While homegrown folkies such as Laura Marling are happy to lose themselves in twanging bluegrass and Americana, it’s refreshing to hear a Brit ploughing up our own verdant folk history. Scot troubadour Alasdair Roberts does just that.

Clocking in at a chiselled 28 minutes, ‘Don’t Tap The Glass’ is primarily anchored by disco-flavoured raps and Kangol-clad ’80s hip-hop. ‘Stop Playing With Me’ digs up, dusts off and digitises some Whodini and Run DMC-style drums to great effect

A disorientatingly great mess of free-jazz, space-rock and voodoo swamp music. [10 Dec 2005, p.37]

Part Brooklyn-punk, part folk-troubadour, ‘The Baby’ marks the coming-of-age of an intriguing songwriter, who isn’t afraid to take on the anxieties and uncertainties that keep you awake in the small hours.

Sounds like a brilliant album by a lesser band. [5 Jun 2004, p.57]

The singer's curious persona is mirrored by the musical pyrotechnics, Queen meets Rage Against The Machine in a metal production of Godspell!, an inventiveness and fury that makes their MTV contemporaries look as dynamic as lard models of Linkin Park.

Untrustworthy, confused, touching and idiotically ambitious; hard work that, undoubtedly, repays the effort.

It works well as a fun stop-gap before Segall’s next solo effort, ‘Emotional Mugger’, arrives in January.

While not teasing her next chapter, in her quest for more, Maidza has crafted a collection of perfectly constructed songs that encapsulate her karmic truth: that living well is the best revenge.

Texans Explosions In The Sky have not only stuck faithfully to their roots, they've made the defining album of their career.

'Volta' is another amazing statement of intent - full of hope, eccentricity and wonderfulness.

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.

As prolific as he is iconic, Ride Me Back Home is Willie’s 69th (nice) album and sees him in absolute sweetheart mode.

Ultimately Deerhoof Vs Evil isn't going to bring about any revolutions by itself. And while the people who love Deerhoof for being Deerhoof will certainly like this, it's no place to start for anyone else.

They blend chiming, Television-style guitars and swooning miserabilism. [4 Jun 2005, p.58]

‘Room On Fire’ is a refining and tinkering with The Strokes sound, a carefully calibrated attempt not to fuck up too early in the face of untold temptations. The results are still sleek, sexy and thrilling, with a tantalising promise of even better to come.

With every step this challenging record shows how grime can respond to and inform other genres while always remaining a force unto itself.

This is cold-blooded revenge pop that strikes like a shard of shattered plate to the heart.

Slowly, their melodic smarts outweigh their influences.

Prochet’s vocals exude a satisfying, calming sense of gliding and her melodies are strangely life-affirming, as if conveying a peace deeper than just the words they deliver.

Frustratingly, the one thing Held needs is the one thing their Tumblr-goth fans are short on: concentration.

Comparatively, ‘iiii’ feels much softer, drenched in futuristic hues of pink and peppered with a handful of well-matched guest appearances.

Not quite Animal Collective or Stereolab, but at times sounding like an Ibiza chill-out album, there are hot flushes of brilliance here but they are few and far between.

The epic emoting can feel a tad weighty towards the end, but you're left with a solid impression of who Active Child is, rather than who he wants to be.

Ultimately, the pop sheen Adams applies on The Voyager is at odds with Lewis' songs. By always opting for directness, he's failed to let her do justice, musically, to the darkness of her inspiration.

Apart from the weirdly out-of-place vocoder moment on ‘Comrade’, it’s a layered, lush and lovely eight-track affair.

Really, what's to be gained from simplistic sloganeering like, "We don't need no more lies!" [20 May 2006, p.33]

As it turns out, Love This Giant is completely out of kilter with what's contemporary, and off-the-hook brilliant to boot.

This is a cut above your average US alt.art-rock, most notably on ‘Stranger’, which sounds like The Strokes doing The Shins.

When they get it right--‘Let Go’ is precisely the sort of arthouse R&B blockbuster they could’ve done with more of--they flirt with perfection.

An assured debut.

Even on tracks where celestial melody and light shatter the swirling fug of riffs – making Barn Owl sound more like a whacked-out Dead Meadow – the mood within is h-e-a-v-y like a bewitching series of black metal incantations

Both muted and epic, Second Love foresees a future where torch singers are forlorn replicants and a post-human’s ElectroFolk.2 port is hard-wired to its heart. You’ll believe they can 3D-print love songs now.

Villagers fans will no doubt love this record, which has the capacity to obtain a new fanbase with O’Brien’s newly found sound.

It’s no mean feat that ‘No Gods No Masters’ is not only Garbage’s best album in 20 years – at least – but one that could only have been made now.

It’s a marvellous return to form for an act that possesses such unbridled creative energy. We’re glad they’ve been put to joyous use this time round.

It's heady stuff.

A complete and resounding success, ‘Dreamstate’ offers one of the most emotionally engrossing collections of electronic music you’ll hear this year.

To The Happy Few might be a fairly transparent attempt to relive Medicine’s salad days, but there are many worse sources they could mine for inspiration.

At least once they had a snappy poetic sensibility and an admirable interest in history. Unfortunately, now they are pure turgid Americana pastiche.

There are sparks of brilliance on ‘Love, Death & Dancing’; Garratt’s multifaceted talent is undeniable and his honesty is admirable. But, please, less is more next time.

Occasionally devastating, often outstanding.

Sonik Kicks is the sound of Paul Weller growing old the only way he could--not particularly gracefully, but with no small amount of style.

Songs like ‘No Simulation’ and ‘Red Flags’ bring back her ethereal, brooding signature sound, too, while others serve as little pick-me-ups for when you need to switch on. But, this record doesn’t weld these two sides of Tinashe successfully. There’s still a way to go before she finds her sweet spot, but this is a fun stepping stone along the way.

Simple, unruly and riotously fun.

Everybody Down brings to life a plotline that’ll be more fully explored in Tempest’s debut novel, published by Bloomsbury later this year. It’s hard to imagine it being more gripping than this, though.

So strange, it’s fantastic.

In what might be the biggest compliment I will pay any band this year, the thing that the album most reminds you of is the medley on 'Abbey Road', in the sense that it's hard to pick out individual 'highlights' in what is an endlessly evolving collage.

This band surf the cosmic channels of krautrock, cruising along on motorik beats, waving at pals The Horrors and tipping their hats to Syd Barrett as they chug through hypnotic, psychedelic pop songs.

By giving a wide berth to the safety of the post-rock label they've long despised, Mogwai have recorded some of their finest songs since "Mr Beast."

CA7RIEL & Paco Amoroso have described ‘Free Spirits’ as “complex, fun, honest, with a little bit of everything” – and sonically it lives up to its name, revelling in being unconstrained, even if it’s lyrically all over the place.

The descent into indie R&B anaemia on 'Animal' is less exciting, but otherwise, drenched in field recordings of whisked eggs and jangling bracelets, this album is an imaginative and accessible bout of boundary-crushing.

At times, it's too lovely and woozy for its own good--but when the mood sours, as on standouts 'Devil In My Mind' and 'Erie Lackawanna', it's really rather intoxicating stuff.

Largely, this is a set of songs that seep, creep and grow in strength, like opener ‘Aladdin’, ‘Time On Her Side’ and ‘Cave’.

The album shines with crisp production, a dynamic of extremes and Aurora’s unflinchingly confident performance and message.

Overall, there’s enough rock star swagger here to live vicariously through, and the sense that the Joshua Tree party will ride again for years to come. So crack open that fancy bottle and let your hair down.

Even the most hardcore disciple is likely to get something they might have missed before. [21 Oct 2006, p.35]

This is the sound of a cleaner, smoother Nine Inch Nails, one that delights in complexities of rhythm more than caustic blasts of rage.

Too many songs blur into the next (‘Interlocking’ and ‘All Out of Catastrophes’, to name just a couple). Perhaps it’s due to Nadler’s dependence on certain vocal patterns and a no-frills, three/four guitar chord approach. Simple song structures aren’t to be scoffed at, but trouble lands when things become a little too predictable.

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.

New is the sound of an old dog having fun with some old tricks.

'Idealism' is dusted with the kind of metallic house glitter caking LCD's 'Sound Of Silver', and, just as promisingly, the title track could have been carved from Daft Punk before they decided they were human after all.

It is miles better than 'Innerspeaker', and quite possibly the best album released so far this year.

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

The lead single has been switched more times than a Sugababes member and the tracklisting has been mercurial. But, oh boy, was it worth the wait.

The resulting album is a heartfelt set that showcases the 42-year-old singer and pianist’s elegant style.

Kiss Each Other Clean is a surprising and majestic triumph.

Blige's best yet...

Once more, we're in a world of uptight, high-gloss grooves, wry tales of dirty old men, and, of course, terrifyingly proficient guitar solos.

A cinematic widening of scope, ’If I Could Make It Go Quiet’ occasionally leans back on some blockbuster tropes, but in the stand-out moments Ulven proves that she’s more than capable of rabble-rousing indie-rock and slow-burning yearning alike.

While chaos and confusion may surround us, Manson’s response this time is a dose of respite, mercy, clarity and his most human work so far.

[Mt Washington is] an early contender for song of the year, with Local Natives themselves current frontrunners for unexpectedly brilliant comeback of 2013.

‘Shadow Offering’ is an intriguing, if slightly scattered, listen.

Hebden has recalibrated his sound to something darker and more rhythmic, without losing a note of melody. [21 May 2005, p.66]

Rival Schools have finally returned from an inexplicably long hiatus to demonstrate why they're such luminaries for today's post-hardcore hordes.

Back in the Saddle (Creek) is Laura Burhenn--half of disbanded candyfloss-pop duo Georgie James--whose breathy coo glides effortlessly over the golden ‘Dusty In Memphis’ glow that lights up the first Mynabirds album.

A relentlessly positive record that acts as an inclusive antidote for our increasingly divisive times.

ATDI's latest album has its amps cranked to the hilt from start to finish. Far from being another in a long line of sanitised American punk rock albums, 'Relationship Of Command' sounds REAL.

Johnny Venus and Doctur Dot prove to everyone that rap groups are on the rise. In a genre overpopulated with solo artists, it’s refreshing to see a duo emerge from the ashes. If you give the sick lyricism and jazz overtones a few more years, they could be the next Outkast.

‘Cheater’ is one hell of a trip with a rare band who are singularly themselves. No-one else could do what Pom Poko do.

As the album unfolds, the band continue to nail the balance between rebellious anthems and cutting social commentary.

By the time you reach the gentle conclusion of ‘Bonedigger’, it’s clear Adult Jazz will be inspiring their own army of rip-offs before long.

Wire have bizarrely remained a cult concern. This ought to change with the release of their 12th record, 11 clever tracks of unrelenting and witty pop.

It harnesses large spaces, allowing songs like 'Caravan' to blossom into something more orchestral than you'd expect; fitting for a band whose name translates as 'reverberation.'

This album is an onslaught of brutal drumming and bowel-loosening riffs, occasionally leavened by surprisingly delicate vocal interplay.

An odd album. [13 Aug 2005, p.58]

It won’t convert the unconvinced, but Petty sounds as inspired as ever.

Two years, lots of touring, and a wad of cash from Domino Records later and the New Jersey four-piece have shaken off the sun-flecked dust of that haphazard genre to reveal a clean and canny record.

'One Part Lullaby' lapses very slightly into generic Barlow-pop two-thirds through, then soon recovers its shimmering grandeur. Sebadoh hardliners will dismiss this record as pop fluff, but few will be listening, too busy hailing The Best Lou Barlow Album In The World... Ever

'Hot Shots II' is a dizzy, magical voyage of self-discovery - concise where its predecessor was unfocused, immediate where the pop urge was once lacking.

There's little musically that will startle the faithful or convert the doubtful, but the Present's gift was always for words. [12 Feb 2005, p.51]

Their sound is timeworn and instantly familiar: the “set me free” chorus of ‘Streetwalker’ is pure Springsteen, while the honky-tonk of ‘Trashcan’ is classic Stones, made more remarkable by the sandpaper snarl of their frontman.

Musically, Madness still trade in pub singalongs powered by ska rhythms and music-hall jollity--but the jollity feels forced, and Suggs’ tired vocals suggest a man going through the motions.

That’s what’s frustrating here--although, like Waits, he’s obviously a truly poetic lyricist, the instrumentation is much more engaging than Henry’s placid voice.

The result is purest punk bubblegum, and deserves to be blasted long and loud all summer long.

Like a good new party drug, Lesser Evil finds a sweet spot more often than not if you let it.

Climax polishes Beastmilk’s iron-curtained grandiosity slightly (‘Ghosts Out Of Focus’ is eerily like Suede), while maintaining the Cold War-era paranoia in their lyrics.

This is more than just a superior soundtrack album, and the 18-year-old prodigy can mark it off as another job expertly done. Her approach to alternative pop music is frighteningly adventurous.