An intoxicating cocktail of seductive beats, exhilarating choruses and sleek production, ‘What’s Your Pleasure?’ is pure escapism.

Stripped of her day-to-day outfit Vivian Girls' fence of lo-fi fuzz, Katy Goodman's faultless way with Technicolor pop melodies blazes through La Sera's second album.

It’s been a long wait, but Wye Oak are beginning to blossom.

Crisp, rolling rap beats and lush instrumentation. Lyrically, ... she's brutally honest about sex and her failings with men. [11 Sep 2004, p.55]

It is thrilling, weird, danceable, frequently inspired and Day-Glo to a fault.

Dando is in spiky, Buzzcocks-esque form. [23 Sep 2006, p.31]

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.

By the time the end credits roll, Snow’s fulfilled his aim of providing some much-needed escapism and light; he’s also succeeded in instilling confidence in the listener that they, too, can be the star of their own story.

This is a record that wraps itself around you like a kohl-eyed Winona Ryder in an early-'90s slacker movie and doesn't let go for a solid, dream-like 40 minutes.

‘The Ballad of Dood & Juanita’ is not just a faithful, fun celebration of a traditional sound, but that of a traditional form, too.

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.

eedly bass, tumultuous drums and big, dirty guitars careen beneath Casey's deadpan delivery, building riotously enjoyable labyrinthine passages that lead to nowhere, though Protomartyr make the journey feel essential.

An enormous, symphonic, sprawling, highly ambitious, far-reaching work of wonder. [17 Jul 2004, p.48]

It’s this delicate placing of guest vocals, personal anecdotes and on-the-street soundbites that make ‘Essex Honey’ the most organised sketchbook, one which perfectly encapsulates this particular moment in time.

As irresistible at its peak - the luscious 'Little Eyes' and a lovely interpretation of Big Star's 'Take Care' - as it is baffling at its prog-jazz edges, 'Summer Sun' is the crowbar that pries open the door into a world of left-field beauty.

If all you can see is a tangle of influences then you're standing too close to the picture, and when Skying's visions come into focus, it not only reaffirms that Primary Colours was far from a fluke, but that they could go so much further.

Language barrier or not, it’s a divine second album.

Astounding. [1 Jul 2006, p.36]

‘For Those That Wish To Exist’ isn’t exactly the kind of sonic reinvention one-time scene mates Bring Me The Horizon pulled off with 2019’s ‘Amo’, but it pushes Architects into unexplored territory and a bold new future where even bigger venues and audiences surely await.

MGMT’s return to pop is a much more welcome surprise.

This is an album in possession of a rare innocence and charm.

If ‘The Messenger’ was everything anyone could want a Johnny Marr solo record to be, Playland is pretty much all anyone could hope for as a follow-up.

The album may seem short at only nine tracks, but there are enough ideas crammed into Curve Of The Earth to call it one of the most well rounded records of 2016.

Throughout ‘Open Wide’, Inhaler display a powerful confidence that’s impossible to resist. Comforting, cathartic and heaps of fun.

Classically trained, the breadth of Ainsworth’s talent is laid bare on Darling Of The Afterglow.

Intelligent and visceral in equal measure, PUP is effortlessly cool, charmingly nerdy and wholly brilliant.

Goodnight Unknown is another understated treasure from the prince of the perpetually bruised heart.

It gleams like a skate-park erected in the clouds, and this is your invitation to strap on shin-pads, get up there and carve up some cumulonimbus.

Startling from the first listen... the band are heavier, more menacing, more rhythmic than ever. [19 Jun 2004, p.55]

This is an impeccable debut: two feet in the past and one open mouth pointing towards a very bright future.

Though there’s always a lot happening on the surface, at the core of ‘Baby’ are songs so finely hewn that they’re never overshadowed.

With this heavy payload of imagery, it's a miracle that Sparklehorse's third album of backwoods blues hasn't ended up a junk shop of Southern Gothic clichés. Old dog Tom Waits even wades in, hollering like an incestuous uncle on 'Dog Door', while Linkous' rusty cabin music creaks insalubriously beneath. But that's just the first of many wonders of this exceptional record.

Urban Turban is more grin-inducing than a piano-playing cat.

It’s no reinvention, but there are subtle tweaks here and there for a polished record that cements their place as a kick-ass rock’n’roll band with longevity.

Another slice of NYC art-punk brilliance that channels their surroundings with an authentic growl.

Paying tribute to the music that they love while staking their place in rock’s future. For a young band to think of their career in those terms takes a lot of confidence, but it pays off on this debut. It’s one to last.

One of the most frivolously brilliant slabs of shiny retro-pop anyone's had the chutzpah to release all year. [20 Nov 2004, p.56]

Overall, ‘times’ is an incredibly cohesive collection of slide-across-the-kitchen-floor dance-pop bangers that encourage you to hold on to the good times. SG Lewis’ long-awaited debut album is a much-needed beacon of light.

The musician’s previous concepts have both been compelling in themselves but, by stripping back the stories to their very personal core, Halsey has made a record that is as thrilling as it is vulnerable, and her best effort yet. This is Ashley’s world; it’s really nice to meet her.

For the most part, this is an album of love songs: not in the trite, wishy-washy sense of the word but as an elemental and all-consuming force.

You get the overarching sense that they are more than a little bored with the current musical landscape and want to inject it with their own restless brand of creativity. If this is art rock, then the Shears brothers have crafted a pretty damn impressive collage.

Yet it all hangs inexplicably together, thanks to heavy doses of charm and wit, its ability to propel your emotions from thrilled to weepy to lovelorn in a trice--and the promise that Kiran Leonard might grow into a properly important figure in British rock.

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.

We’re left with a sprawling, obvious, uber-commercial, stoopid punk-pop album that might just stop five million American idiots from voting for a war-mongering Republican baby-slaughterer when they grow up. Works for me.

She steps up the challenge, revelling in the church-like acoustics and delivering a heart-stopping 'Cosmic Love'. 'Dog Days Are Over' is rendered as fresh and powerful as when you first heard it, rather than the supermarket shopping soundtrack it's now become.

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.

Eye Contact is a piercing glimpse into an imagined Utopia of infinite possibility, as if they've focused their years of digital psychedelic jamming into a single beam, and fired it beyond a horizon peered at in vain by their peers.

She allows herself to revel in her own possibility of healing, singing directly about her past and who she wants to become, letting her formidable voice guide the way: cool, curious, full of momentum.

She’s combined the joy of Chairlift, the atmospheric mastery of Ramona Lisa and the experimentalism of CEP. The result is a Caroline Polachek record in its most distilled and fully realised form.

Here they sound more focused and alive than they have for a while.

There’s something so deliciously wrong about hearing these usually graceful instruments and sounds turned wicked in Iceage’s hands, like being read a nursery rhyme by Jack The Ripper.

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.

More an obscure self-portrait than a Picasso masterpiece, The Life Of Pablo retains its author’s status as the most interesting man in music. But he makes it seem like harder work than the effortlessness we’re used to.

Overall Trouble bristles with the freedom of early Breeders or Throwing Muses.

Greg Kurstin helped deliver everything both artist and mercenary label boss could wish for. Songs that are ultra-modern and instantly accessible, fun but never cheesy, experimental but rarely try-hard.

He leads the listener on an amazing journey, making use of cosmic, symbolic, mythological and religious images in perfect conjunction with his explorations of blunt everyday reality.

JPEGMafia still keeps his integrity no matter what – continually putting out a high standard of work in the process.

Here, this penchant for simplicity shines – her raw, unmistakable voice operating as the album’s unbudging anchor.

A wide-eyed, serotonin rush of an album that will make you eternally grateful for Swim Deep’s perseverance.

It feels self-consciously downbeat and rustic, with a Gomez-style, recorded-in-a-shed sheen which belies Nigel Godrich's pristine, state-of-the-art production.

Aside from this one harrowing moment, ‘Nature Always Wins’ is very much an album packed with joyful pop songs and introspective anthems.

A strong and surprisingly confident first impression.

In cutting some new shapes, this supergroup have been set loose to make some of the most arresting and satisfying music of their careers.

While they’re an intricate, tight band in their own right, their greatest weapon on ‘New Long Leg’ is allowing Shaw’s vocals the space to make their impact, swelling and retreating at the perfect times.

Marvel soundtracks have a new gold standard, and it’s this.

The whole time, instrumentally, Squid are pulling punches or letting loose at unexpected turns. Though more collaborative than their past works, the chaotic brew of ‘Cowards’ is still focused and potent.

Fans of Women’s challenging melodies will appreciate the songcraft here, but Viet Cong are very much their own animal; with deep forays into demonic white noise ('Continental Shelf'), clanging post-punk ('Silhouettes') and psychedelic/prog-rock on sprawling closer 'Death', they're expanding into adventurous new directions.

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

A debut that breathes new life into old sounds.

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

All of these incredible songs shimmer and vibrate with the riotous majesty of 'Psychocandy' without a trace of the Mary Chain's post-'Honey's Dead' self-parody.

With ‘CRAWLER’ they take their own advice, adding a whole new dimension to an already beloved band. This appears a stepping stone in the band’s evolution, rather than the finishing line.

It feels authentic, like The Lemon Twigs aren’t hiding anything. And it leaves you wide-eyed when you wonder what they might come up with next time around.

Migos are firing on all cylinders here, their new record a lush, chaotic patchwork that pops with primary colours. The fab three have done it again.

Juice WRLD is far less indulgent than XXX, not getting lost in the idea that he’s a messianic creative. This will be the moment that solidifies his status as one of rap’s most exciting new stars.

Peggy Sue’s fourth LP impresses throughout, a record of soulful depths and heady, emotional highs.

Unquestionably, every song has been written to add firepower to the band’s live show, but it’s nonetheless the strongest and most confident Prodigy album since ‘The Fat Of The Land’.

This contrarian impulse ultimately makes things more interesting, but Mount's decision to record at Toe Rag--the all-analogue Hackney studio made famous by The White Stripes and Billy Childish--imbues the songs with an archaic, lived-in feel that takes some getting used to, and you'd be forgiven for being underwhelmed by your first listen. Bear with it, however, and that feeling will turn to pleasant surprise.

Black Francis has brewed up a pretty thirst-quenching prospect with Petits Fours’ the debut album from this new venture with his wife.

Their debut is a gale-force riot, a virtual tempest of joyous abandon.

It's strange that such a traditional set-up (drums, bass, keys, guitars, voices) has resulted in one of 2009's most unique debuts.

This is delicate dreampop rendered without the usual disorienting layers.

As well as weighty statements, there is a sense of closure here.

They have pulled off another album for the modern age, and its stories live in all of us.

It might be coming from the cheap seats, but for the most part, this is classy stuff.

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.

‘Fearless Movement’ feels like more of a personal piece than ‘Heaven and Earth’, leaning more towards humanism than the spiritualism that has so enraptured Washington in the past. The key to his appeal, though, remains unchanged; he makes music that’s apparently limitless in scope and yet joyously immediate, even to the casual jazz listener.

This album lacks the novelty factor – Liam finally going solo – that made ‘As You Were’ so welcome. But it’s more diverse (everything’s relative) and textured.

Wild World is a triumphant pop record: unflinching in its ability to rouse listeners and unapologetic in its quest for a Number One.

For an artist who has long revelled in gruesome imagery and high concept, this feels like a surprise peek behind the curtain, and yet another sonic boundary crossed.

A notch below the genius of 'Debut' or 'Homogenic' but precious nonetheless. [4 Sep 2004, p.73]

An elegiac, neo-psychedelic collection of labyrinthine naive melodies that's the schizophrenic lovechild of Four Tet and The Magnetic Fields. [4 Jun 2005, p.58]

Packed with meditative spoken-word vocals, this is an even more melancholic record than its predecessor – and a less immediately exciting one, too. But it’s arguably a more complex beast, born of a complex era yet authored by a musician with one eye on the simple, timeless pleasures of the club.

This is a rare and wonderful joy: a live album that even non-obsessives should embrace. [12 Nov 2005, p.45

A fine album that, while not likely to win any prizes for Gorillaz-style innovation, will resonate, both musically and lyrically, with fans young rather than old.

Musically, ‘Mainstream Sellout’ doesn’t stray too far from [Tickets To My Downfall's] blueprint laid out, but lyrically sees Baker get more honest, more revealing and more comfortable in being uncomfortable.

Tighter than anything they've recorded previously, it’s a great return and a slick change of direction.

Minor quibbles aside, however, All I Need is Britain’s pop industry going head-to-head with America’s heaviest hitters, and triumphing.