Genius. [18 Nov 2006, p.33]

This EP titillates before leaving you wanting more; just how it should be.

The 10 track Historian is far bigger, meatier beast than its predecessor. Recorded in Nashville, this is a rock’n’roll album with deep understanding of pop melody but layered up with bold lyrics which disarm you as much as they connect with you.

The Very Best still know how to party.

Crawlers reaffirm their place as one of the young guiding lights in British guitar music.

While Cox is no stranger to gut-spilling, it feels as poignant as ever on this record.

Bejar’s dismantled the old Destroyer sound, but he’s built something wonderfully disorientating in its stead.

At its core this is brilliantly slick, dapper rock-pop.

Thirty minutes of chugging and howling, you go from one killer riff to another with barely a millisecond to recover. [17 Jul 2004, p.46]

‘Jesus Is Born’ serves as a gateway into gospel and a fittingly festive listen for this time of year. Praise be.

The real achievement of 'A Weekend In The City' is its path to this conclusion, pulling hard-won moments of contentment from a maelstrom of anger and confusion.

Fishing For Fishies is their most accessible and immediate album to date.

The harmonies are still present, but where once they aimed for a weirdy Wicker Man feel, now they combine forces in stirring new ways.

Like the works of other great swooners from Cole Porter to The Divine Comedy, 'Poses' is held together by its maker's maniacal attention to detail and conceptual strength.

Though by no means a disaster, they needed to hit back, and Arabia Mountain doesn't disappoint.

They may be revisiting the fossilised concept of boredom, but they're bringing an original perspective.

The debut album from Liverpool girl-trio Stealing Sheep strips the style of all Wicker Man cheese and stuffs it full of modern relevance.

Back with less pressure, Champ packs that sweet sucker-punch we craved the first time around.

Things even get a bit classic rock on the anthemic ‘All The Way’, which features Ride’s Andy Bell, but this self-produced and self-released record is DIY punk through-and-through.

Rather than being owned by their demons, The Twilight Sad have created an 11-track exorcism to master them. It’s a full-bodied and inescapable mood-piece, and a visceral account of their victory in the fight to exist. We should feel grateful to have them.

The production trickery, paired with Allison’s lyrical nuances, make her songwriting, and this debut record, a dazzling and devastating triumph.

Lemonade is strikingly varied. ... Where her huge team fails to innovate is on the album’s drab middle few cuts about acceptance and forgiveness--chief among them the horrible hoedown ‘Daddy Lessons’, which blends whooping with boring rhymes (“Daddy made me fight / It wasn't always right”). But the final four tracks see quality return, and penultimate track ‘All Night’, in particular, is one of Beyoncé’s most nuanced vocal performances to date.

Ride Your Heart manage to transcend the dated California girl stereotype while knowingly plugging into what still makes the myth so appealing.

Yes, ‘The Myth Of The Happily Ever After’ outshine its predecessor, but it could also – ironically – be the most cohesive Biffy album to date.

Tinny edges became velvet borders, vintage synths took on new wave flavours and plush theatricality beckoned. ‘Host’, however, marks their emergence from their pupae stage.

‘Vertigo’ is a diaristic tale of scaling mountainous fear, traversing back to her naive youth spent making music in her bedroom – and welcoming a new chapter with newfound courage.

It’s bonkers, but it’s hard not to be wooed by Moore’s outsider charm.

[M83] create some of the freakiest European-horror-movie soundtracks ever to see the light, all covered in Warp Records futuristic electro-plasm. [22 Jan 2005, p.50]

[The] change in pace makes for a welcome modification to the Flume sound, which is elevated by his rich, newfound sonics. Yes, Streten can still soundtrack your night out, but on ‘Palaces’ he’ll also gently bring you back down to Earth when morning comes.

It’s a return to “full singer-songwriter” Stevens, in a way, but by bringing together sonics from throughout his career and coupling it with frank and intimate lyricism, the gorgeous ‘Javelin’ feels like a fresh take from the cult hero.

Squeaking with the glamour of a rusty gramophone, 'The Rushing Dark' flashes with delicate splendour and, alongside 'Time Is Not', evokes moonlit, cobbled Parisian streets and carafes of elderflower wine.

‘Miss Colombia’ is an impressive, experimental collection, filled with complex, crunching production and romantic lyrics that recount love and loss. Mixing the old and traditional with modern elements, it’s a powerful statement of Lido Pimienta’s innovative creative vision and Colombia as a whole.

This is the sound of Cage The Elephant exploring every corner of what they are.

At times, there's the sense Tyler's charisma outweighs his content, and as such it's probably up to Earl to deliver the group's first bona fide hip-hop classic.

Narrower in scope than 'Odelay' but more immediate in impact, it's clearly been conceived as an accompaniment to our hedonistic habit of choice, the last great party album of the millennium.

Right now this frazzled trio are the true sound of Detroit - confident, smart and absolutely essential.

Sure, it rests in a lot of the sonic territory of The National, and this isn’t the departure that his peppy indie-pop side-project EL VY represents, but what we do have is an intimate and generous offering from one of 21st Century rock’s most prominent voices.

Truths rarely come as beautiful as this.

Turns out bringing his [Glyn Johns] old-school rock'n'roll expertise into the southern-fried fold makes for a perfect match.

An expansive ode to human ingenuity and the boundless ability of music to foster connection.

A fine evolution.

The album sits at the intersection of ambient, house and dancehall crafting an intricate and comforting world to get lost in.

A caustic collection of shamanic thrash and malevolent gutter-blues, Midlands pair God Damn’s debut album is a cathartically gritty listen.

For the most part, Model Of You pushes Cloud Boat out into broader, more turbulent waters.

Dawn FM feels like the first steps on a journey for The Weeknd to find peace with himself; perhaps next time we hear from him, he’ll be fully embracing the light of day.

A timeless creation, the record’s nine carefully crafted tracks draw gracefully on the past 50 years of folk music.

This time, Suede sound bolder, brave and better than they have in over 20 years.

It [‘In Twos’], much like the rest of ‘Phonetics On And On’, works because of its lack of pretensions and its back-to-basics spirit. Second time around, Horsegirl are still recasting past greats in their own vision but finding more of themselves as they go.

Throughout, you get the sense Greentea is defiantly doing everything in her own sweet time. Lucky for us, then, that her sense of timing is in sync with the universe, because this hazy set is ideally suited to the long, lazy summer days.

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

'Kittenz And Thee Glitz' is not a techno album, hardly even a dance record, only partially an '80s homage, and not quite pure pop either. But it is also all of these things in one, plus some kind of warped comment on celebrity culture.

At times it sounds like pastiche but when they're themselves... the 'Couture...' club are amazing. [6 Nov 2004, p.59]

Intriguingly adventurous, ‘Bird’s Eye’ marks Lenae expanding her musical repertoire and exploring new vistas – an ambitious accomplishment.

Covers all the same ground as albums by Le Tigre, Liars and The Rogers Sisters in the space of one spectacular 45-minute burst. [12 Nov 2005, p.45]

With ‘Broken Hearts Club’, Syd has crafted an album that elevates her to new heights – one that positions her as an exceptional, peerless talent.

Rhe majority of this 46-minute album is gripping, a sickening start to the year that makes Saul’s temporary departure all the more understandable.

Bejar has a wondrous lyrical facility that it’d be a shame for him to forsake--but he’s also possessed of a beguiling, breezy touch that acts as a musical lingua franca here.

Songs begin fully-formed before spiralling into abstract drum loops punctuated by slicing guitars and vocal drones (‘Mess Your Hair’). At other times, the most perfect moments of Small Faces psychedelia or Velvet Underground basement pop will emerge from the most unlikely formless squalls (‘Sitting’; ‘Heart From Us All’).

While their version of My Bloody Valentine’s ‘Only Shallow’ sounds exactly the same only much more so, the unexpected choices work best.

Not all of these experiments quite come off: the industrial clang of ‘It’s Dark Inside’, on which she drawls, “they don’t teach clit in school / Like do Lit”, veers close to ‘Yeezus’ parody. It’s notable, though, how contemporary her distorted art-punk sounds.

Like Missy Elliott, the Beasties are reimagining hip-hop--what it was, what it is, what it can be. [12 Jun 2004, p.47]

This rollicking debut album is a balance-redressing, cliché-bucking tonic.

Whether by design or evolution, The Radio Dept’s third album fits the grand scheme of all things voguish and hazy rather perfectly--though that’s not to say they’ve made a faultless record, as ‘Clinging To A Scheme’ arguably hangs from just a few songs.

Behold their evolution: while 2008's 'The Chemistry Of Common Life' album was drenched in religious connotations and spiritual euphemisms, this time, their rock opera about romance and death at an English lightbulb factory (seriously) is theatrics personified, taking listeners on a quest while still abiding by their precious DIY ethic.

At 18 tracks long, ‘Lover’ is more sprawling and further from flawless than her 2014 pop crossover ‘1989’. But it succeeds in spite of its clunkier moments because Swift’s melodies are frequently dazzling and her loved-up lyrics are ultimately quite touching.

The music is a spectral combination of bleepy 80s synths, lightly crunching backbeats and dreamy vocals; the mood is pure post-clubbing afterglow, in bed with your loved one, in some snowbound Ikea log cabin.

Part of why it feels like such a beast is Shelton’s total frankness and vulnerability across these songs, which, while welcome and galvanising, also feels exhausting in the way watching someone run a marathon does.

‘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.

Kid Cudi gives us every part of himself, laying out his insecurities and inner demons in the hope that it might help someone else, his words etched into a vivid backdrop of intoxicating melodies and palatial riffs. No one does mood music quite like Cudi.

It’s a project where everything has been allowed to evolve and align properly: Clay’s willingness as a songwriter to go to a place where he was once uncertain, and his courage to compose and lead with his most authentic playing yet.

It’s compelling and moving songwriting that manages to depict all of life’s complexities, Canal spinning raw emotion into beautifully crafted songs.

The record is littered with painstakingly layered guitar parts, mellifluous melodies and clapping drumbeats that nod to Russell’s posthumous collection ‘Love Is Overtaking Me’.

Cheery yet punk-as-fuck attitude is studded through their rattling second LP.

Whether or not you choose to take his advice with either your first or your 51st listen, IGOR is an accomplished and evergreen record that’s well worth putting your phone down, turning the TV off and devoting your full attention span to.

A truly special tribute to a wonderful songwriter.

At 16 tracks long, it’s a dense, textured offering that--on numbers like the lush ‘Love Streams’--manages to shimmer with both nimble experimentation and languid pop finesse.

The two-piece create an irresistible sense of longing that’s more disarming than Donovan’s smoothest pants-off line.

Their fourth album rarely disappoints...

He doesn’t want to be a powerhouse rap star. Doris may alienate people looking for him to be that. For everyone else, this is a powerful record.

The beats are slick and the vocals flawless.

A whiff of unoriginality aside, what this EP offers Parquet Courts addicts is fresh meat to chew on, signs of innovation and further evidence that these New Yorkers are one of the world’s most essential new bands.

Strange Creatures is an audacious and gratifying return that makes you want to envelope yourself in its gloom.

This time there’s a more untamed fierceness in Apple’s voice, as she relays tales of feminism, abusive partners, the sacrifices of love and the dinner parties she won’t be quiet at. Unrefined sounds recorded in her LA home make for a visceral listening experience.

The Messenger isn’t just a summary of everything worthwhile in contemporary rock music, it’s an insightful and informed dissection of life in 2013 and all the futile iOS updates, cyberstalking conglomerates and financial travesties that clog up the spaces between us. In a world claiming to connect us all, it argues, we’re getting more and more dislocated.

‘Asphalt Meadows’ is as assured and stately as you’d expect and hope for from indie veterans now 10 albums and 25 years into their career, but this beaut is as consistent and satisfying as their early-mid ‘00s career peak.

A classic, if often over-familiar Cribs album then, but the door is open for the forthcoming Steve Albini-produced ‘punk one’ to be the death-or-glory game-changer.

Despite its brevity, ‘American Noir’ still feels like a truly significant entry in Creeper’s discography. These songs sound truly timeless, exist outside of trend and genre and are instantly recognisable as the work of their creators.

Often, fantastically, all at the same time.

Having already redefined garage last time around, he's conjured up an album equal parts R Kelly, Ali G and Terence Trent D' Arby, which will only send him further into the stratosphere.

A record that features some of the band’s most vital and impressive tracks in years.

Whether it's 'Tension Remains'' collision of religious chorale and space-age pulse or the jazz-soul cyberpunk of 'Never Defeated', the result is always original.

‘Never Let Me Go’ is a true renaissance record. It’s no ‘Metal Machine Music’ or ‘Yeezus’, but a record that finds Placebo inspired and ready for a new era, reinventing the rock veterans for the modern age.

Sonically, ‘Critical Thinking’ has touches of the European modernist propulsion of 2014 renaissance record ‘Futurology’ and the graceful ABBA pop flourishes of 2021 predecessor ‘The Ultra Vivid Lament’. But its uplifting warmth met with provocative spikiness feels like an album written staring up at the posters of their teenage art-pop and indie heroes – meant for the crackle of a record or the buzz of a cassette.

Like their forebears, these LA beardies get the plaudits for taking raw, honest emotions and richly infusing them into every moment of their music.

Blending philosophy and science with the bloodied, bruised heart of someone who cares about their fellow man, ‘Nothing is True’ offers comfort, reason, familiarity and forward-thinking to give us the soundtrack we need for now.

Simple but sensational.

The way they've leapfrogged their contemporaries in terms of ambition and scope is terrifying. Sleigh Bells are, once again, in a league of their own.

Putting the fun in grunge since 1988, Mudhoney drink from the familiar well of Iggy on their ninth album with outrageously enjoyable results.