Nostalgia doesn't often feel as good as this. Prepare to feel both spooked and studious.

Ultramarine moves Young Galaxy from being a great indie band to being a great band, full stop. The songs profoundly move the body and the psyche in equal measure.

Moore is a collage artist of the highest, silliest, most joyful degree--and as he pulls together strands of strange, whisps of weird, odours of otherness you’ll be compelled to dig, dig deeper into the man’s psyche and back catalogue. And be rightly, wrongly rewarded.

The Staves have added all sorts of bells and whistles to their sound. They all work.

Its sound is as beautiful as ever too, and the arrangements are captured well on Lost and Found, with a glow of warmth hovering around the instrumentation.

If There is No Enemy was a pretty concise record of dreamy guitar pop, then Untethered Moon sees the band get back to a gnarlier sound, with roughhewn, grungy production and two songs that yawn far over the six-minute mark, erupting into hackingly primitive Crazy Horse-style jams.

Waters is on fiery form, and you get the sense that by 1992, he’d finally settled into his own corner of the world a little more.

This is not background music to relax to, though there’s something undeniably calming in its beauty. It’s music to be consumed in, sink into its depths and float on its updrafts. To revel in its celebrations and mourn with its grief and feel all that it means to exist within universal existence. If that seems excessive, well sometimes hyperbole feels justified. Stop, listen and be in love with the world once again.

Solid and safe fun perhaps.

It has a lot to offer around the edges, but is difficult to truly connect with at its core.

Whatever you care to call him, the man’s come up with the goods.

Not only is Holy Fire utterly sublime, it’s a record that’s been six years in the making.

It’s not the Arctic Monkeys you might expect, and living inside Alex Turner’s identity crisis can be an occasionally uncomfortable experience, but give it some time and this sixth album reveals itself as one of the most interesting of the band’s career.

Perhaps there's not enough variation on the album as a whole, with only the odd anomaly which then sounds rather out of place, but even the anomalies are very distinctly John Maus and at times that may be a grim, cold, dark, slightly pretentious thing, but it is no bad thing.

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.

Loss in its many forms shades Ruminations, and the matter-of-fact nature of its acceptance makes the record all the more devastating.

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.

Tommy sounds like it has been carefully scored, but chances are Dosh created all this in his head. There are so many perfect moments.

The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart have crafted an impeccable debut way beyond their years, and any misconceptions about them being mere revivalists of a scene only their elders could recall at first hand will surely be diminished instantaneously upon hearing this most accomplished of long players.

K-the-I??? makes bold steps alongside the likes of Saul Williams, emanating poetic flamboyance without becoming too confusing, but with enough (e)motion and kinetic verve to satisfy even the most passive ear.

Whether they're prepared for it or not, 'Open Season' is set to transcend indie cliques and hardcore raving mentalist fanbases and blow BSP wide open.

Love Songs For Robots is ambitious without being overblown, intimate without falling to sentimentality and subtly, delicately lovely.

Not all of the tracks hit their mark, and this is a far cry from the standard of much of E's earlier material. But it is nonetheless a good record.

Despite its occasional charms, Easy Tiger feels like an uneven piece of work.

Darling Arithmetic is rarely anything but elegant.

It might occasionally makes for heavy listening, but Passerby skilfully turns quiet melancholy and dignified sadness into a thing of subtle beauty.

Fucking insane, whatever way you listen to it.

Its restrained combination of new and old, tradition and innovation, sums up the strengths of OH (ohio), an album which isn't another Lambchop masterpiece, but rather a fine addition to an extraordinary body of work.