It's those thematic ideas of self-worth and pride that beget the sort of personal, intimate relationship that we've come to recognise in the music of many of the Erased Tapes family over the last five years, and that's something that will always be worth hearing.

As is often the way with collections of B-sides, EP remixes and rarities, The Juan Maclean's Everybody Get Close is a mixed bag featuring some very lofty highs and a whole bunch of stuff that the world probably never cried out for, but will be more than happy to have gleaned as a result.

Though the songs are both numerous and short, they’re mostly a solitary musical idea that tends not to be explored too far, well done as it might be.

Hearing rappers coming from this musical sphere is a refreshing novelty however, and the record is definitely one of the most interesting, if not exceptional things to emerge this year.

Unfortunately, though, almost a third of the album is devoted to namby-pamby ballads which, stripped of the band’s trademark sugary hooks, sound truly wispy by proportion.

There is never a singular anecdote or scheme with Kozelek, as he bounces around from topic to topic, providing a kaleidoscope of information in one song.

With a greater use of the minor key, he's added flecks of sentiment to what is, predominantly, a very solid pop record. Just don't get bogged down in genre compartmentalisation.

This is the sound of a band fired-up and focused, and the result is a Darkness album to be proud of.

Music for Drifters definitely represents a diversion from whatever constitutes Field Music’s ‘normal’ work, but it’s also an unquestionably lovely addition to their impeccable discography.

As much of a cliché as it is, you're either going to love Allen or hate her.

Predictably there’s a slide towards more abstracted material toward the latter half, and parts of Saturdays=Youth are all hairspray and no body, but the whole thing sweeps along with such an irrepressible mix of youthful invincibility (‘We Own The Sky’) and flouncing fatalism (‘Too Late’, ‘Graveyard Girl’) it sucks the wind right out of your cheeks before you’ve had chance to huff.

Despite an opening volley that suggests Ghandi himself would have felt the urge to tell Passion Pit to stop being so bloody silly come the end, it finds a slightly more meaningful note surprisingly soon.

It's a more than satisfactory return for a band whose live performances this past couple of years suggest they're here for the long haul rather than any financially induced pangs of sentiment or nostalgia, and if Content is anything to by, one suspects the Gang Of Four's creative tank is far from empty

All are decent enough but, when placed alongside the album's standout moments, they aren't quite as dazzling. Not like that really matters though, because there are standouts throughout.

[A] charming if slight collection, still worthy of your time, and not just to hear the aching, unfulfilled potential.

There may be nothing here that pricks emotion like ‘When An Old Cricketer Leaves The Crease’ and this may not be the truly brazen, bold Harper of the Seventies but it’s a record of reflection, of experimentation, sometimes of egotism, often of near-mystical sadness.

I'm Bad Now delivers throughout its 11, mostly restrained pieces in a way that highlights Chapman's exquisite prowess for astute observational prose.

This is a challenging listen, the rewards often buried, but they are there.

This is a challenge of an album, a challenging listen, but an album with plenty of soul.

Minor criticisms aside, this is elegant dreampop at its finest, and a worthy introduction to the incandescent world of Snowbird.

There’s less freewheeling improvisational spirit than perhaps you’d expect, instead there’s a real desire to cast a mood, one of optimism and warmth, The whole experience feels nourishing.

Throughout the record the ooo-oooh swoopiness is enchanting and the constant SNES-soundtrack bubblings take you back to a simpler, more tranquil and ultimately a place filled with hope.

When it works, Long Black Cars condenses the finest elements of The Wave Pictures into some impressive moments.

Crosseyed Heart will serve as proof that it ain’t Keef who’s over the hill.

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.

Above all and aside from the frustrations, the album is a well-crafted beast, beautifully constructed.

It’s very difficult to do anything new in psych but with their energy and enthusiasm, not to mention some interesting work with electronics, Wand have managed to bring a surprisingly entertaining offering to the genre.

It's an album of razor-sharp irreverence, infectious energy and, beneath its surface, genuinely intelligent songwriting.