With new release Stuff Like That There, Yo La Tengo are celebrating the silver jubilee of 1990’s Fakebook by once again demonstrating their flair for interpreting the works of others, as well as reinventing their own back catalogue.

At just 35 minutes in total and with just one track exceeding the three minute mark, the record is a grotty mess of a quickie which nevertheless gets the job done.

One of the freshest, funkiest, tragic and joyous albums in recent times.

This is a startling debut that pulls off the trick of sounding utterly disposable and simultaneously full of substance.

He hasn't quite developed the dexterity to match his grand designs yet, but there is enough on show here to suggest he soon will.

Her songs are similarly sparse and fragile, with some astonishingly mature lyrics framed by beautifully pretty melodies.

They've created a finely honed album that hints at a multitude of influences but because they are ploughing their own furrow they're in debt to none of them.

A largely attractive album, then, but one that by its finish may well have you yearning for an injection of the funk we know Gonzales can provide.

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.

This first outing is subtle, but somehow it packs in drama and poetry in a way that’s tender yet fascinating. It’s been well worth the wait.

The High Country shows many sides of Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin. Most of those sides are easily palatable and enjoyable, with the odd mis-step here and there preventing it from being a must-buy.

Like their fellow musical experimentalists Black Country, New Road, Personal Trainer may not always hit the mark, but even their failures are more interesting than 95% of their contemporaries.

It lacks that sprinkling of stardust to make it special, but after the valedictory bitter taste of Tarantula, it’s good to have Ride back and evidently enjoying themselves again.

Dominant Legs' debut album really is an album of two halves. After the strong opening, Invitation dwindles towards a less convincing conclusion.

Write Me Back won't totally please R Kelly fans who crave the silly pleasures of Trapped In The Closet, but it is without doubt an excellent record.

After a while shapes form and the structure of this masterpiece become clear - a wash of beautiful melodies and sumptuous chord changes that sit somewhere between George Harrison and Echo and the Bunnymen.

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.

Notably the first half of the album, it cements Nature Noir’s reputation as a genuinely rollicking take on psychedelic garage rock of a bygone era. When it doesn’t work, as on the second half of the album (minus the title track), it begs the question about whether the Stilts should have abandoned their visceral rock in the first place.

Their debut is never a dull listen, and boasts enough creativity and considered intelligence about it to set Grammatics apart from their indie contemporaries who are young pretenders by comparison.

She probably remains a bit of an acquired taste for some, but What We Saw From The Cheap Seats pulls off the impressive trick of stylistically bouncing about all over the place while retaining a very identifiable vision all of its own.

Ultimately, while not preferable to seeing a live Cooder performance in person, Live In San Francisco is a terrific encapsulation of an unlikely, remarkable career, one that has surprisingly only gotten stronger as Cooder has gotten older.

Fresh, exhilarating and mesmerizingly addictive, Means is neither a limousine nor a Mini--it’s a triumph from start to finish.

Minus boasts a melding of styles and influences, underlining that Blumberg is at his best when he’s most experimental. This is a recalibrating album that sets him up well for even more leftfield musical forays ahead.

By the end of it, the creative highs have balanced out the tepid lows and all that's left is a plain old simple straight line.

For all the wait and weight of expectation, and despite some qualified successes, ultimately The Soul Of All Natural Things proves to havde too big a shadow to fill. Yet hiding within it is a charming mini-album by a sweet lost voice, one that’s ready to be found again.

AI vocals or not, this is an album that goes up near the top of Caribou’s achievements, a feelgood set of tracks clinging on with determination to the summer, providing a sun-drenched idyll as Europe heads towards autumn. Dan Snaith is clearly in rude health – and with Honey his experimentation has paid off.

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.

Astonishingly, rather than the sound of desperate barrel scraping (although surely the cupboard is now totally bare), these songs document a band that constantly sought to engage and push the boundaries of music.