Ending on a crashing waterfall of an outro and coming in at just under 27 minutes, Ha, Ha, He. leaves the listener desperate for more.

Even in the context of what is turning out to be a stonking year for electro-pop, YACHT have concocted a record to match their peers in Metronomy, Cut Copy and Friendly Fires.

Maybe some of the subtlety of the original is lost in the symphonic throb of this new arrangement but it's still a stunning, gleaming celebration of endurance and life even in the midst of bruises and hurt.

The lyrics’ meditations on transience and memory suit the sounds very nicely. And so the whole thing congeals into a brilliant whole.

By far the most accessible and pop-sounding recordings he has recorded in years, here the ship Eno references might serve the dual function as symbolising his own soul finding tranquility in the music once again.

The songs on this record have been delivered with the kind of aplomb that only someone with an unshakeable confidence in their work can muster, which suggests that Nadine Shah’s artistic future is mouthwatering.

Lone has delivered a Nineties attack that even Neil Buchanan would be proud of.

More often than not, there’s a controlled confidence and sensitivity behind each note that makes for a powerful delivery. Rumer should be praised for taking on such a feat, handling the weight of the songs, and producing something filled with raw emotion, maturity and depth.

Nerrisimo is indeed a dark piece of work, but it’s all the more sublime for it.

With its genre manipulation and intensely poetic, socially aware lyrics, Foil Deer is a stronger, more assertive record with more to say for itself.

Darnielle's lyrics are as true as ever to his incisive yet confused style; 'confused' because, as his myopic cleverness makes for phrases as bracing and direct as can be, his words always--simultaneously--obfuscate or complicate themselves.

Don't listen to it because it's dubstep, or R&B or soul or from a singer-songwriter who isn't a David Grey clone, although it's all those things. Just listen to it because in any genre, it's a great album.

Amply weighted for a debut, Silence Yourself comprises a balance of really excellent stuff and the simply very good.

A Raw Youth aims to sabotage meathead rock and succeeds. Le Butcherettes preserve all the best parts--the rush, the muscle, the vocalist as GOD--but expose the celebrated macho ego as a terrorising other.

Despite their implacable cool there’s a lot of soul searching going on here and the band turn their back on the superficial and hedonistic L.A, setting out in search of something deeper and more profound. In Worship The Sun they find it.

They have evolved from the formula of the debut album, delivering a better album without compromising that which made them good in the first place.

Both musically and lyrically, Utopia is extraordinarily gripping and majestically consistent in its intent to shake and uplift. If there is one aspect that runs the risk of breaking the spell it is its duration.

Livin' in Elizabethan Times is 28 minutes of big dumb fun. Big dumb fun with a great concept. Each song is full of hilarious deadpan lyrics, delivered like only Mason knows how, intricate composition that showcase both Mason’s and Duffy’s skill and prowess. If this is a one off, then we’ve been given something special, if this is the first instalment in a series of releases, then we’re in real treat.

Iris is that very rare thing: a soundtrack that can make a superb stand-alone listen.

She may be about to extract herself from the heat-warped dazzle pop of Good Evening, which is probably a good idea considering the amount of opaque imitators crushing hard on her heels, but for now Gonzalez has created one of the most understated and beautifully murky pop records of 2009.

This is a record that demands your reflection and immersion, rather than just mindlessly wigging out.

This is the most immediate album Cocker has put his name to in ten years.

Thee More Shallows have, in a short time, perfected their sound to an extent that they can take multiple left turns without losing their way.

Pale Young Gentlemen–-as an album--is musical theatre. Switching between moments of mid-tempo melancholy to upbeat cabaret, they strike a perfect juxtaposition.

There’s an ever-so-slight lack of the precariously raw noise that made Ugly so thrilling, but the crisp, imaginative songwriting redresses the balance.

Hormone Lemonade is an endearing listen that focuses primarily on the here and now, and as a result messrs Gane, Dilworth and Zapf have every reason to be overtly satisfied at their latest creation.

Because past the pop songs, past the soaring (and let’s not make any bones about it, this album soars in places) this is a supremely clever album.

It's something that can be quite brilliant: to paraphrase Special Agent Dale Cooper--Squarepusher's path is a strange and difficult one.