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

Overall, then, This Is All Yours is a respectable follow-up to an acclaimed debut that raised the bar for alternative music.

Technically sound, simply arranged, atmospheric and occasionally psychedelic, Calla don’t just write musical warning shots bearing messages of violent frustration... they are also capable of immense beauty.

At times much like a soundtrack to life’s sombre and reflective moments, Roots And Crowns’ clutter-free design is a nice reminder that good music needs no window dressing.

It holds its own but without the moments of genius to elevate it to anything more. There’s no ‘Love is the Drug’, no ‘More Than This’, no ‘Slave to Love’ here. Ferry’s fans though will enjoy this and, given this is a man that even Morrissey professes to enjoy, there are plenty of them to satisfy.

Occasionally you might seek more variety in the tones and washes, but Foy has worked hard to create something that feels of a piece, and there’s no denying the talent at play here.

Ready to Die isn't the missing sequel to Raw Power, but it is a masterclass in writing a big, dumb punk album with occasional touches of emotional depth.

It's not got the immediate clout of Antidotes; and it's not one to spin when prepping for a party (it's actually kind of a downer, apart from 'Miami', which kills). But if you work with it, something really ghostly happens.

Mystery Jets are old hands at this now--and while this offering doesn’t have the immediacy that classics such as ‘Two Doors Down’ and ‘Serotonin’ bring, it is a necessary record from a band that needs to work out where it goes from here.

The first few tracks on Oh Inhuman Spectacle set a high bar not quite maintained throughout, but still, the record is a promising début and a perfect soundtrack for those mysterious twilight hours.

Under Great White Northern Lights would be a funny postscript. It's not particularly revelatory, less cohesive a concert film that Under Blackpool Lights, and in no way intimates that the band was about to go into hiatus. Really, it serves, more than anything else, as a reminder of just how singularly odd the White Stripes are, and how boring things are without them around.

Something of a case of style, or schtick, over substance in places. However, the visceral power of Goat is inescapable.

Self produced by Ben and his drummer Chris Bond at Start Point Farm Studios in Devon, I Forget Where We Were is a grand, serious affair. It’s a somewhat major departure for the artist, and with the far longer running times (only one song clocks in under the four minute mark).

Art Brut manage to retain a frenetic brilliance.

She’s created an album that’s worth more time than a quick fling on the rebound, another engaging entry in her ever-expanding catalogue.

Yes it may be comfortable and familiar, but Silent Hour/Golden Mile is never samey.

Pleasant but forgettable-in-the-long term albums are, after all, a dime a dozen. But this does stand out as one of the best.

Javelin don't yet possess the same kind of wit and invention of their most obvious forbearers, but there's enormous potential here, and the biggest compliment that can be paid to No Más is that it will sound best when reduced down to an audio tape and shoved into one of the boomboxes that Langford and van Buskirk so slavishly worship.

Generally, though, its makers can count Common Existence a triumph.

Like Tiny Masters, these kids are at that enviable point when all this seems fresh and new. You can almost see the process of discovery burning brightly in their eyes. Skeletons perfectly captures that moment.

It’s clear that after a year on the road with the same musicians he’s back into thinking in band mode and how songs will best be served by a four piece line-up. This result is more fully-realised songs.

There are times when Into The Diamond Sun hits a lull, most notably around the midpoint.

Altogether, Father, Son, Holy Ghost is a complex record, one that doesn't quite fully realise Girls potential as great recording artists, yet equally suggests that bona fide masterpiece may not be too far around the corner.

While the album’s steady pace makes for few edge-of-the-seat thrills, World Waits is a success of consistency and coherency.

A little moderated, perhaps, but more mature too. For the first time in years, we are able to imagine that Ounsworth’s best work might still be ahead of him, rather than behind him.

The Sun's Tirade is a good hip-hop album, especially for a chill summer's day.

The real joy of Adams’ back catalogue is that both his vocal mannerisms and skill as a guitarist have allowed him to take a versatile approach to his songwriting; both are evident on Ryan Adams, but the one aspect that does suffer is his lyricism.

Phases is a useful entry into Olsen's back catalogue with heavy stress on the 'back'. For those new to her work, this is a good introduction to her older work, and moreover, yet another example of her incredible talent as a storyteller and composer.