While Liberation Transmission may be a lyrical vacuum, it is also a musical masterclass in how to create 12 tracks of killer with almost no filler.

Blurry Blue Mountain is another late career album that falls in the 'good enough to listen to, not quite hot enough to buy' category. The highlights will bolster their setlists, the rest will clog up your hard drive.

Her voice is as mesmeric and worldly as ever, and the instrumentation is rendered in beautiful detail. But it’s tantalising to wonder what would have happened if she would have given herself completely to chaos.

Glass’s voice, too, is the same that’s been luring lusty seamen onto the rocks for millennia, but the way it and the drums are textured--so that the machines they’re passed through sound like they’re melting away--brings Crystal Castles to the outer edges of greatness.

To truly grasp the vigour of Do Whatever You Want All The Time, do it yourself. Grab four mates, pick up some instruments and go nuts. Just don't cut an album from the sessions.

In summary, Third World Pyramid could be renamed 'Business As Usual'. However, when business is as productive and efficient as The Brian Jonestown Massacre have been throughout the majority of their existence, it can only be a positive thing.

There is no doubt that this side of Lil B is his most genuine and I'm sure as a statement Im Gay (Im Happy) is sincere just not quite how you might have assumed.

There is the air of HEALTH now being at a cross roads. Their rampaging style of yore feels a little constrained and tamed by the booming production and ‘nice’ singing, but at the same time they are beginning to write some pretty stupendous ‘proper’ songs.

As a daytime collection of songs this album has its faults, but as long as it's consumed after hours, preferably in a club, it excels with a persona charged with swirls of unbound desire and dance friendly dazzle.

High Places vs. Mankind is their most complete work to date, which ends much as it began, with the band’s love of outright pop.

The great strength of El Vy, by contrast, is that it brings forth both members’ strengths to create something that sounds like a proper polished debut from a 'real' band.

Make no mistake, these are all energising pop tunes, but by the time you reach the seventh track, you’re left wondering how many of them you can take in one go.

It’s comparable to blending all the best bits of Led Zep and hippie rockers Grateful Dead, with a spoonful of Motown classics to help the medicine go down.

Angel tells a story but it's nothing you haven't heard before.

The real genius of Tomorrow’s Hits is its shaking off not just fan expectations but the almighty shackles of credibility, innovation and, for want of a subtler term, corporate buzz-band etiquette.

A thoughtful and inventive debut album that is more accomplished and accessible than the first offering by [The Coral].

This is music to get lost in and lose yourself to at the same time. Strangely familiar, yet unique, in their own conservative way.

The overall effect is intoxicating -- some sort of triangulated point in the middle of REM, New Order and Statistics.

Troubled, Shaken Etc. won't win any prizes for instant accessibility; if anything, it's a deftly-secured trove of deeply hidden treasures, that once discovered, will be hard to resist.

This album will infuriate many but bewitch some.

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.

There's no romance on this album. Nothing shine a stark white light on reality. As they always have.

There’s a nagging feeling that those derivative misses aren't so much accidental misfires as born out of a writer keen to remain free of the pressures of success. That prevents a promising record from being as good as it had the potential to be.

An album whose deep felt emotion and effortless execution proves that there’s nothing like a little trial and tribulation to get the artistic synapses firing.

With Eggs, Oh No Ono have created an album that, like Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion this time last year, allows you to forget the last vestiges of snow outside and look towards the summertime.

What we have in Pala is not some great band reinvention, or some desperately profound effort; it's giant choruses, relatable lyrics, a million earworm riffs and 11 dance anthems.

They're not concerned with clunky subgenres or fitting into anyone's neat little boxes. With Instrumental Tourist, it is what it is.

Indeed, the first half of the album is a tale of peaks and troughs, its highpoint being the dreamy 'Hamster Suite' which bears similarities to both Deerhunter and Blonde Redhead in its opulent make up. The second half of Pussy's Dead fares much better.