Foals [has the] potential to be the most inspired and inspirational band of their generation. All they need do now is let go of the safety rail and plunge.

With the core ‘XTRMNTR’ team--the Scream, Shields, producer David Holmes--More Light, the Scream’s 10th album and first in five years, lives up to its bilious billing.

Scruffy melodies informed debut album 'A Thousand Heys' and they return here ('Vapour Trails') but Jack Cooper's homegrown themes are interwoven expertly.

While ‘Dancing On The Wall’ does tread newer ground lyrically on songs like ‘Big Stick’, and at times dabbles with heavier, rock-influenced sounds, it also doesn’t divert too far away from the hyper-saturated synthpop sound the band have nailed since day one. And in MUNA’s world, precise, irresistible consistency can be just as compelling as constant reinvention.

The swagger is really what drives that point home. Casual, not-bothered insouciance drips from Go Tell Fire To The Mountain.

Canta Lechuza deflates its ambition by bleeping and whirring in every direction at once, landing in a confused heap of awkward samba jangle and rippling steel drums, a curious and compelling mess.

If you have to buy one painfully esoteric, scrotum-tighteningly hip, show-off album this year, you may want to make it this one.

Though The Futureheads' established formula still sticks steadfast, there are enough wild cards peppered throughout to prove that, far from stuck in a rut, they're still moving playfully forward.

While it's a wiser and more weathered quintet that greets us in 2010, the Londoners return not bruised or broken but infinitely more polished and positively bursting with ideas, passion and optimism.

It could have been so easy for an album that's strung out on the tension between artist as paid-up perma-kid and responsible grown-up to be self-indulgent and, worse still, boring. Instead it's cathartic.

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.

The blanket of noise is provided by her male cohorts, but the lynchpin of PP’s allure is undoubtedly Meredith, another artist key to redressing the great gender imbalance that never goes away.

The difference this time is small but significant, in the overall high quality threshold - from the silken slo-mo waltz of 'In Love With A View' to the listless Dylan-lite stumble of 'She Broke You So Softly', there's not a bum note here. Which is not necessarily a recommendation. Because if you stand too close to these tunes they can seem suspiciously perfect, like a newly painted Wild West movie set.

Tracks like ‘Angels On A Passing Train’, swoon with religious imagery and elevate in their choruses, nodding unashamedly to Dylan and Springsteen, while ‘Jesus In The Temple’ is a BRMC mosey into the sunset, delivered with adventurous gusto that’s matched by anything found here.

The Manics' 10th offensive is a more playful beast than that--poignant, joyful and above all really, really loud.

‘Freakout/Release’ certainly isn’t a complete misfire. Its loose premise of retooling negative feelings to a positive end is sometimes realised, though it was always going to be difficult to evoke the sparkly catharsis of its dizzying predecessor.

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.

'Kid B'? Yeah, OK - but Radiohead will never make another album like it, and as a twin, it's every bit the equal.

Right from the silly, scary opener ‘RRRR’, it’s daft, hypnotic, erotic, evil and unhinged all at once.

Rave Tapes doesn’t stray far from the Mogwai comfort zone, but nor is it the sound of a band clapped out. Nineteen years in, there are still crescendos left to climb.

If you're after better versions of classic songs, think again. But as a humanising, comprehensive and often heartbreaking document of a man who, in five years, changed the face of music, almost by accident, it's essential. [20 Nov 2004, p.55]

The '80s revival taken to its spangliest, synthiest, chino-flappiest extreme.... Our flashback to a dead decade has thrown up both guilty pleasures and glistening horrors.

In spite of all the terror and uncertainty, it's the warmth that lingers.

Nostalgia aside: this is an album worth celebrating now.

Comparisons to SK will doubtless arise but the production here is sparser, with more focus on intricate oddities.

What these tracks are, though, are lovingly programmed, laser-dappled, preening--thanks to Sampha's buttery soul voice--and glossy reduxes of late-'90s two-step and twitchy post-house that should be filed next to James Blake and Jamie Woon.

We would have liked to have heard more lead vocal from the uniquely talented Cedric, but this is a small quibble when we're talking about the soundtrack to dancing like your life depends on it in 2011.

It's a tougher listen than usual, but it's still laden with lashings of classic Lekman pop hooks and a vocal that's sweeter than a Swedish cinnamon bun.

Few More Days To Go seldom offers easy listening or conforms to expectations--but it's easy to tell what Damon and others see in them, and you can expect to hear more from Fufanu.

With each song so different to the last, ‘Renegade Breakdown’ is one of those rare records that will have listeners discovering new intricacies on each listen.

As they adopt the very sounds that cultivated them on their come-up, ‘Ghetto Gods’ should mark the start of EarthGang’s ascension to superstardom.

Despite a sprightly run time of just under 38 minutes, the pair cover vast ground, much of it new, across ‘Alchemy’. However, after several sporadic vibe changes, the album’s overall cohesion feels slightly lost, though perhaps that was the intention due to the personal circumstances in which it was created. Nonetheless, it’s clear that Guy and Howard are enjoying their newfound creative freedom to push beyond what’s expected of them.

Ruins might see the band playing it safe, but rarely are safety manuals this stunning.

With not a single duffer over another eight tracks, it looks like our eventual Best Of Body Talk compilation might just be the album of the year.

It's weirdly powerful stuff this, couch-rock, heartbreak coated in cereal. And with this limelight-stealing album Best Coast are providing an amazing advert for dropping out, having mad crushes and doing very little other than getting high.

Shrines is a euphoric treat in its own right, made all the more thrilling by its heady potential.

This record fuses the first album’s goofy sense of humour with ‘Joy…’’s brazen manifesto for a healthier society. Despite their imperfections and the often justified criticism, IDLES are ultimately a good thing. The band want to take you on a trip and for you to enjoy the ride, and for the destination to be serene. Hold on tight.

But, bar the turgid swamp blues of ‘Be Careful What You Wish For’, it’s Noel’s freewheeling solo freedom and return-to-mega-form song-writing that makes this amongst the albums of the year.

Sandoval's voice remains an indescribably beautiful thing, while David Roback's guitar provides haunting backing.

This is clever, girl-led guitar pop.

Balf Quarry, however, sees Elisa Ambrogio and Pete Nolan emerging blinking into the sunlight as they continue to excavate the more focussed sounds of last album "Boss."

Never compromising herself or her sound, Mahalia has produced a debut album filled with dazzling songs.

Overall, ‘Reprise’ is full of dignified reworkings that don’t offer too many surprises.

‘Time Skiffs’ is a gorgeous, exploratory album, containing some of the greatest creations this curious lot have turned in for years.

It feels as if Tomora’s true potential will truly reveal itself on future records after finding their energy as a live act. Still for now, ‘Come Closer’ is a debut worth dancing about: exceptional, beautiful and shit tonnes of fun.

‘Mutator’ might well find favour with fans of his distant descendants like Squid, Perfume Genius, Sleaford Mods and Black Midi. A quarter of a century on, this lost rumble from post-punk vaults finds new context, as a lesson in uncompromising art from an old master.

On A Mission is hands-down pop debut of the year, marking the arrival of a completely credible, fresh-faced, mischievous talent to draw the proverbial moustaches on pop's gallery of gurning grotesques.

His taste for sonic jumble can be overwhelming.

Casual fans may not last even three minutes. But for those who are willing to sit with its discomfort, ‘Perverts’ reveals hidden depths – the same way that eyes need time to adjust to low light. What it reflects is in the eye of the beholder.

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

The guitar-led epic soundscapes, choral chanting, woeful strings and portent keys on their debut ‘A Love Of Shared Disasters’ are still present.

Aldred shares Richard Hawley's producer Colin Elliot, but also his gruff, warmhearted authority, and it's a similar hard-won wisdom that makes Herd Runners so moving.

This is a frequently dazzling piece of work from one of hip-hop’s most ambitious and imaginative stylists.

Less interesting songs like ‘In My Feelings’ and ‘Hold Me By The Heart’ should probably have been chopped, but they don’t prevent her from making a great first impression.

It’s not the definitive work the self-titling might suggest but it’s sure as hell worthy of the name.

In sick times, with extreme politics on the rise and a fright-wigged bad Tory joke in charge of London, this is an album you can retreat to for succour.

'I Might Be Wrong' sounds significantly better than both of the studio albums that spawned it.

'Have Some Faith In Magic' sees them unbuttoning those stiff top-collars and delivering some of their finest pop bangers to date.

All of which is to say that ‘The Great Dismal’ sounds big, and far grander in scope than anything the four-piece have done before. ... There are points, however, where the record gets bogged down under its own weight, where a wave of noise subsides without doing any damage.

Timeless. [19 Aug 2006, p.35]

here are patches of sonic soup--‘Kenworth’ suffers from a particularly acute case of moaning flange--but overall, Cheatahs is a triumph of content over style: a gleaming pop wrecking ball taken to the sonic cathedral.

Watch Me Fall’ finds him with space to show off the full genius of his songwriting, turning the fuzz down, the jangle up and taking the (for him) radical decision to throw in violins and even some pianos.

There are moments on indie folksters Why?’s fourth album that propel you into a state of emotional bliss.... [But] Eskimo Snow isn’t immune from the odd blooper, however.

Nothing on ‘A La Sala’ feels phoned-in or anonymous. Khruangbin occupy a unique lane that satisfies obsessive crate-diggers and casual festival-goers alike.

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

Mary J draws on an eventful life to reach new levels of feeling. [7 Jan 2006, p.29]

Warp & Aphex’s age of electro may have passed, and some tricks here that were once jarring now seem familiar, but their prickly oeuvre of tantalising possibility still feeds the imagination.

As changes of pace go, it should be far more jarring than it actually is, but instead it shows a much softer side to a band who should own this summer with their brilliantly heavy two-man mania.

There are some dull ballads towards the end, and the title track’s flimsy R&B isn’t even redeemed by its righteous opening line: “My love is more potent than anything in the cup you’re holding”. But like all the best pop stars, Larsson shines bright even when her material lets her down. And when it matches her, she’s basically irresistible.

‘Blush’ shows the work of a songwriter who, even as something of a rookie, can command your attention and emotions with the most effortless of lines and make you consider your own life and relationships with the gentle encouragement of a close friend. Hold ‘Blush’ close – it’s a special one.

Three decades on, a mini Canadian chap is bringing things full-circle and thanks to an all-star cast including the brothers Soulwax and Gonzales, he almost pulls off this grand appropriation.

Shame it's slightly spoiled by the morbid fixations of those same lyrics--which are the only shit thing about this LP, really.

The choice to join forces with so many artists was always a huge risk, and unfortunately, it sometimes ends up dampening the charm that first set them apart from the masses. But in the moments where it does come together, it’s both epic and intriguing as hell.

This is easily KOL’s most promising, liberated record for over a decade but still surprisingly restrained in places. Can they have fun? Yes it appears, in places, but they could have had a whole lot more.

So, ‘Clor’: an antidote, should you want one, to the let-it-all-out emotional blokeism of Oasis and the oak-lined authenticity of The White Stripes; the sound of a group goofing off because sometimes that’s what life demands.

The frame is there, there's just not enough meat on the muscles of their Euro-jitter-pop.

It all adds up to a job well done with more than enough bops to drown out her next social media controversy.

A little shade among the sugary rays might not go astray, but maybe that's just the goth in me talking.

So, while their Beach Boys on mescaline tricks won't rewrite the rulebook, for reckless frivolity they'll do just fine.

The result is original, surreal and hypnotic--a brilliant debut.

You can’t help but hear Burton’s confidence growing across the album’s running time, his potential still untapped and with room to grow. In this latest soul revival, there’s no denying that Black Pumas are at the forefront and on the prowl for more.

It makes for a more organically toned collection that proves the grey wizard doesn’t need heavy distortion to stay at the top of his game.

Equally, those who delighted in unravelling ["Phylactery Factory"]knotty, brilliant album will emerge dazed and blinking into the wide spaces and sweet melodies of Kairos.

'Reveal' is the slippers, fire and photo album - but this doesn't mean REM have resigned themselves to the placid lethargy of age. It just means that they've found a place to sit back and take stock after a long, colourful journey.

Shellac's Bob Weston throws disorientating tape-loop curveballs throughout, further disturbing Burma's thrilling clatter, which shames bands half their age.

As its title suggests, the album is one for the long haul rather than instant gratification.

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.

Lyrically, this is the best Rose has ever been. Poignant, affecting and candid, at times it’s spectacular. Yet the music fails to reach the same heights, resulting in a mismatched record.

Positive but with some very real weight behind it, the album’s closing track sees the self-proclaimed God of Partying emerge with a renewed desire to show the whole world a good time.

They’ve delivered a true modern-day classic of the synth-pop genre.

‘ii’ draws heavily on reggaetón, before warping its rhythms with menacing washes of synthesiser, and wonky vocal manipulation.

The suggestion the pair have somehow increased the emotional palette of their repertoire is a red-herring, but this is still a tremendous success.

Like a vintage Bordeaux, it slips down a treat (aside from lamentable ‘Peanuts’, which gets stuck in the throat), but the moments of oddness whetted our palette for more.

The Killers have made another dazzling statement of ultra-modern pomp, and one arguably even more in step with new generations of alt-rock. It’s a musical DeLorean: rooted in mainstream Americana but speeding into adventurous horizons.

A+E is Coxon's most thrilling and noisy album since 2000's The Golden D.

This fifth set (their second since breaking out) pushes the city limits of their fantasy world even wider and masks an uncomfortable truth.

Being doomed seldom sounded so beautiful.

Suggests even more urgently that that landmark album that's so patently within their grasp is tantalisingly close. This, however, is not it. Not quite. It is still, nevertheless, a quite dazzling album.