There is the potential for something more than a mildly decent album in Sleep Forever. It's the arrogant self-indulgence that really holds the album back from being what it could be.

At just over half an hour long Innundir Skinni is a modest little record compared to the self-indulgence of Joanna Newsom's latest or grandiose ambitions of countrymen like Sigur Ros, but its charms are plentiful and in her own humble, but distinct, way Olof Arnalds confounds expectations.

Sex With an X exceeds all of the expectations we didn't know we had.

It works, if possibly only because Kevin Barnes is ridiculous enough to believe it works. And that is the genius of Of Montreal.

Sure, there's no serious wheel re-invention taking place here, and only a sycophantic fool would suggest that. Nevertheless, Who We Touch can hold its head high, safe in the knowledge that its creators are by no means a spent force.

Rivers and his Weezer buddies are oddballs but finally they're our oddballs and Hurley more than makes up for sticking by their side through one of the rockiest relationships in recent indie rock history.

While each track sounds different to the one that preceded it, they all manage to fit together as a coherent whole. Barking is still a credible effort and a pleasant listen, but it is also unremarkable and, had it been released by artists whose fame didn't precede them, it probably would not have made any waves.

On the whole, Penny Sparkle won't fulfill everyone's expectations, but few can argue it represents another stage in Blonde Redhead's audacious quest for development, even after 17 years and eight albums of trying.

Album three in Chromeo's discography, it sees a return to the Eighties electro funk upon which they made their names, albeit stripped down slightly.

There is enough great music here to make Ivory Tower a worthwhile listen, but this soundtrack drifts in the void between the two extremes of his back catalogue.

Whereas other pop-punk bands revel in sheer stupidity, Superchunk conjure up a profound musical purpose and sense of wonderment from behind every goofy-eyed chorus and oversized hook line. It is bloody impressive to say the least.

There's a strong undercurrent of entrancing, psychedlic-pop to enjoy if you're prepared to listen hard enough. But if you're not into that sort of thing, if you're all about the tunes and the beats, it's still worth a go--I doubt it'll set your world on fire, though.

The Walkmen have done it slightly different this time, but I guarantee that after hearing this album, the brilliance of Lisbon will stay with you for the entire day, no matter what color the sky sitting above.

Skit I Alt is definitely something of a return to form, in its own relaxed way, and once the listener has spent a little time with it, every performance and section becomes that little bit more tantalising.

The album is no Robyn and it doesn't quite match Body Talk (Part 1) in terms of the sheer number of highs.

Interpol is quite possibly the record that the more rabid end of the band's fanbase would have wanted Antics to be; a consistently flowing album, the whole of which is exceedingly better than the sum of its parts.

Happiness promises the rough edges and absurdity of one era's pop, but for the most part gives the mum-friendliness of the next. Hurts would surely be better if they committed to one or the other.

Isla is nothing revolutionary. That's not to say that its originality is completely lost, but perhaps a touch more adventure and earnest into the mix would change the Portico Quartet's breeze into something much more powerful.

Some of these songs would spring to life if they were less restrained, and adding a tactful but solid rhythm could be one way to achieve this. As it stands, there is enough here only to convince listeners of Selway's emerging talent as a songwriter if he sticks at it.

This band has a ways to go: they can write more substantial, affecting music than this, their songcraft can indubitably be tightened up. But I think maybe it's Man Alive's sheer confidence that makes me feel alright about saying that: this is a band going places.

These layered, multi-directional numbers stand out rather than fit in. On either side are tunes a little too straightforward, big ideas a little too self-contained to really mesh in the way you want them to.

Hawk is the most energetic record yet from the pair, with several pointers towards the sound of the enduring record they may well have in them....That said, some old weaknesses remain.

Although largely interchangeable with its predecessors, Cloak and Cipher still sounds fresh enough to please Land of Talk loyalists, and engaging enough to showcase their appeal to new listeners as well.

All that really matters for the moment is that their debut album is an unqualified success, a concise and perfectly-presented collection of first-class pop music.

A useful entry point for newcomers, then, but there is just enough to make this a worthwhile purchase for long-time fans too.

If you've heard the singles, which you probably have, then you've heard the best Teenage Dream has to offer

Dead Confederate have possibly made the best record out of all their contemporaries this year, which surely beckons the question 'How much longer can they be ignored?' Time to pay attention methinks...

While the likelihood of Surfing The Void achieving the same levels of critical or commercial success that Myths Of The Near Future enjoyed is debatable, Klaxons' status as one of the most confounding entities in the UK's languid music scene is cemented.