The Hamilton, Canada-based songstress has creamed together her best set yet. In Asking For Flowers, Edwards is uncompromising, but sombre.

So there is a lot to love within this album. Its knowing winks to rock’s early ‘70s excesses and sage-like nods to the soulful marriage of rock and rhythm and blues exemplified by Sly and Curtis mean that we’re comforted rather than challenged.

Seventh Tree, though in some respects an organic redrafting of the autoerotic Goldfrapp template, picks up where Supernature left off in its setting of the controls for the heart of the mainstream, and misses badly the slickly subversive tone that lifted the band from the realms of coffee table mediocrity.

Beach House have created as profound an invocation of the sacred and the sentimental as you’re ever likely to hear.

Its minimal drum patterns and and playful touches speak of a deceptive lightness of touch, but four albums in and The Raveonettes are making plain they know what it is to have lusted and lost, and therein lies the key to unlocking Lust Lust Lust’s poignant pleasures.

While the quality and beauty of The Golden Age can stand confidently beside those two classics ["Everclear & "Mercury"], it stands alone as another distinct chapter in the life of this band, precious to those who know them.

It’s the crafting of timeless, crest-fallen melodies infused with gripping characterisations that elevates Darnielle into the upper-crust of musical virtuosity. And that’s exactly where Heretic Pride leaves him: perched atop the pile of today’s try-hardy singer/songwriters.

This album is simply wondrous.

There are times on Let the Blind…, when the music around Cox veers subtly in the right direction, where you can hear the grub’s surprise as he wakes up with Great Admiral wings, ugly white noise turning psychedelic.

Grand Archives offers an impressively alternative take on American indie; blending a number of interesting influences to create a fresh and airy project.

It is ceaselessly pretty, breezy and undemanding (in the best possible way), boding extremely well for future material.

Apes aren’t about to crack that ‘til now ignorant mainstream with this fourth offering, but established acolytes and curious newcomers will find much indeed to be super-stoked about.

Heady swirl, indeed: much of Come Into My House unfolds with all the knacker-shrivelling underwhelmingness of a tepid bath.

For sure, dollops of Franz, Blur and Supergrass have been whisked into this epileptic mix of guttural, quick-witted punk-pop but Little Death is no pre-packaged ready-bake; it’s an improvised, home-cooked palate-whetter, coated in rhythm and sprinkled with bite.

Wired with a sense of opportunity, these little Caesars continue to play mother's favourite rather than the ostracised gurning recluses they initially cast themselves as.

Made In The Dark must rank as something of a missed opportunity, but as a bigger, bolder (if overlong) follow-up to a deservedly popular second album, they’ve succeeded admirably.

Lucky aims high but once again falls short.

While District Line is by no means a classic, it’s a decent addition to the catalogue of a man who could’ve lived out the rest of his days without lifting another finger

Stylistically there is a different kind of freedom (there is even a nod to garage rock on ‘The Queen Of All Returns’) that seems less about affectation or indulgence and more about adhering to the spirit of each individual song, making for harder-fought but longer lasting rewards.

The thing is, Mogis’ ‘Americana’ treatment of Lavender Bridge’s core material all too often saturates each song, soaking though to the core of Hynes’ material and threatening to set in to rot.

While Circular Sounds isn’t quite the modern sound of the American west coast, it feels very much like the classic sound of California: a sound left blissfully alone by the stresses and rigours of a modernity forever on the move.

Look beneath the surface sheen, then, and you'll see gratefully receive This Gift as the best, most complete, Sons And Daughters long-player to date.

For the most part, this is the heaviest record that they’ve recorded and the most far-out as well.

The production throughout Vampire Weekend is perfect, holding all the various threads together as a coherent whole that manages to sound simple without ever being underwhelming.

Women As Lovers is proof positive that if navel gazing was an extreme sport, Xiu Xiu would be its leading practitioners, wielding an earnest approach which, while occasionally proving scary and even moving, borders heavy-handedness and rapidly becomes oppressive.

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.

Hey Venus! is the most concise album in the band's history.

This is a wonderfully zealous experience, bristling with realised potential and fulfilled ambition.