This can't help but feel like a very good EP nestled within a merely good LP. But, if The Hundred In The Hands are to produce an unqualified success next time round, they needn't do anything drastically different.

Dying is a fine debut that suggests Spectres have a lot more to offer.

Ultimately The Century Of Self won't trouble the charts and Trail Of Dead's status as a cult act will be assured. But there's enough here to keep their small group of followers very happy indeed.

It’s by no means flawless, with tracks such as Going Nowhere and There She Is too earnest for their own good, while his political comments are not hugely controversial – which is hardly surprising considering he was burned for his views on socialism back in 2012. Despite this, however, the record is refreshingly honest and delivers a timeless message with passion and plenty of anthemic hooks.

Running For The Drum has a lot to offer, and is sure to stand out as one of 2009's more rewarding oddities.

The big success of The Melodic Blue is in its versatility, proving that while Keem is most known for a somewhat goofy style, he can also emote authentically and cater to different moods.

So, while you couldn't call this effort beige, it is still clear to see that it is lacking the necessary punch to make it a classic.

Harvey’s talent on Four is to mix impressive arrangements with obtuse lyrics yet still add something to the debate on a well worn topic.

This whole album holds together in a way that their debut didn't. It's a bold step forward that commands respect and suggests that they may have some longevity.

There is also swagger to it all that suggests Holub and Led Bib are still, on their fifth album, trying to prove themselves. A little more space would have made for a more fully satisfying listening experience.

Spector readily admit they haven’t created a classic with Moth Boys, and are only aiming to create a ‘good’ album. And that’s exactly what they’ve achieved; it’s a step up from Enjoy It While It Lasts but it hints at so much more to come.

You can’t help but feel that See Through You is also an evolution – for all the right reasons. “Crazy-noise-rock” is at its core, but with some interesting curveballs peeking through the onslaught, perhaps the band are approaching their greatest adventure yet.

The band’s second coming arrives with some added grit, mostly to the guitar and bass sounds, with more distortion in evidence than previously, even if it stops well short of out and out rock. Present once again are their appealing syncopated rhythms and riffs, above which the slight husk of Jack Steadman’s lead vocal offers shots of warmth and positivity.

The tracks continue to balance deep, droning synths and fuzzy percussion with Marling’s folkish phrasing and occasional, vaulting shifts in pitch, to not much effect.

Sometimes their creativity leads them astray into territory that should best be kept in the art room, but otherwise Axes is a delicious listen.

While At Best Cuckold is an album of entertaining truth and teenage legitimacy, and while its sprightly sound and pleasant air create a funny kind of optimism, it does not offer material that will sustain itself over time.

For all Fagen's obsession with precision, this still feels like a remarkably relaxed, quietly confident album--sleek, urbane and sophisticated.

This might not be the album that everyone wanted from Lorde, but it’s a solid, dreamy effort that deserves exploration. There’s plenty here worthy of attention if you can focus for long enough.

Spokes have certainly left a little room for improvement. It must be a good omen though, to produce something good and suggest at something great.

It’s a pastel water coloured effort that’s like The Byrds with less shimmering jangle, The Beatles with less melodious catchiness, The Velvet Underground with less fuzz and Lou Reed drawl: but it works.

It would appear that every step he takes is another step in the right direction; his is a remarkable talent worthy of wider recognition.

The overall feeling is of a Drake record weirded out to its absolute extreme.

If there is a critique to be made it is that the bass is sometimes a bit muddy, as the production can contain bass notes that clash with the lower notes of Lattimore’s harp. This is not an overwhelming flaw, however, as the mix is on the whole clear and pristine, and as the final piano and harp notes fade out at the end of On The Day You Saw The Dead Whale the lasting effect is one of calm contentment.

Admittedly there are a few misses (Changing All Those Changes for example), and it is sometimes a little too languid, but generally Peyroux’s homage to a masterful musician finds the right tones.

Portico have certainly succeeded in reinventing themselves, and they sound like a completely different band to Portico Quartet. The flipside of this is less positive: with their synth textures and post-dubstep influences, they don’t sound all that different from much of the pop music being made at the moment.

Hibbert’s voice certainly sounds older, perhaps even a little weaker, but it still has a communicative power that sometimes allows it to sit at the forefront of the music.

Despite these quibbles, there’s a definite sense on Life By Misadventure of a major step up from Human. It’s a conscious move to move Rag’n’Bone Man up to the level of the likes of Michael Kiwanuka and Ray LaMontagne – if he carries on at this trajectory, he’ll have a career to rival them both.

Overall, Hot Dreams doesn’t quite match up to the trio’s last record--it lacks a comparable number of top notch songs--but it still has some great moments.

The result of using these familiar names is that Simian Mobile Disco lose something of the edge that gave "Attack Decay Sustain Release" such a heavy clout as a sharp piece of electro.

Musically it turns out to be blissful business as usual for Ernest Greene on his fourth album under the Washed Out moniker. The bittersweet sentiments remain but they are beautifully expressed and wrapped up in classy production, with a notable tension that hangs on every song.

Once again this is a thought provoking and stimulating listen from Squarepusher, continually developing his style and surprising in his lightness of touch and inclusion of Latin and funk influences.

This is just another good First Aid Kit album, one that suggests their peak hasn’t yet been reached.

While it's far from perfect, Casiokids have done well to polish their sound, even if they've not yet quite decided what they want to be when they grow up

The general tone is low-stakes, suggesting that Bada$$ felt obliged to link the record to 1999 regardless of the content, and it lacks the impact he might want from his first release in five years. That being said, good taste in production makes it very listenable and his sound has evolved in an interesting way, meaning that ironically he’s not stuck in the past.

Womb contains a world that is by nature red in tooth and claw, and Purity Ring have found a way to marvel at every single aspect of the experience.

Much more petulant and moodier than previous albums, I Am Very Far swirls around in an illusory motion in which all manner of sounds and textures spin and whirl around the ubiquitous figure of Will Sheff; unwavering and untouchable, residing within the heart of the album's hidden emotions.

The four pieces here make an album that carries a powerful impact, as well as recognising the obvious talents of both composers in writing for the string orchestra. The down side of this is that because of the performing forces the textures stay relatively similar the whole way through, and listening to all four pieces at once is not the best way to experience the album as a whole.

Consistent, yes, but also vaguely disappointing, the band may be at the peak of their powers but it's almost a shame to see all the mystery drained away.

Dark Night Of The Soul certainly has its moments, but in spite of the sequencing it sounds like a collection of songs rather than a singular body of work.

Midnight Concessions is another reliably compelling missive from a rare talent.

It’s a concept that really shouldn’t work, but somehow does. Cave’s songs, usually so full of menace, mystique and melancholy, are given new light under Smith’s light, airy voice, and the fact that she was unfamiliar with the source material means that no tracks are treated with any over-reverence.

I defy you not to enjoy this album.

Sour Soul doesn’t quite push any boundaries, but ultimately it doesn’t really matter, because even if there was potential for it to be so much more, it still just about ticks the right boxes.

A debut album of soaring highs and some affecting melancholic soundscapes tempered slightly by just a few forgettable lulls.

It isn’t always the most substantial record, flexing and braggadocio abound, but it’s an enjoyable collection of tracks from the power couple.

Their approach avoids downright imitation of their source material, and they somehow capture a broad swathe of popular music in their own style.

Taken for what it is, Primus & The Chocolate Factory is a fantastically ridiculous release that should please fans of either [Primus or Willy Wonka].

Often interesting and occasionally moving, and at a compact 40 minutes, Maze Of Woods certainly doesn’t outstay its welcome and steers well clear of self-indulgence.

Flowers Of Evil is awash with religious imagery and allusions, snatches of mythology, and nature. The band is looking at the state of humanity and how progress doesn’t necessarily get us very far at all.

At various times uplifting, rocking, refreshing, and sweet, Oceania makes a return to the live arena a suddenly desirable prospect.

How Does It Feel, then, is a second album that reveals a band with plenty left in the tank.

Finishing with the title track, The Small Hours finally becomes as strange and otherworldly as perhaps the entire album should have been. The whole work is not a disaster by any means, but it’s when Berry’s focus seems to wane and things seem more spontaneous that his music becomes more alive.

The album sees Crossan as a distinctive producer once again, after the events of the past few years threatened to leave him faceless.

Seasons Of My Soul... rarely moves above midtempo or out of 6/8 time, and in its warm duvet of production it makes for a soupy listen, even more so on the second or third spin. But that won't diminish the album's efficacy as music for dinner parties or - let's face it - tender baby-making.

The less is more production suits her, and for a first time we get a real and lasting glimpse of Stefani herself.

It's gentle enough to be background music, lively enough to be worth listening to for the sake of it, and certainly an impressive achievement for a 21-year-old's debut.

Swag is a perfectly decent record, albeit one that lacks lyrical flair, emotional depth or any sense of responsibility.

The Pineapple Thief’s latest work is a positive reflection of prog rock in the 21st century asserting, after all this time, how underrated they are. Let them be a mystery no more: on Versions Of The Truth, this band bear the torch of prog rock, and it burns still.

McGuinness is having a fantastic time on this album, but the try-too-hard attempts at shock value and relatively derivative riffs occasionally detract from what is an otherwise fantastic recontextualization of British alternative rock into older trends.

While Innocence might be easily lost in the pool of “alternative,” despite its flaws it is a strong addition to the band’s already prolific catalogue.

Judging by Rose Windows’ now final album, the shame is that differences, whatever they were, could not be overcome because a growing, developing collection of musicians was just beginning to dent the consciousness of a much larger audience. Instead of eagerly anticipating their next move, we are therefore left to cling to their last hurrah.

Exceeding an hour in length, though, some may find it a little too lacking in variety and be soundly asleep before the end--which would be a shame, as it’s one of the better psychedelic albums to reach our ears this year.

The only problem is that, at 20 tracks, it’s far too long, and while there’s nothing particularly bad here, the weaker tracks seem a bit like filler.

Despite their faults, The Black Keys do have something to offer the world in terms of reliable, entertaining garage rock. Just don't expect innovation.

The album is largely built around two (very similar) styles, and can blend into one cloying whole, but this music is built for the summer. It’s tailor-made for being on in the background while you drink, dance, barbecue and copulate your summer away. On that level, it all works.

What could just be another run through a well-worn genre becomes an album that is worth a place in any serious library.

Some of these tracks are cruel in their brevity.

Once again produced by Stephen Street, Coxon has created a work full of guileless charm with a deceptive simplicity that masks some intricate musicianship, while its English pastoral ambience is interleaved with some more exotic influences.

There’s more than enough here to establish Ryder-Jones as a serious solo artist--all it needs is one more notch on the self-confidence dial, and that potential could translate into astounding results.

V.V. Brown is a prodigious talent who deserves to have a hit record, even if it's just to reward all the hard work that has clearly gone into this debut.

The Path Of Totality is overall quite an interesting and largely rewarding proposition. Whether it manages to please dubstep or Korn fans however is another matter.

Whilst obviously not the best album of all-time, Different Creatures adds considerable weight to the band’s growing ambitions.

All in all, this is an odd, but certainly not unlikeable, package of songs.

Under The Spell Of Joy didn’t quite achieve the transcendent ritualistic occurrence Death Valley Girls pointed to, but it should still win them a few zealous new converts.

Sweep It Into Space is as solid a selection of songs as they’ve ever produced and broadly typifies why they are so beloved.

Daniel Avery has a specific set of tools in his arsenal and these are sometimes spread a bit thin, but Song For Alpha is still a worthy follow-up to 2013’s Drone Logic and an enjoyable listen.

Perhaps, but there do seem to be less of them these days, and Being Funny In A Foreign Language represents a gradual, encouraging maturation for the band.

A leisurely 77 minutes of beautifully orchestrated ballads, electronic experimentation, spoken word interludes and callbacks to previous Del Rey songs. Like the vast majority of her previous albums, there’s almost too much to take in, but you have to admire the sheer bloody-mindedness to do things her own way.

Gallagher is never going to win awards for originality, but he has definitely progressed musically with this solo debut.

It's really rather good.

Most of Body Talk Pt 2 is more of the same, but Robyn does occasionally take some significant risks.

It's the musical equivalent of the death of Bambi's mother: exquisitely rendered, but, once experienced for the first time, you need to steel yourself for subsequent visits.

She’s come a long way from those more quirky days, but Remember Us To Life is a good reminder that Spektor is still more than capable of conjuring up moments of magic.

Ultimately it’s likely to work best on a cold winter’s night in a remote cottage with just the wind, a raging log fire, a glass of the strong stuff and sad memories for company.

Their debut self-titled LP is one that is puzzling, slightly strange, sometimes irresistible and a bit frustrating.

It's clear from Flamingo that Flowers accounts for the lion's share of talent in The Killers, and if they ever go on definite hiatus, their fans can look forward to more consistently good material in the form of Flowers' solo albums.

There’s nothing new or surprising here, but that doesn’t matter. The Nothing They Need is an album that works best when it simply washes over you.

The Raven That Refused To Sing (And Other Stories) is certainly an intense listen, but it is ultimately a rewarding one, despite its ability to frustrate or confound.

Tonight... isn't a bad album by any means, and it's certainly an improvement on their last effort, but at the same time you can't shake the feeling that they missed a trick.

Looking back on traditions of the distant past and moulding them within a modern sound and context, it marks a striking release from an artist that is still surprising and innovating deep into their career.

For all the humming and picking, the songs feel too similar to each other to hold interest throughout.

Greenfields is a fine reminder of just how legendary a songwriter Gibb is, and while there’s no big surprises contained within, a Volume 2 would be a very welcome thing.

Familial is a solo album that has qualities you might not have expected to begin with: vivid, memorable lyrics that describe a variety of emotions, its incredibly soft arrangements and, of course, the fact that he can actually sing, proving wrong the famous 'drummers are not frontmen' rock'n'roll myth in the process.

Ignore the occasionally terrible lyrics (rhyming artist with “fartist” for example) and The Painful Truth contains some of their most heartfelt work.

Fast Food is a well-defined and powerful musical statement from an artist enjoying her time in the limelight.

Red Kite is bound to be a hushed, understated, and at times rather lovely soundtrack for the (hopefully) balmy summer days ahead.

Those seeking the mellower vibes of his earlier work may be slightly less enamoured with VEGA INTL. Night School, it’s undeniably a record that’s confident, intelligent and above all, fun.

With music sounding this raw, vibrant and strikingly different to the current generation yet achingly familiar to those that will remember the original post-punk era, Viet Cong have tapped into something exciting, something too big to be contained in a Canadian city most famous for winter sports, and something that could just be the tip of the iceberg for yet another intriguing Canadian act.