It is a polished sound, one the band does very well. The musicianship is solid and the mixture of high-energy vocal performance with the instrumental post-rock passages is uplifting and at times enthralling.

The music drifts effortlessly between bright effervescence and dreamy, eerie moods.

This is clearly and audibly the work of a musician, composer and performer keen to embrace evolution and the possibilities which that opens up - not only within individual tracks or across a release, but also in terms of his overall body of work.

It might be a bit too idealistic for some people, but these are songs with melodies in abundance, and appealing melodic and lyrical quirks.

This is, after all, the sound of Paul Smith freed of his band and label obligations - but the fact remains that Margins, while an interesting insight into a character, is a frustratingly hit-and-miss affair.

Yes its weighed down by some empty dancefloor tat, but it's probably the strongest record work Tricky has put out this decade; definitely much more of a comeback than Knowle West Boy was.

Despite her self-confessed lack of confidence when it comes to crossing musical boundaries, Tunstall proves that in the guise of her Tiger Suit she can achieve anything she puts her mind to. For her at least, 2010 is the year of the Tiger.

Bubblegum is unlikely to see Clinic rocket to mainstream notoriety all of a sudden, but they'll continue to be one of indie's best known secrets.

The rest of the album plods along nicely, Healy's lullaby vocals soothing their way through single Buttercups and sure-to-be follow-up single Anything, which will sit quite happily alongside the likes of Driftwood and Sing.

It all adds up to Stern's most fully realised, most rounded album yet, and a huge step in her evolution as an artist.

An album that merits--and rewards--repeated listening, this is further evidence of a band not simply in it for the short haul. Certainly no one-trick ponies, it will be interesting, exciting even, to see where Abe Vigoda take their music next.

Halcyon Digest is a triumph of multilayered nuance, and repeated listens reveal its genius buried just beyond the obvious.

By the time the vocal duet and droning guitars of Chem Trails come around, you'll realise that this is the sound of a band who are going from strength to strength.

The results of The Place We Ran From are ultimately pretty mixed. To start with the positives, it is a lot of better than expected and there are some genuinely decent pieces of songwriting. However, to enjoy those you have to wade through a thick fog of filler that either doesn't really go anywhere or just doesn't connect.

The emotional impact of this music is sometimes disorientating or alienating, but that is probably the intention. It's mostly impossible to discern the lyrics or comprehend their themes. Somehow this doesn't matter, given the striking, weird and often turbulent music beneath.

It adds up to Folds' finest record yet, and while nobody would dare suggest that Nick Hornby would give up his day job, a sequel to this fascinating collaboration would be more than welcome.

Le Noise is the sound of a restless and prolific artist striving to deal with the burden of his great legacy.

By creating a world so comic-book vivid, each track stands and walks in its own desolate, saturnine world. But it's a world where the dead want to be alive and the alive would rather be dead. The creation of warped minds, Salem just made a monster.

It's tempting to deride the album as too similar at times, but the truth is that each of these songs is a perfectly sculpted and realised work of wonder revolving around a couple of central themes, which appears to be based primarily in the sounds of the Orient and the South American rainforest.

A Swedish Love Story is, from one end to the other, a completely enjoyable slice of violin-driven pop perfection. But its brevity means that the listener is slapped in the face with reality all too quickly, like being awoken from a dream just as you were getting to the really good part.

This collection of songs have no problems with originality (redundancy isn't an issue) but it never escapes its aged disposition.

This is an album that celebrates OMD's electric romanticism as purely as ever, with occasional concessions to house music developments made in a way that flatters their own work, part of an impressive desire to keep their original aesthetic . In that respect, it represents a qualified triumph.

Whether or not Shit Robot is making grooves and beats that are unique and progressive isn't the point. The whole point of his work is to embrace the glorious past and then push the necessary knobs and buttons that are commonplace today to take it to a wonderfully hip-shaking new level.

Whilst this may be its chief difficulty, and one that will undoubtedly deter and daunt some listeners, it is nevertheless good to have a band and an artist with this darkly poetic a vision back recording and performing once again.

Maximum Balloon is by no means a perfect album, but there are some fantastic performances to be found (Karen O, Ambrosia Parsley's sultry Pink Bricks). It's a shame that Sitek never steps up to the mic, but when you've got friends like these it doesn't really matter.

Overall, Postcards finds Manic Street Preachers at the top of their game, even 22 years after their first single. It's not for everyone--though pop radio will undoubtedly spin several of these tracks hourly for the foreseeable future--but longtime Manics fans will likely find plenty to love in this polished, grandiose "last attempt at mass communication" from an enigmatic rock 'n' roll institution.

Whilst Duppy Writer is an engaging and mostly enjoyable album, it also sometimes feels slightly lightweight, or intentionally minimal and immediate.

Sadly, expert guitar playing cannot carry an album. Moreover, it is too sterile and obsessively arranged, and the majority of the vocals lack that rock fierceness. Everyone is playing it too safe, with the production geared towards something mainstream and pop-oriented rather than experimentation and reinterpretation.

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.

There is definitely some promise in Laetitia Sadier's solo work, but the material here feels more like rough sketches than finished product. That said, if you were a Stereolab fan and have withdrawal symptons, this will definitely satisfy your curiosities.

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.

With much to enjoy on this collection that has preceded their goodbye it would be music's loss if this were to once again genuinely signal the end of this quirky, characterful band.

Innundir Skinni is still a worthy achievement, it's emotional but not melodramatic; understated yet grand. But it is a mixture rather than a whole and lacks the cohesion of Arnalds' inspiring first album.

Crocodiles are a talented rock band with a strong sense of songwriting, for sure, but they're also very happy to be playing music, and that joy shines through any amount of fuzz Sleep Forever might throw at you.

This is an album that, once consumed, lies dormant in the mind of the listener, ingrained but not at the forefront, playing in the subconscious; more demanding than background music, but short of immediacy.

Unlike anything else on the album, Clear Spirits stands out, with its submerged melodies, insistent basslines, and cascading guitars. If nothing else it proves that Les Savy Fav can still be vital and are still writing challenging, inventive material.

For what it sets out to do, it's damn near perfect, and what higher praise is there than that?

It's these hints of darkness, together with an ability to take on several differing styles of music in the course of one album, that make Black Mountain such a compelling listen. They remain a captivating proposition, with an arsenal of powerful riffs now at their disposal.

Though the band sound in reasonably good form and the album shows how much Burgess has developed as a singer over the years, overall the songs themselves are just not strong enough. The Charlatans don't touch us this time.

Where its predecessor found Plant operating in a finely-tuned genre, Band Of Joy gives him an opportunity to explore his influences, and to colour a few choice odds and ends from the rock 'n' roll canon with his indelible mark.

As it stands though, Barking is a mostly-solid album let down by a couple of weak links.

Castle Talk is their Born To Run, scrappy and brimming with flashes of greatness; it's the album that could very well launch them into a lasting place in the indie rock canon.

Phosphene Dream is not a release to sing along to so much as lie helpless with whilst narratives spawn and play out in your imagination, invariably twisted and terrifying but always interesting. Psychological trauma might not necessarily be what you what you want from an album, but at least it provokes a response.

The feeling remains, however, that Ivory Tower the album will be at its most effective when the visuals come in to play. Many of its instrumentals lack an essential element of either melody or art, so it's safe to assume they will come to life better on screen.

Although The Morning After's mood is distinctly downbeat and does not have the same direct appeal as The Night Before, the songs are often touching and grow more so with each listen.

Much of the experimentation is on the surface, and there does not seem to be a great deal of further depth or sophistication. Often, it is all too bright and too relentlessly ecstatic to feel truly meaningful or substantial.

It could be said that a work as strong as Majesty Shredding cements Superchunk as an important band or a permanent indie fixture, but that's a bit of a misnomer. If anything this record is simply proof that Superchunk are going to make the music they want to make regardless of whether it fits into a modern context or not.

Skit I Allt is another commendably audacious example of Dungen's commitment and musicality. Yet for all their skill with both melody and with improvisation, Dungen risk ending up being too esoteric to be a pop band and too dreamy and light textured to excite committed psych listeners.

Their incongruence makes neither any less brilliant. So powerful is its imagery, and so timeless is its presentation, Lisbon is sure to join High Violet on any shortlist of the most memorable albums of 2010.

Shadow Temple is a very interesting album. But it's also very demanding. It's as if you need a doctorate in Brooklyn Hipster Music Studies to fully appreciate the band's ingenuity. Several tracks amble on interminably, and often they're so dramatic as to add up to a collection of music that feels more like a film score than an album.

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

Interpol mostly deliver on this album with what they do best, sprinkling some of their most creative moments across it. If this is a schism, it'll be intriguing to see what happens when the pieces eventually do settle.

This album of covers brims with intensely organic and engaging moments, breathing new life into songs that could've just hung out like tired old windbags.

It's this capacity to write immediately affecting songs coupled with an effortless cool that will see Hurts catapulted towards stardom. The fact that the album tails off dramatically with a series of appalling ballads in the shape of The Water and Unspoken will almost certainly be overlooked in favour of the classy sounds of Wonderful Life or the glorious pulsing anthem of Better Than Love.

This is red wine music, no doubt about it, but red wine music for the discerning indie intelligentsia, perfect for a long night where the only ambition you've got left is to sink so far into the floor cushions that you'll never get up again.

Being a live album, some tracks are stretched out beyond their natural lifespan (the average length of the songs here is about six and a half minutes), but even then it's a joy to listen to the interaction between Thompson and his band.

All considered, Minotaur is thoroughly pretty and easy to appreciate on a compositional level; the usual blend of modern-era indie pop with iconic '60s sensibilities. But it's like that particular horse has been beaten past recognition, rendering Minotaur a little too safe for its own good.

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.

It's comparable to Late Of The Pier's debut Fantasy Black Channel; a lot on show but with hints of greater achievement. But Man Alive is a step up from that. It could well be their masterpiece; their scatterbrained work of art.

It's practically a soundtrack for pool parties, clubs, and makeshift living room dance sessions. The album knows exactly what it wants to do, and accomplishes it with grace.

The EPs are kept distinct on two separate discs. Whilst they vary in texture and mood, they also work remarkably well together, as if representing two sides of the same coin.

The Sword still know how to write killer riffs. That said, they've changed tack a little this time around mainly thanks to the polished production of Matt Bayles (previous clients include Isis and Mastodon).

Too much of Memphis sounds like a pale copy of a much more impressive band, and Magic Kids really need to find their own, less cloying, voice if they're going to produce something worthwhile.

All We Grow is not an album for instant gratification, nor is it an album to relegate to background music. Rather, this is a record to study and indulge yourself in--it deserves every bit of your attention.

Overall, Tomorrow Morning is a good, but far from great, record.

Hawk represents the finest moment of the Campbell and Lanegan collaborations thus far.

This is a creditable follow-up from a band re-establishing and confirming their status as one of UK music's more enjoyable and innovative bunch of eccentrics.

Catching A Tiger has its moments of spontaneity, marking Lissie's talent for songwriting and blending genres, but also of calculated engineering, designed to make her into the Next Big Female Songwriting Sensation.

Alive As You Are is what west-coast rock 'n' roll is supposed to sound like.

Dear's tempos here are mostly slow, never rising above moderate, and the result is an anxious but exhilarating journey through the night.

Indeed, at some worrying points, Gray sounds like he's on the point of expiring, so croaky and listless is his voice.

Let It Sway proves that SSLYBY are still a power-pop force to be reckoned with, and that they're nicely outgrowing the offhand irony of their name.

LaMontagne has surrounded himself with the best possible company, and long-time fans should find that the payoff is something to marvel at.

The result of the flawless playing and polished production, however, is ultimately a too-perfect sound, lacking drama and grit. With his darkest years behind him, Wilson seems willing to use only the brightest colours in the paintbox.

Zig-zagging cross-country has afforded the band a subtle grasp: while West Coast sunshine glows from their every chord, they are not bound to Pacific pop principles, and their dexterous handling renders Modern Rituals a beguiling proposition and Chief a band to keep a very close eye on.

They're still a band with huge potential that isn't yet being completely fulfilled. Kaleide might please die-hards but for the rest it lacks in progression and new ideas.

There's an exciting and engaging mini-album here but, across the album as a whole, PVT seem to be straining for a gravitas that their music does not entirely justify.

Despite a few moments of middle-of-the-road excess, The House is a shockingly good album--that is, not actually amazingly good, but just shockingly by Katie Melua.

It's the record of a band who have plenty of experience, a good track record and know what makes a good album.

If the career plan was to go to the lowest of lows before releasing an album of resurrection and real substance, he ought to be applauded for conducting the whole stunt to perfection.

One of the 21st century's most intelligent and satisfying bands (musically, lyrically, emotionally) have once again set out their stall, and once again produced a work of inspired resonance, capturing truth after truth, in all its muddled, human realism.

Transit Transit is a very idea-focused album, with each track a structure whose foundation lies in a very specific sound.

It's far more fun, however, to sit back and appreciate the album as the dawning of a new, unique voice which, through its influences (both obvious and not-so), is blending styles and carving a niche in to the increasingly crowded canon of independent and original female artists.

If you've never even considered owning a Tom Jones record before, give Praise & Blame a try. It may well surprise you.

Behold, here arrives the first "star" from a productive lo-fi music scene. That's because she's the first out of the bunch of heavily-blogged artists to display her personality, to prove to the world that she's got something to say. And boy has she said it.

Beach Fossils is the sound of life being enjoyed for the simpler things and getting over the rest. It makes for a languidly pleasing bout of escapism at the very least.

Despite its experimental genesis, Mines is an incredibly relatable indie-pop gem.

While it may not be enough to garner any new fans, existing devotees will feel that the wait has been worth it.

Crow has returned to the kind of music she loved as a kid growing up in the shadow of one of America's hottest soul hotbeds. The result finds her sounding more at home and effortlessly exuberant than she has since Tuesday Night Music Club.

This is an illuminating and captivating insight into the world of Zero 7. Far from being coffee table fodder, it provides a near perfect chill out soundtrack - easy to relax to, but always rewarding closer inspection, especially deep in the small hours.

Despite its origins, Infra stands as a staggering achievement, and as an album in its own right.

Archives will not compensate for the lack of new Department Of Eagles material. Indeed, it appears that the project will be on a long hiatus whilst Rossen is preoccupied by Grizzly Bear. Yet it does have merit as a fascinating document of a band veering out of its comfort zone, starting to make what had previously been the music of their dreams.

It's not a perfect album by any means; some of the more cutesy numbers can border on the twee, and at 44 minutes it's far too long for a collection of songs that essentially sound very similar. But it is an extremely promising debut, and a warm, breezy and openly-referential antidote to the hordes of cacophonic pretenders taking themselves far too seriously.

Sometimes it feels a little one-paced and, on the first few listens, disinterest is but a stone's throw away. Luckily for Secret Cities though, the more listens the album gets, the more enjoyable it becomes.

It's less digestible but it's tauter, more metallic and yes, industrial.

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.

Even when they're singing about a relatively maudlin subject, the group sound positive and energetic, their brand of pop given a healthy, summery twist.

Sure, they may have lost their vulnerability, but School Of Seven Bells suit their new found assurance, and in doing so win our hearts for a second time.