St Catherine’s surface may be polished to perfection, but much of what’s underneath feels hollow.

There's undoubtedly something there with Frankie--those effortless, skippy choruses aren't as easy to do as they seem. But he and his Heartstrings haven't quite found their true north yet.

Simple, unruly and riotously fun.

It may be titled From Kinshasa, but this record could easily be from the future.

The purely audio side collected on this debut album is artfully coiled Vampire Weekend world pop.

As an instrumental score, fans may miss the clever kitchen sink turns of phrase that have populated Field Music lyrics since 2005’s self-titled debut, but Music For Drifters breaks down the band’s distinctive sound to its raw DNA.

MS MR might lack some of the extrovert star quality of the acts Plapinger usually signs, but 'How Does It Feel' is an emotional ride that shows she has plenty of her own worth sharing.

Born In The Echoes is a bold reinvention of the Chemical Brothers’ sound, pushing the late-period renaissance that 'Further' heralded to somewhere dark and twisted.

At 32 minutes it’s brief, but not without its thrills.

The London quartet's second long-player sounds designed to interrogate ideas of what punk should or could mean.

A bit of good-time boogie on 'Big Rock' is the only release of tension. Otherwise this is intimate country-folk that's utterly seductive in its stillness.

Overlong at almost an hour but, largely, as pretty and organic as crystal.

The 23-year-old is most impressive when channeling the heartfelt huskiness of Edith Piaff on the old timey ‘I’ve Got A Girl’, which rolls across the backdrop of a hefty Waitsian polka.

The emotions might not be quite as strong on this record but Sea Of Bees still manages to wrap you up in her words.

His third album in as many years shows he’s on a streak that’s both prolific and high quality.

Eccentric spirit, production mastery and emotional heft put this alongside Four Tet’s very best work.

Communion takes no risks and says nothing.

What Work It Out never quite manages to do, however, is leave any sort of lasting impression: the album’s near 45-minute runtime passes with the agreeable impermanence of a mid-afternoon reverie, a pleasing diversion that melts imperceptibly away as soon as it’s over.

The duo have used their total creative freedom to make an album which doesn’t sound like the last one, exactly, but doesn’t concern itself with the supposed importance of ‘progression’ either.

From the crisp, hip-hop accenting on the drums to the full-bodied bass and vivd synths, Currents is an audiophile’s wet dream.

The Membranes’ first album in 26 years is an extraordinary comeback.

A constantly surprising and relentlessly melodic pleasure.

This record is a worthy companion for the latest Joanna Gruesome album: Fist City too, blur the distinctions between indie and punk, and have a similar knack for killer hooks.

So Surf continues--infectious, light and upbeat, but never inane. It begs you to feel included, and wide-awake.

A debut that breathes new life into old sounds.

The quintet are a crack unit, powered by hard rock riffs, jazz and Krautrock-informed drums and flights of flute-based fancy.

La Priest, he’s made one of the debuts of the year.

After is personified by her ragged, powerful voice, under which she picks, thrashes and strums riffs that mostly sound just as full of character.

There’s an occasional tendency for the guitars to spill into the clunky arena rock territory preferred by Lenny Kravitz--who shreds on ‘Face The Sun’ but Wildheart impresses nonetheless.

War On Drugs engineer Nicolas Vernhes smoothes restrained standouts ‘Don’t Ask Me Why’ and ‘Room’ into two of Kalevi’s best songs yet, but the whole thing bathes in glorious groove.

You’ve got an album that revels in the simplicity of a great pop song while cleverly articulating the everyday truths of 20-something life, on Bognanno’s terms alone.

The record is made up of four nine-minute-plus epics that waft into view, all dub basslines, ambient synth washes and well-chosen samples. The exception to such rambling--and standout moment--is the title track.

Pretentious, yes, but wonderful.

The pop-punk politicising does get exhausting over 14 fiercely energetic, relentlessly right-on tracks, but even after a decade as a folk star, Oberst still gives the other grown-up emo kids a run for their money.

While there are bands who share common ground with Outfit--These New Puritans, Hot Chip, Junior Boys--the appealing niche they’re easing into bodes very well for album three.

Being adventurous can often mean over-reaching but, in this case, the production turns familiar elements into one of Fucked Up’s most intriguing recordings yet.

Espers, the rockier duo with which she made her name, seem to be on permanent hiatus, but this more than suffices.

It's an intense record that lingers in the memory long after it’s finished.

The vibrant ‘Shine’ is filled with languid horns and sweet doo-wop backing vocals. Rolling ragtime piano (‘Flowers’) and hip-shaking melody (‘Better Man’) pick up the pace and there’s bluesy sass in the shape of the upbeat ‘Twistin And Groovin’.

Opener ‘Game Of The Heart’ is the closest he gets to the sound of his old band, and is an undeniable gem of New York rock’n’roll. Elsewhere he tackles new styles.

The result is a record that cloaks Gengahr’s inherent weirdness in peaceful melodies you’ll want to wallow in for hours.

For all its technicality and viscerality, the album never packs the same emotional punch as 2013’s Arc and some songs--like the glitchy, overlong ‘Warm Healer’--never quite seem to find their own centre of gravity. Still, few records released in 2015 will feel as true to the times as this one.

It’s hard to knock stompers like ‘Roaring Waters’ either, but the vanilla title track and the plodding ‘Hammer & Tongs’, come off as cheesy, even for this lot.

Their classics remain buried in web mixes, but this set captures PC Music’s sublime pop philosophy.

Carnation restores some of the eerie, discombobulated feel of his debut.

At six tracks it’s a slight but solid return.

Owens remains a naturally intuitive pop songwriter, and ultimately Chrissybaby Forever is a fresh slice of Californian good vibrations that arrives just in time for summer.

Fernandez is a warm presence, murmuring his stream-of-consciousness lyrics on mini-masterpieces that promise a sunny future.

When icy guitar turns ‘Pay My Debts’ into one of Van Etten’s darkest songs yet, Van Etten’s wounds feel incredibly raw.

While the guitars are grimier and the drums hit harder, Pins haven’t totally smothered their sound in engine oil.

When two such spiky forms collide you can’t expect everything to click, but FFS is still a wonder of gelling idiosyncrasies.

The record’s barrage of barrelling noise is linked by stuffy interludes of piano (‘Prelude III’) and strings (‘Chandelier Shiver’), meaning the quintet only narrowly avoid coming off as pretentious. But when Eva sings “I held the arrows/I pulled the strings” on calm, clear-headed highlight ‘Opalescent’, the emotional strength at the heart of Rolo Tomassi shines through.

Serene on the surface, but disturbed deep down.

A joyous surge of drums, guitars, wild brass and potent Spanish-English vocals from powerhouse frontwoman Victoria Ruiz.

A beguiling, uplifting listen.

Playground misogyny aside, ALLA is a thrillingly focused follow-up that betrays its anxieties even as it mostly makes do with extolling the virtues of vice.

It’s Bellamy’s job to prise open deeper socio-political dimensions as much as it is to comment on the times, and Muse’s music once more matches his adventurous intrigue.

Generally this is fairly accessible stuff.

They’ve used their major-label debut to rally the troops rather than just jeer at them from the sidelines. Every song here is a call to arms or an affirmative flip of the table.

Less teenage kicks, more teenage contemplation.

This is UK bass music at its best.

This brilliant half-hour of punky Americana is a chance to read the journals of the coolest kids in town.

Overflowing with stately songwriting and lyrical craftsmanship, How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful makes for a restrained but joyful return, and a collection that will last long after Welch’s broken bones are mended.

Less has always been more with Smith, and the success of In Colour lies in his gift for melding together very few elements to create songs that are original, surprising and highly effective.

How refreshing, fun and free it all sounds.

Even when English Graffiti sounds like The Vaccines, it’s a kitschier, more colourful, hyper-stylised version.

Who Me?, then, is a weird, loveable record to file alongside Wauters’ labelmate and touring buddy Mac DeMarco.

Snoop takes a surprising back seat, singing low in the mix and seldom rapping--an odd decision, but it works and when Bush is good, it’s an absolute joy.

The 14 tracks--almost entirely instrumental--play out as loose sketches of piano, violin and electronics, making for an ultra-sparse, carefully considered album.

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

Nielson strides away from the woozy Beefheart-indebted psychedelia of ‘II’ and its self-titled 2011 predecessor, and vividly expands every single aspect of the UMO sound.

The Californian five-piece’s 14th album packs everything they’re good at into one concentrated effort: frenetic rock, pulsating psychedelia and buoyant melodies.

For all its slavering over archaic ‘80s production cheese, The Desired Effect is a consistently impressive collection--probably the strongest Brandon’s produced since 2006’s ‘Sam’s Town.’

Clearly, Houghton's found fertile ground in connecting with her inner rage monster, but there's a different side to the album too: anthemic glam rock reminiscent of Bowie's work with guitarist Mick Ronson.

ts revolving synth pattern revolves relentlessly, before bleeding into the aptly named ‘Dreamy.’

Murphy’s music remains grounded in Hercules & Love Affair-style housey electronica but these songs unfurl slowly and unconventionally as they take detours into skulking Grace Jones funk ('Uninvited Guest’), opulent cosmic disco (‘Evil Eyes’) and lush country balladry ('Unputdownable').

The absence of original guitarist Jim Martin is soon overshadowed by just how focused the record is.

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

A standalone success that also whets the appetite for Fuck Buttons’ return.

A modernist alt-rock chill blows through it, but Surfer Blood’s spirits stay cautiously upbeat, even indulging some Foals-y math-limbo guitar fripperies on ‘Other Desert Cities’.

Excepting curious conceptual moments like massage fantasy ‘Lonely At The Top'--Platform can concentrate on being beautiful electronic pop: think The Knife 2.0, perhaps.

A hodgepodge of styles (electronica, jazz, reggae, rock and classical) is finessed into something stirringly cohesive.

Even if there's still a sneaking suspicion Angelakos used up his very best tunes on 2008 debut EP 'Chunk Of Change', this dewy-eyed record sweeps you up in its joie de vivre all the same.

"Cool Slut" is burdened by the idea that the need to fight gender inequality still exists in 2015. Occasionally though, they find relief.

Mostly, Landshapes sound like a band that might be a better prospect live, where their ever-shifting ideas can fully flourish.

The second album from this perky Philadelphia quartet delivers big on drama and emotion with Frances Quinlan’s voice taking turns between an abrasive snarl and a smooth croon.

Stripped back to basics and muttering against the machines, they've never come on so strong.

They’ve made one that sounds like it was recorded without a care in the world.

Peanut Butter sees Joanna Gruesome relishing the power of refusal, bending the tropes of macho rock and relationships to their own twisted whims.

Twelfth solo album Saturns Pattern backs up recent promises of another shift in sound, sending him into uncharted, acid-spiked waters.

It definitely ain’t perfect, then, but in concocting a scrubbed-up, carefully wrought maturation of their sound, Born Under Saturn gives us something close to Django Django unchained.

Cronin’s knack for languid songwriting is enhanced by adding more opulence.

It’s not a perfect ride.... Cosentino’s honeyed vocal is the only true constant. It’s a radiating sunbeam.

Only Love is the perfect synthesis of the two distinct elements of this album, and in turn its makers, a whispered build-up bursting into a gigantic beast, brimming with passion and 1970s Fleetwood Mac guitars.

From thunderous Mafioso fable 'Live To Die' to A$AP Rocky-starring calypso riot 'I Got Money' via Snoop Dogg collab '1,2 1,2', the Chef's steely signature East Coast flow has seldom sounded more imperious.

It’s not all dark and uncomfortable, though – both the pretty ‘Save The World’ and ‘Ripe For Love II’’s arpeggio guitars balance things out nicely.

[Producer Bob] Cooper adds gleaming sheen to Hairball’s 10 scrappy, infectious tracks.

The two finest soloists from Montreal label Constellation combine here for something far greater than the sum of its parts.