There's an alertness and sense of movement within these carefully crafted soundscapes.

One Day I'm Going To Soar still feels like a triumph, in spite of its transparent flaws.

WIXIW is a wonder of an album of endless layers and contrasts to get caught up and lost in.

Utterly everyday yet utterly recognisable and distinctive, Celebration Rock is pounding, lithe and youthful.

It's this flitting between moments of brilliance and sections of dainty sounding but ultimately rather tedious meandering that defines the album.

If anything they're more powerful this time.

They are a band who want to form a real lasting connection. Diver only sporadically does this, but this is still an album that shows vast promise.

It's undoubtedly an acquired taste, and you can't imagine actually wanting to listen to it all that much, but there's definitely much to admire here.

There are few laughs here - but there are plenty of thrills, the hug of the band's name now delivered of a tighter chest and noticeably sharper nails in the back.

Despite the occasional hippy-dippyness, there is an elegance to Hazlewood's work.

This isn't an album of standout moments though per se; rather it's a record to be enjoyed as a whole. The true worth of each track is found in listening to them in order start to finish.

At just eight tracks, The Sister never outstays its welcome, and by the time it's finished, you're likely to want to go straight back to the start. And if this is your first introduction to Nadler, you'll want to explore her back catalogue straight away.

It's Tesco shelf filler, it's Father's Day fodder, it's the stack of cover versions every lazy advertising executive is craving now that Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want is all played out.

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.

It is a valiant, but ultimately fruitless attempt to add to the already brilliant back catalogue of the Ramones.

Calling on a series of well worn rock staples, King Tuff is a fine album that pushes no boundaries, but is quite content to get the party started.

It never really breaks free, but The Absence is, in its best bits, an album of real beauty and elegance, and should cause hearts to grow fond of her.

Heaven is a tantalising glimpse at just how brilliantly amazing Rebecca can be when she wants to be.

Utterly compelling.

2:54 is deep and dramatic, taut and poised. It stands up to repeat listens with a unperturbed grace and a wonderful habit of showing you something new and unheard each time.

This disc proves that their ascension to lofty heights is complete and something heavenly indeed.

Foot-stompingly perfect pop, achieved without sacrificing the folky feel... [However] while there isn't a weak track on the album, they don't always seem particularly well stitched together.

This is Public Image Ltd at its best. This record is good. Outrageously good. Better than a record of an artist of Lydon's vintage has any right to make.

Like fine steak, Born Villain is at its best raw and bloody.

This is the sound of a band truly enjoying themselves in the studio, confident enough in their abilities to freely collaborate with other big names.

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.

An album that is beautifully performed, but which could do with a little more of the sunny disposition that defined the band's first album.

Valtari is a complex album and time is required for these songs to become truly effective. Once their beauty becomes apparent however, it becomes clear that Valtari is up there with Sigur Rós' best work.