There’s a new sense of optimism shining through the songs, especially on tracks like Hey I Won’t Break Your Heart and Tell Me, but it’s always tempered by a wistfulness that only experience can bring.

The result is a staggeringly impressive and confident third album from an artist who has reached the very peak of his powers.

As good as it occasionally gets on I Hear You, the continuously tuneless wail of the vocals are likely to be where the record either succeeds or fails, depending on how much emphasis the listener puts on the vocal element and whether or not they can see past the often painful experience. If only Mr Birdsong had been given lead vocal duties instead.

Eagulls have not just expanded their sonic palette, they also explore far weightier questions about life through their lyrics. As a result, the record instantly comes across as a more advanced and mature proposition compared to its predecessor, which was more interested in instant thrills.

With all matters of the heart explored in extremely intimate detail it sees Beyoncé back on top of the pop world ready to slay like only she can.

A definite case of still waters running deep, Nerissimo is a quiet work of craft by two musicians entirely happy to follow their own instincts. Like Spinal Tap.

It is delicately shaded and tells us more of her hopes, dreams, fears and feelings than any interview ever could. It is this direct communication with her listeners, coupled with the strongest of loyalties to her underground heritage, that makes her music as strong as it is.

Everybody’s Heart Is Broken Now resolutely clings to the idea that faded memories can be given vibrant colour through song and that music preserves inner tempests and dreamed oases in amber--and for the most part it succeeds as evidence of that.

The Ship proves he has more ideas than ever, and shows there’s still plenty left to be achieved in music.

Iit’s not a huge leap from previous albums The Magic Place and Nepenthe, but the overall sound is richer and lusher than ever before.

This is as compelling and coherent a collection as they have ever made. It’s a record that you can delve deep into and really inhabit; everything’s in its right place.

Despite some intriguing musical excursions though Views is very much the Drake record in excelsis. It’s staggeringly long at 20 tracks and 80+ minutes, and is a grind for even the most ardent fan to get through.

There is nothing particularly ground breaking or original about Solar Bears, and their music can feel a little samey at times. Despite these shortcomings, Advancement is still a thoroughly enjoyable, lushly textured record that rarely fails to absorb.

It’s a strange album that is melodically approachable, but lyrically draining.

Such a musical melting pot can easily turn into something inaccessible and lifeless, but that’s never the case here. Skill, knowledge and passion clearly inform what this band do, but what comes across most strongly is a sense of joy, and that makes it difficult to feel anything other than wholly engaged as a listener.

The more you let yourself bathe in this unsettling aural shower, though, the more its weird beauty will captivate you--the sort of album you’ll keep coming back to without quite knowing why. If you’re willing to invest the time, this is the most beautifully strange journey you’ll take all year.

Fever Dream won’t change the world, but it may seem like a slightly more comforting place as you listen.

A whirling dervish of an album, and a culmination of all their previous hard work, Nonagon Infinity is the sound of a band at their wigged out best.

Those not familiar with John Carpenter’s work may find his approach a little baffling, dated, and over the course of an entire album, somewhat monotonous. But they’d have never got it anyway.

For one of Black Mountain’s principal strengths is that they don’t just create rock music, they use a lot of different styles alongside it, complementing and contrasting. Unfortunately on IV they lose their essential focus, giving us plenty of style but rather less content.

Even during its more ludicrous moments, though, it’s impossible to deny the beauty that often shines through.

The songs are stronger than ever, and the production remains recognisably the work of Hamilton’s hand.

A solid album, one which, given time to explore its layers and textures, justifies investigations tenfold.

It is in Anthony Gonzalez’ veins to make pop music where the listener will swoon, dream and ultimately smile. Despite the mournful lag in the middle of JUNK, that is what he does once again here--in his own inimitable way.

At times, you yearn for the presence of a strong editor in the studio.

For the most part, though, Morby is refashioning his admiration for canonical songwriters through a closer attention to mood, atmosphere and the evocative potential of sound.

It might not be FOTL’s most accessible album, but The Peace And Truce is perhaps their most rewarding. Once those rough edges have been understood and accepted, Falkous’ cryptic lyrics are an endless source of mirth and puzzlement. There’s depth here, and it’s not just in Ruzick’s bass lines.

Twelve years may have been time to labour too much over some ideas, but there are core moments to this that show an intelligent and important band still stretching the parameters of what’s possible for a rock outfit.

With each album, Gibson develops these techniques, and Empire Builder sees her building these details to a new peak.

Overall, there aren’t enough risks taken on Love Letter For Fire to make it a truly outstanding album; it’s a very pleasant, comfortable journey rather than an especially memorable one.

What’s left is something truly fresh, barely recognisable, a shuddering, bending feast of sound.

Her music is always so distinctly hers, and she remains one of the most distinctive and thrilling voices we have.

Héloïse Letissier’s synth-driven record is a more subtle, catch-you-unaware affair.

It may tread familiar territory but that’s fine--this far into the game, they’re hardly going to deliver their jazz odyssey.

here he goes from here will surely be fascinating, but in the meantime you are strongly advised to check out of all distractions for an hour and surrender to his bewitching music.

In the end, the repeated invocation of booze, drugs and sugar betrays a semi-permanence, with Welcome The Worms feeling like more of a quick fix despite some effective catharsis, and it’s disappointing that a band held in high esteem for their live energy have yet to fully realise that on record. That doesn’t dull the album’s instant charm, however.

A vacuum that sucks you in and dumps you among the dust you tried to sweep away. And from the dunes of that dust emerge a band well in their stride.

There’s far more good to be found on Red Flag than there is bad--this feels like the genuine follow-up to Saints And Sinners that Studio 1 should have been.

She over-eggs the pudding occasionally, but that’s a small price to pay for adventure.

In their search for pop perfection though, they do actually hit the mark a couple of times; it’s just a shame that the best moments mostly appear at the album’s commencement because they far outweigh the vast majority of what follows, meaning you could be tempted to drift off in conversation before the album’s conclusion or, worse still, fall asleep.

The wilderness and going off the map might seem like a frightening concept, but after a little exploration, there’s beauty to be found everywhere.

The band are far from fans of modern pop and their twisted take on the genre continues to beguile and enchant in equal measure, but the ideas never overwhelm their fourth album. As a result, their return sees them get back to something like their captivating best.

It [Die Like A Rich Boy] is a poignant conclusion to what often feels like a cathartic record; one that will take you on a wonderful rollercoaster of emotional highs and lows.

It too often sounds like a diluted version of what’s gone before, a collection that struggles to reach the highs of old.

The resulting album, jubilant and enthralling, is really a three way collaboration between the two artists and Kenis.

Love Streams is always on the move. It’s alive and constantly evolving: a slippery beast of a record that you can try and get a hold of, but thankfully you probably never will.

At this point in Mogwai’s history, it’d be unreasonable to expect any kind of seismic shift in direction, but what they’ve done with Atomic is refine their methods to create something that could just possibly be the highlight of the career to date.

In this urgent, dense, ambient, technical music Three Trapped Tigers have produced something that is very much their own.

Super, as you will have gathered, is both old and new. It is old in the sense that all the Pet Shop Boys’ calling cards are here--the vocal clarity, the production precision, the wry observations on daytime ordinariness and night time escapism. Yet the nostalgia trip is a good move, with Price giving their beats a firmer kick.

It is unlikely to be held in the same esteem as its predecessor, even if there is enough here to confirm that The Last Shadow Puppets are more than just a side project.

Patch The Sky is certainly a difficult listen but it’s not without a odd kind of sweetness--it’s full of grief and bleakness to be sure, but there’s also an exhilarating sense of catharsis to be had.

Soulful, sexy and captivating, Mind Of Mine hints at the flexibility, focus and character required of the brightest solo stars.

In its own way, the album is as tied to a central concept as his last few recordings, but here that concept is presented in a more expansive, more enquiring way.

As gross as The Body set out to make No One Deserves Happiness, it is Wolpert’s presence that actually provides it with an element of hope. She’s like a flower in a bomb crater, and in a weird way, The Body might just have made one of the most hopeful pop albums ever.

Despite wavering towards the second half, there is no doubt that this is Weezer’s best album in years.

Grapefruit is an exhilaratingly exciting album.

Where Barking was all about the kinetic energy of the feet and arms, Barbara… joins the soul and the head, its rhythms enhancing rather than driving the experience.

Thanks in no small part to the significant contribution of Homme, the shirtless rocker has created his best work since his early Bowie collaborations.

2013 is one of those records you get something new from with every listen.

Clark takes creating this soundtrack to monumental forms, letting the components get weathered and scarred through his manipulation to create a landscape of history, emotion and musical depth.

Compared to some of Primal Scream’s bold ventures in the past, it may be a bit lightweight, but it’s full of effervescent appeal.

The darkness is more fully embraced on Easy Window, which smoulders elegantly and possesses a distinct undertow full of sorrow and a sense of detachment. When it’s done this well, it’s hard not to get swept up in it, but there are moments when it doesn’t quite come off.

Full Circle is a promising start for a trio of artists who already possess a clear vision of the type of music they want to create. The chances are they will only improve with time to grow their songcraft and ideas further.

This is handcrafted, in-it-for-the-long-haul music, which will give many hours of pleasure.

There are a couple of fillers on the album, but Girl At The End Of The World is a strong, distinctive addition to the band’s work.

Her songs are a beguiling mix of sizzling synth-pop, and for want of a better phrase, Nordic-folk.

It’s these minimal moments of Long Way Home that work best.

It’s a marvellously un-sobering boisterous beast of a record, and a sparkling début.

Palomino isn’t a perfect album by any means. A few tracks feel a little rock by numbers, and for all the excellence on show Treetop Flyers do lack that streak of originality and cosmic weirdness that elevate American contemporaries such as Father John Misty or My Morning Jacket. Yet these are small criticisms of a band who have built upon the promise of their début very impressively indeed.

Dry Food approaches the subject from a different angle to the tried-and-killed solo artist template of acoustic guitar plus deserted cabin with nothing but a glove puppet for company.

It is good to have The Coral back, and while Distance Inbetween may not find them consistently hitting the songwriting heights it does consistently impress with the quality of its musical delivery and the authenticity of James Skelly’s vocals.

If you’ve yet to indulge in this band’s output, you really ought to, bearing in mind this is now the third album in a row where their strange but endearing music hits the spot.

Second Love pays off most of all on those repeated listens--it’s not her most immediate collection of songs, but over time they reveal themselves to be her most rewarding.

Those familiar with the older Årabrot will find much to admire here, and this is far from a crossover album, but in terms of scope both sonically, lyrically and artistically, it’s perhaps the defining moment of the band so far.

Monoglot English speakers may have little idea what she’s singing about, but such is the passion and grace of her delivery, Brahim could be reciting the Milton Keynes telephone directory and few would object. The fact that she has an important message to share makes her performance, and this album, even more significant and impressive.

It seems as if You Know Who You Are is a shrug of the shoulders, a ‘let’s get on with it regardless’ statement instead of letting themselves get hung up over near misses and spluttering to a mid-air stalling. Instead they’re very much still soaring amongst the clouds.

There’s no doubting that The Ridge is a good album, but sometimes the supporting players don’t quite compliment Neufeld’s compositions as well as they might.

Whilst they are mostly good cuts, the vocal tracks are disappointing in comparison (with the exception of Beneath The Black Sea); ultimately, there’s likely to be a few yawns and subsequent yearning for a new album by The National instead.

With the singles and two other best songs placed at the front end, how does the second half fare? In direct comparison, poorly.

If this is to be the band’s swansong, they’ve left behind something timeless and quite beautiful.

Convenanza is essentially a good time record, a celebration that looks back, but doesn’t forget to put its best foot forward too.

This is awkward, sharp elbowed music that requires time and effort to fully appreciate, yet the complex textures and image-laden, thought provoking lyrics will gradually reveal themselves to those prepared to be patient.

At the centre of all of this, always, are Leschper’s remarkable vocals: brittle and quivering at one moment, bold and unfaltering the next, with an occasional folkish twang of Joanna Newsom or Jessica Pratt, her manner of occasionally over-reaching or stopping short of notes well within her range, her voice cracking at the edges, emphasises the fragility at the emotional core of her songs.... A beautiful album.

Tracks such as the title song and She Lays Down are redundant, bringing down what is otherwise a brave and eclectic comeback from The 1975, one that is sure to divide opinion once again.

Ultimately, Stranger Things sounds more like a band that are more comfortable with what they are doing.

99¢ is slick, soulful and full of the imaginative use of reference points that she is so accomplished at bending to her will. It’s by no means as immediate as Santogold, but its pleasures are plentiful if you give it the time it deserves.

The Blue Hour has finesse, sensitivity and lightness of touch: all the hallmarks of a great modern classical album. In Federico Albanese, we’ve got a new name to watch out for.

Love Yes is a memorable listen, if just a bit too busy at times.

The results are often fascinating. Matmos clearly revel in exploring and manipulating sound, however unlikely the source, and there’s a variety here.

As interesting as Garratt seems on the surface, his debut is constantly attempting to straddle the line between being edgy and different and achieving widespread appeal. Ultimately, it is the latter that wins through and the end result is a record that is highly accomplished, but lacking in any real adventure.

The end result is highly accomplished, viscerally honest and at times hypnotically beautiful, even if it ultimately doesn’t quite live up to its creator’s ambition.

Compared to the low-key and at times melancholic Nocturne, Life Of Pause is a rich and expansive step up that balances the old and the new perfectly to create Wild Nothing’s best album yet.

Lissie’s third album is perhaps a patchy affair, but when it hits its high points it works beautifully. Next time round, a bit less of the FM radio sheen could see her step forward with a truly great record.

Inevitably there are moments when you wished they’d rein it in a little and take a breather from the very many sonic tricks they’re painting with. And you often can’t help but lament the lack of human compassion: the affecting and crafted songwriting of Merriweather Post Pavillion is somewhat lost. But there are glimpses of that capacity on Burglars which has some lovely Beach Boys-esque backing vocals, and many of the tracks are far more intoxicating than their previous record ever offered.

It may be her most mainstream album to date, but as ever with Bulat there’s a subversive and inventive edge lurking under the surface.

The album sounds like what it is, then: a spur-of-the-moment, vinyl-only release, written and recorded for simplicity and speed. On these terms, it succeeds.

It’s perfectly easy to listen to Porches on a superficial level and find beautiful hooks to hang on to, but the real joy of this album is to dip beneath the surface, and see what’s going on underneath.

Despite its name K2.0 is neither a straightforward sequel nor a reboot; rather, a half-familiar formula performed with renewed vigour.