By spotlighting upcoming artists alongside established names, 100 Gecs give an IRL boost to their ever-expanding community of internet collaborators on ‘1000 Gecs & the Tree of Clues’ while providing an exhilarating snapshot of pop’s alternative future.

Black Midi will almost definitely never make easily digestible or understandable music – they’re probably as excited and confused about where they’re heading next as we are – but to focus on the finer points and try to make sense of it would be to miss the overall point of the band. Simply going down the rabbit hole with these deeply weird, brilliant musicians will never be less than exhilarating.

This is big, epic, widescreen music, albeit wonderfully understated. [5 Mar 2005, p.51]

A rhinestone-tipped treat. [22 Oct 2005, p.41]

Here is a winsome, lady-driven response to the wood-chopping likes of Midlake, Fleet Foxes and My Morning Jacket that remains refreshingly sweet.

That troubled kid [Mike Hadreas] never went away. It's just that this time, he's more concerned with reaching towards the light.

You certainly won't hear much else at the moment as inventive as this.

The trio have discovered a few new sonic tricks, but it's the celestial duel-vocals of Parker and Sparhawk which continue to ensure that Low always reach such beautiful highs.

Largely flirting with conformity from a distance, Gore really comes into its own in the latter half, when Deftones open the silo doors on their buried missiles of epic melody.

Positively overflowing with magnificent oddities. [1 Jul 2006, p.36]

Less, in this case, is definitely more: The Beyond is his best work to date.

War & Leisure lacks the obvious identity that has marked out Miguel’s previous three albums, but that’s no fault. By comparison, this is 
a compelling collection of poptastic R&B tracks made to soundtrack your night out.

‘The Gods We Can Touch’ is loaded with AURORA’s idiosyncratic quirks and enchanting notions, but it’s never purely a slave to whimsy. Now’s the time to give in to AURORA.

This is a reunited band making music to rival their very best. There’s airmiles aplenty in these Essex Dogs yet.

Distance Inbetween is a cohesive, imaginative psych-rock record that grows with every listen. Welcome back, boys.

With his finest tracks lasso'd together, you can notice the immaculate progression of James Murphy.

It is, however, undoubtedly a collection of many good songs. From start to finish, it’s a relentlessly difficult listen, and one that suffers from little in the way of dynamics or variety of tone.

The lyrics, meanwhile, continue to move FOTL up two or three rungs of excellence.

One of the reasons Major Arcana works so well is because it’s addictive and fun, which could explain how these characters got into such a mess in the first place.

With her distressed, Southern-inflected vocals and guitar/piano accompaniments tolling like perpetual church bells, Cat Power brings these songs successfully into her own, bleak domain.

For ‘Big Joanie’ to musically expand this thoroughly yet retain the core of their appeal and singular brilliance on ‘Back Home’ feels remarkable, and you get a sense that it’s far from a final form for the band.

If you’ve ever been enticed by Spanish guitar, here’s your rock’n’roll introduction.

If their previous albums sounded like hardcore on steroids and deranged, this is the same for their brand of rock-and-roll. The album’s best moments are when The Armed get brazen with their genre experimentation.

A record of sonic maturity and real beauty. [2 Jul 2005, p.64]

To bypass Yuck would be imbecilic simply because their debut contains some of the most effortlessly hard-hitting, heart-hitting pop of 2011.

As a whole, the album is confirmation of two young artists at the top of their game, watching the landscape unfold from the throne they earned themselves four years ago.

Ten years after their last masterpiece, The Flaming Lips have finally produced another one.

Lyrically witty, full of neat turns of phrase, his songs recall the quirks and kinks of Jonathan Richman, the tale-telling and wit of Alex Turner (specifically the Arctics man's gentle, romantic work on the Submarine soundtrack), and the playful verbosity of Pavement's Stephen Malkmus.

It’s a showcase for Pusha’s cold-blooded flow and crammed with memorable lines.

Bridges’ latest offering maintains the traditional elements of old-school soul heard on his previous work but introduces a new, vibrant, almost luminous aesthetic, comparable to the likes of Snoh Aalegra and Brent Faiyaz.

‘Loving In Stereo’ might not quite satiate as fully after the delicious hooks of its lead singles, but in elevating Jungle’s pulse overall, McFarland and Lloyd-Watson have captured what feels like a natural and necessary progression – and a fun, danceable one at that.

It’s the brightest, most listenable collection of songs he’s pieced together in some time.

A common thread can be found in CYRK, Cate's second album: the application of a sincere pop-song sensibility, and a yen for the surreal that sidesteps the zany.

By celebrating what it is to be a freak in 2004 they've made a debut that's unique yet uniting, deep yet designed for the dance-floor.

Overloaded with laugh-out-loud lyrical gobbets, intelligent production and tunes that straddle commerciality and the street. [28 Jan 2006, p.34]

Hypersonic Missiles mostly hits the notes he longs to convey: it’s by turns euphoric and melancholy, self-deprecating and righteous, untethered and claustrophobic. There are no easy answers here, but Sam Fender’s asking the right questions.

Slightly predictable, but the work of master craftsmen.

A Weird Exits should prove a solid fan-satisfier or entry point for newbies.

Their stark sound might not be for everyone, but Williamson’s sideways swipes at pop culture and his own big nights out are as hypnotic as Fearn’s punked-up electronica which, despite its simplicity, is nigh impossible not to move to.

‘Strange Timez’ is yet another worthwhile endeavour, the band keen not just to match the skill and pace of modern pop outlets, but to outlast the competitors. Whether your consumption method was more traditional, or you’re perhaps tempted to binge every episode in this album format, there’s joy aplenty here.

It’s admittedly not the most cohesive album, infatuated with various experimental threads, but it’s also hard to fault this restlessness album, which is punchy and gutsy enough to hold up Torres’ constantly intriguing ideas.

It might not hold any firm answers or blazing rebuttals to the world burning up like a flaming, stinking trash can, but crucially it refuses to look away from the mess, and confronts it instead.

The result is a set of remarkable electronic rituals with an endearing, mystical quality.

It's like Scissor Sisters on tranquilisers. With a bit of ELO. And a dash of Ramones. And, with this eclecticism, a worrying lack of focus. [5 Jun 2004, p.57]

Some may be unconvinced by the ambitious leap Fleet Foxes have made on album three, but there’s really no doubting the first-rate intelligence behind this uncompromising and ever-changing piece of work.

Other than the fantastically chaotic "Watcher, Tell Us Of The Night" ushering in a rallying final quarter, it makes for a frustratingly unfocused listen from a fine artist lost in his own magnificent noises.

Love is a lush, romantic, folk-driven collection that moves away from his earlier, more psychedelic work.

Lovers of the plush paranoia of 2014’s breakthrough album ‘Lost In The Dream’ will be relieved that his fourth outing doesn’t touch that dial. From the opening highway piano judder of ‘Up All Night’ it’s like losing yourself once more in some lost golden age of MOR.

Trench is the sound of a band ratcheting up the ambition without ever being pulled down by an undertow of pretentiousness. It’s more low-key than ‘Blurryface’, but ultimately more rewarding.

It feels like Lamb Of God are putting their papers in order and gearing up for the next charge over the top, not thinking about winding down at all.

It’s rare that an electronic album manages to tell such a strong story while eliciting so many different emotions. Impressively balancing meditative calmness (‘Time’) with rave euphoria (the guitar-led ‘Running’), ‘Capricorn Sun’ proves that TSHA really is in a league of her own.

‘FOREVERANDEVERNOMORE’ is never quite an album that is completely comforting or despairing. Instead, it explores the vast reaches between the two and uses introspection as a means of finding stability in the chaos.

Fans of ‘Giving the World Away’ might be disappointed to find that she’s retreated, somewhat, from the ambition and sonic diversity of that release. This kind of sound, though, is what Pilbeam does best; she doesn’t just ape her influences, but channels them with nuance and empathy.

At a sprawling 16 tracks and 63 minutes long, the only thing I Am Easy To Find suffers from is its sombre and pensive pace, without the feral release that certain fans of ‘Boxer’ or ‘Alligator’ might long for.

The cathartic nature of the album is clearest on the emotive piano and string-laden ballad ‘Praying’, a forceful Lady-Gaga-worthy offering of defiance, as she hollers “’Cos you brought the flames and you put me through hell / I had to learn how to fight for myself”.

Part 1, ‘Together’, is a collection of music more soothing than balm. Spatial beauty is the order of the day.

Ariana’s core fanbase are bound to find an instant, sugar-rush of pleasure in this fascinating side-step from an artist who – until now – has made her name by stomping down the traditional pop path.

It's the longer, wilder but more melodically repetitive screes that dominate the album, throwbacks to Spacemen 3's space freakouts that excite sonically but outstay welcomes like a nasal harmonica player.

In truth, the majority of this largely monotonous second outing becomes a one-size-fits-all affair, and you’re left digging around in this hallucinogenic haze for a new high.

A collection of culinary-themed tracks... that Doom handles in his surrealistic, unflappable flow. [18 Dec 2004, p.51]

This, then, is the sound of living in the moment and it’s glorious.

'Insignificance' lays down an awesome challenge to other guitar records - it contains more great ideas than most bands have in their entire career. It's the first unequivocal classic album of the new year.

There are tough, commanding rare grooves, fly spy-thriller tracks, big, daft hip-hop tunes, a brilliant lounge-reggae skank, 'Good Girl Gone Bad', and, in 'The Turnaround', and the 'Apache'-like b-boy break-out, 'Battle Of Bongo Hill', two of the funkiest, party starters you'll hear all year.

The funniest, most refreshing British debut in years.

Kveikur comes as a violent but welcome surprise.

After pouring her darkest moments into ‘Magdalene’, this varied and playful mixtape represents a moment of release, though it remains to be seen whether Barnett will head further into this direction, or enter a new album era recharged.

This fuzzy, muddy record splits the difference between the bubblegum pop-punk of Furman’s earlier albums, such as 2015’s ‘Perpetual Motion People’, and the more unknowable ‘Transangelic Exodus’.

This Athens, Georgia collective have blossomed from winsome indie-pop virgins to frocked-up future pop stars, beaming their febrile college rock through a kaleidoscope of sleazy funk, electronica jitters, and 'Fear Of Music'-style Talking Heads ethno-beat.

The only problem is that at times, it feels like all parties are a little intimidated by each other, stopping just short of going the whole way with the primal force that the best moments prove Womack is still capable of.

Creosote’s first album since doesn’t have quite the same woozy charm, trading the lush and eerie textures for gentler, more traditional ditties, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t still pleasures to be plundered.

At times, they get a bit bogged down in their own experiments – the eight-minute-31-second ‘Volcano’ perhaps overstays its welcome – but, mostly, ‘The New Eve Is Rising’ presents a singular band doing things just right, and completely in their own world.

Following on from a confusing but rewarding double-disc anthology, 'Rifts', in 2009 and the sublime space scapes of 'Returnal' in 2010, 'Replica' is a rallying call for people who don't see synthesisers purely as objects of retro-fetishism, but rather as agents of future creative potential.

Ultimately ‘Flux’ feels like a record about holding clear boundaries, constantly shifting in the face of set expectations, and following your creative gut instead.

With the help of 'Cisco fuzz-pop linchpin Mikael Cronin, they've turned out a collection which displays a fondness for vintage '60s psych and the spooky microdot-pop of Thee Oh Sees.

‘Play Me’ provides a left turn that has no place being this jarring yet pleasurable from any ‘rock’ artist, let alone at 72.

Quarantine is less concerned with the tropes of olde world dance music, more fixated on gloopy post-club ambience.

Throughout this record, 070 Shake paints vivid – and often uncomfortable, or jarring – pictures, and it’s all on her own terms.

Their musical range may not yet be as expansive as her vocal one, but any group who are able to segue from the psychotropic ’70s soul of ‘Guess Who’ to the proto-punk sturm und drang of ‘The Greatest’ are clearly no one-trick ponies.

‘Gemini Rights’, which feature his most direct compositions yet, will make the ‘cult artist’ tag surrounding Lacy increasingly redundant.

Perhaps ‘Shatter’ is almost too powerful. Once it’s over, the rest of the album feels much more muted – still pretty, still pleasant, still thought-provoking, but like the energy that came before has been spent.

Anxious instrumentals echo the album’s uneasy outlook and fear of the future, and when they combine forces it often makes for an astonishing listen.

Her most outward-looking work to date.

'Icky Thump' is brilliant, there's no way around that.

Trilling’s lyrics are the glue that holds together this powerful but vulnerable album.

With The Crying Light Antony And The Johnsons continue to explore the creative boundaries of pop while covering all emotional bases. For that, they should be celebrated.

In some ways ‘Traditional Tools’ is a welcome return to form, but the album isn’t nearly as innovative or as introspective as it makes itself out to be.

This is a no-flab 20-song cinematic suite in four movements, featuring Hart’s weather-beaten Bowie-like semi-falsetto in all of its majesty.

Bloodsports finally provides the send-off Suede’s legacy deserved 10 years ago. And, fittingly, it’s due to them thumbing their noses at the notion of growing old gracefully, and making brilliantly daft pop music instead.

For all its feats of brinkmanship, the patently magnificent construct called 'Kid A' betrays a band playing one-handed just to prove they can, scared to commit itself emotionally.

Vocodered, stretched, distorted, warped, deliberately upstaged by beats so showy they belong in a strip joint - quite simply, she's almost managed to make herself disappear. That bluntly explicit title isn't just pointless irony. This record is about the music, not Madonna; about the sounds, not the image.

The result is a markedly retro-futurist sound, from the OMD-ish ‘Kinda Dark’ to ‘It Just Doesn’t Happen’, the synth line on which sounds suspiciously similar to a new wave rendition of Salt-N-Pepa’s ‘Push It’. At times, the music veers so close to kitsch that it may very well alienate some listeners from the get-go. Bejar’s songwriting remains as deft, cryptic and mosaic as ever though.

This combination of pop and disco makes Ratchet the perfect summer soundtrack.

A one-way ticket to the outer limits of the solar system. [8 Apr 2006, p.39]

Eschewing the slacker blueprint he practically invented for off-kilter pop tracks, Malkmus has shown that he's not defined by his past.

There’s a playfulness in the way Gojira approach ‘Fortitude’. There are bursts of melody across the album – perfect for a stadium show of their own – and the likes of ‘New Found’ and ‘Born For One Thing’ flirt with crushing industrial breakdowns. There’s even a couple of soaring guitar solos in ‘Hold On’. The whole record feels agile, despite the weight.

Album three is CHAI’s smoothest record to date.

At times, it’s truly gorgeous; but at others: it’s bloody hard work.

Band Of Joy is an essential purchase... if your dad is having a birthday this month.