Disjointed, imperfect, tender and raw, at the final reckoning it sits as a fitting epitaph.

It's the finest of Fink's songwriting albums to date, building on the promise shown in Biscuits For Breakfast with a confident assurance of his talent and in what he has to say.

His attempts to be emotive or inspirational sound just wrong.

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.

This is, truly, an album worthy of obsession.

You'd be well advised to beg, borrow or download a handful of tracks from The Resistance; but if you're planning to sit through the whole ponderous enterprise, you'll likely need a blister pack of paracetamol and a hell of a lot of patience.

Mi Plan is a mildly diverting listen that doesn't tarnish the brand and helps re-connect the artist with a core fanbase.

Fans of David Sylvian will doubtless appreciate the elegant compositions and Sylvian's self-indulgent but soulful insights, but there is little to entertain the casual listener who may be better off back cataloguing Tom Waits and Nick Drake and realizing that they are not the same thing.

All this variety and uncertainty does become a little wearing in places, and the vocals in particular often fail to live up to the music that accompanies them.

Unfortunately Turn It Up, bar two brilliant singles, just doesn't stand up to repeat listens.

As the subtle, off-tonic final note puts to bed the album closer The Empty Nest, and with every aspect of the record exceeding expectations, Two Dancers makes a strong case to be named album of the year.

Popular Songs may not quite scale the same heights as those found on "I Am Not Afraid Of You..." or "I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One." It is, however, another really good album by Yo La Tengo.

All in all, it's a pleasure to listen to. However, if guitar leads devoid of vocals is not your thing, then this is going to become background music very quickly.

While not as groundbreaking as the first Blueprint was, this is nonetheless a strong record, its A-list guests and production tempered nicely by the inclusion of in-the-now collaborators of the order of Young Jeezy and Empire Of The Sun front man Luke Steele.

For Tropicalia purists, the long-delayed return of Os Mutantes will feel like the start of another bizarre, and certainly never boring, miniature revolution.

With the beginnings of what could be a cult following over the pond after enviable live support slots that've received much praise, it is a shame that such positivity could not transfer to this recording.

Noisy and chaotic, passionate-sounding, complicated and confusing as it is, it nevertheless emerges as something a bit more than the sum of its manifold parts.

HEALTH's musical talent can be heard during every song on this album, but there is also some room to grow--another good sign of a promising new band.

Free of the patronising condescension that many Western musicians adopt when they embark on musical journeys like this, Victoria Bergsman has produced a marvellous, spell-binding album.

Perhaps it's the weight of expectancy that renders this a flawed if enjoyable effort.

If it's feel good, throwaway pop music you're after, you'd be well advised to leave your inhibitions at the door and join them.

The combination of Lewis and Rodriguez-Lopez seems promising, albeit one that could use a few tweaks and a tad less self-indulgence on the conceptual front.

The only evidence we have is a middling album marking a new chapter in a diva's life that doesn't sound any cheerier than the chapters that went before.

It's a challenging but ultimately very rewarding listening experience.

Humbug is another intriguing step in the evolution of Britain's most exciting guitar band.

If you're a fan of her previous work, or even just like some good old-fashioned, earnestly well-crafted songs, then this is an honourable addition to the genre.

He can doubtless get a party started every bit as effectively as either of those two [Paul van Dyk & Diplo] but, on this record at least, in dance terms he finds himself rather falling between two stools as he enlarges the walls of his big tent.

It's hard to know where you stand with it. There are moments where the listener is engulfed in it all, but others when it feels cold and detached.

For someone who has a lot to say and is such a unique figure in music, it's a disappointment that Light isn't as captivating as it should be.

Those needing something to occupy themselves with during Annie's prolonged absence from the fold will find plenty to keep them happy (and, at the same time, a little bit sad) on My Guilty Pleasure.

Regardless of how good the voice is, if the music does not follow suit then there's only so far you can get.

The Black River Killer EP isn't the best place for Blitzen Trapper newbies to start--that would be Furr or Wild Mountain Nation. But, as a stopgap for existing fans, it's well worth a download or--if one's feeling old-fashioned--a trip to the music emporium.

Television is an essential purchase for fans of West African artists, but should also be investigated by anyone who loves heartfelt, impeccably performed music.

Origin: Orphan is even more extraordinary; a howling, mechanistic piece of post-rock in the vein of Godspeed You Black Emperor!

At only nine tracks long, Everything Is New never outstays its welcome, and is the perfect riposte for anyone who had previously dismissed Penate as a scenester who'd got lucky.

Speech Therapy is a startlingly good debut album from a woman who could well be the biggest thing in UK hip-hop for many a long year.

The whole thing whizzes by in just over half an hour, making it perfect for repeat listens. Reatard may not be for everyone's taste, and some tracks do find him coasting along, but it's an album bursting with confidence and energy.

My Old Familiar Friend seems to be an album with modest aspirations which, for the most part, it achieves.

This is a remarkable album in every sense.

Hospice succeeds by conveying deeply personal traumas as universally appreciable truths, until one man's lonely, painful catharsis transmogrifies into something panoramic and shared by all.

It is this contrast between the mundanity of the everyday life, personal vanities and dissatisfactions of a bunch of self-styled "young adults" and the terrific roar and hyperbole of their dirty, dark riff-laden music that provides the neat twist in Pissed Jeans' tail and gives this album its extra frisson.

While the two outer instrumentals are undeniably moving, this record is definitely Mark Lanegan's. There is no voice quite like his--and none that leaves the same impact.

What might start as a project which has specialist appeal only therefore becomes something well worth hearing, a lesson in how to make the most from an instrument with seemingly limited range, without overdoing the beard scratching.

The Bachelor sounds like another attempt by Wolf to perfect something that he got pretty much right on his first album.

Miraculously, the whole thing hangs together perfectly, each song complementing the last and what should be a mess of disparate influences, becomes a cohesive whole.

As ever from this source, the songs are neatly crafted, with a touch of folk music added to their melodies, not to mention the instantly memorable and quotable lyrics.

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

While it hasn't got them to their destination, this album is a definite step in the right direction.

Despite its promise then, Folk Songs is one of those albums that fails to live up to the sum of its parts. However, despite its faults, it is still an admirable stab and worth checking out for anyone keen on a back-to-basics approach to folk.

Helping along YACHT's approach is a frisson of punk attitude, often expressed in Evans' vocals but also helped by a refreshingly unfussy focus on production.

Cover albums can be forgettable and throwaway, but not this one. This is a truly memorable and worthwhile tribute to the quiet Beatle.

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

Complete Me is a clever, well crafted and painstakingly produced pop concoction that was well worth the numerous delays.

If plodding indie-by-numbers with the odd nice tune thrown in is your bag, jump right in. Those seeking a bit more invention may care to look elsewhere.

Musically, it's all mid-tempo indie-by-numbers, shimmery enough to accompany an scene of upbeat emotion in Dawson's Creek; yet sufficiently credible, as indie so often is, to provide the soundtrack to a montage of trailers in an advert for a new Film 4 season.

'With Every Heartbeat' is evidence enough that this man has talent. He just needs to use that Rolodex a bit more.

With the original foursome reunited it's as well that Midlife dwells mainly on the music they made together. As a playlist of what Blur were and capable of, it suggests a band with few peers.

In the final reckoning, a solid album is raised a bar by its direct communication, illustrated by the closing 'Hard Time For Dreamers.'

The standard of the songs never rises above the mildly pleasant, and occasionally - as on the self-consciously 'widescreen' title track or the wetter-than-a-fish's-wet-bits Mother Nature Goes To Heaven - it's pat and drab.

Put simply, it's a deeply beautiful record.

Blue Roses is a startling debut, a record that oozes warmth and charm whilst revealing itself slowly and patiently.

Totems Flare is his best album to date, sparkling with man made brilliance but sounding natural and organic at the same time.

The debut is by no means a hit-packed record, pop is firmly on the backburner here and thrillingly it's precisely this lack of obvious choruses and instead the bizarre little instrumental interludes, spooky stripped down ballads which build and build and attacking grooves that will have you coming back time and time again to it.

Sleepy Sun have managed to come up with an album that is beautifully entrancing, and doesn't encourage the listener to go to sleep before the mid point.

Shout it from the rooftops though--with this record, Broken Records could well have a contender for album of the year on their hands.

These Four Walls is rousing, pop-like in its immediacy and pretty damn enjoyable.

UUVVWWZ is undoubtedly promising, in the sense that the band have done the difficult part already, namely finding a signature sound. Now they just need to come up with the songs to match the distinctiveness of their instrumentation and that incredible name.

With not a dot ball or an overthrow, The Duckworth Lewis Method is an unqualified success.

For anyone wanting to hear a genuine progression from the blueprint laid out by "Play" and to enjoy the calmer, more ethereal and undeniably sadder side of Moby's music, Wait For Me is worthy of further investigation.

Taken on its own merits, this is life-enriching stuff.

Varshons is an admirable stopgap that proves that there is life in the old dog yet.

As long as you don't mind working for your alt rock fixes, however, Farm is certainly worth the effort.

It shows that for the first time they really can do restraint, without compromising the overall impact of the instances where things are let rip.

Far is her best album yet, and while it's a long way from early works such as Soviet Kitsch or 11:11, it perfectly illustrates the evolution of a woman who's becoming a truly great artist.

Call it the fascinating intersection of jazz, lounge, prog and electro, if you must, but ultimately Tortoise produce music of the most valuable and enduring kind--beyond genres and labels, in a category all of its own.

Rewild is a decent debut album with enough promise to justify keeping a watchful eye for the future.

Yet despite the occasionally black subject matter this is a fine and powerful album for lovers of red meat rock, served rare.

For his sense of structure and emotional give and take is acute, so that we move from loud to quiet, from slow to quite fast, from acoustic to electronic, with an ease that makes perfect sense.

Eugene McGuinness has created the perfect musical definition of a grower as opposed to a shower, a subtle nudge instead of a smack in the face, and the album's all the better for it.

Pretty but inessential, God Help The Girl may make more sense when the film is finally delivered next year. Up until then this is largely of interest to Belle & Sebastian completists.

Most of the album's remaining tracks are utterly vacuous interpretations of songs that few are likely to care much about. They offer nothing new to anyone or anything.

It's to Diplo and Switch's enormous credit that the style is fully authentic, the party in full swing the whole way through.

The overall effect of Skeletons is akin to being poked and prodded by a bratty child for over half an hour.

Clever, original, complicated, sometimes frustrating but more often revelatory, it will, given time, uncover its manifold delights.

Ultimately, The Eternal acts as a fitting and timeless aide-memoire of everything this mighty band has ever achieved.

The album may revive the band's career in North America, but for many of their loyal fans it will come as a major disappointment.

It's the sound of past and future uniting to good effect--and Kasabian's strongest statement yet that they're in this for the long haul.

For Miike Snow make weirdly wonderful music, not without its strange lyrical dark side, but with an overall vibe that raises you to your feet and makes you gaze at the blue sky. In a phrase, life-enriching.

Yet while this is good mood music, like a lot of soundtrack material it requires the element inspiring it--the visuals.

This is, therefore, a searing, no holds barred album, uncompromising in its delivery and unstinting in its musical language.

What the Paisley born artist has come up with on Sunny Side Up is baffling.

Ambitious yet restrained, elegant yet exciting, Veckatimest is an endlessly-rewarding album which seems destined to vie with Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion for the title of the year's best.

Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is a slender, fat-free affair, all Gallic swerve and subtle swagger. This may well be the album to broaden their fan-base wider then the fashionable glitterati.

While this isn't a bad album--and Manson diehards are likely to enjoy it quite a bit--there's the sense that it may be an unwanted one.

Never less than dreamy, My Electric Family is endlessly inventive and rewarding.

Harmonium could quite easily have been a sterile exercise in musical pastiche. What The Soundcarriers have turned the album into is a living, breathing entity that restores the listener's faith in music.

By exposing his sensitive underbelly on album number two, Tiga builds up some impressive strength in depth, while pushing the electro-house intersection for all he's worth. It's a winning ploy.