and Chutes Too Narrow were like ADHD-riddled cousins, unable to inhabit their own thoughts for longer than a few seconds at a time, then Wincing The Night Away is the Ritalin-gorged riposte. Its bounce is more bleary-eyed; its euphoric bouts tempered by a weird, waking-dream sensation that some dark presence is stalking the peripheries of its foggy vision.

Sure, Abraham's vocal style guarantees an intense outcome, but Glass Boys drives forward, constantly questioning.

A good album is essentially buried here; at least eight songs could comfortably be axed.

There is no question that this is a technically adept, well realised and urgent recording, but what seems to be a lacking is the je ne sais quoi that made Mirrored such a colossal debut album.

Initially underwhelming, as samples and tape loops are pieced together, Level Live Wires retains that same eternally unfamiliar tone that, as with "Donuts and Person Pitch," keeps you hooked to these patchwork pieces.

It’s not terrible album--it might even make you do a little shoulder shimmy every now and then or remind you of an awesome Depeche Mode song you haven’t listened to in years, but at the end of it you’ll probably find yourself either: a) indifferently bored; b) making bets with yourself on what he’s going to channel next: will it be an oriental theme, a Cuban beat, a doo-wop harmony or will he go rogue with some balalaika? (He doesn’t.)

The band transcend their obvious influences: the recording is far heavier and denser than anything they're referencing, the songs more abstract and feral, the vocals surging with an unknowable American passion that sets them apart from their Brit influence.

The quality of the music is without question but the means of consuming it sometimes hinders the listener from soaking it in at a favoured pace.

Overall the LP falters too often.

Haunting until its final breath is drawn, Conatus pretty much does what it says on the packaging, its creator's endeavours in no way wasted on what is a worthy addition to a body of work of uncompromising consistency.

At heart, he's still a producer not a rapper (which explains how badly he hits the mic at times, more on that later). He's got that hit-making part down pat... it's just that he can't make good hits anymore.

They have an eerie guitar pop sensibility that instrumentally makes for a pleasantly surreal ambience layered with intriguing lyrics and gratifying vocal harmonies.

There’s just so much going on, so much to wonder at.

It is not his finest album, or the one that will win him the most new fans--unlike Colours of the Night--but for anyone with a love of modern classical and a taste for the expressive flavours of the piano it is a very worthwhile listen.

A great starting place if you don’t know anything about library music as the album is chocked full of bangers. Wall-to-wall bangers! It gives you a launch pad to go and geek out over musicians and labels, each being a rabbit hole well worth going down. The abundance of heavy hitters is remarkable.

It shows an artist no longer caught in his own artistic web, but someone watching his past selves struggle from a higher vantage point.

The over riding result is that Hot Chip now seem infinitely more comfortable and competent in their skins.

This is the exquisite album we were promised, and perhaps an important one.