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.

Mostly, what their reliance on groove rather than tune adds up to is dirge.

This album really shouldn’t work. That it does is down to Kavinsky’s painstaking production and his dark vision of the place where rock and electro meet.

Anxiety moves between smooth grooves and kaleidoscopic electronics, but it’s the sensual vocals that carry the record.

Lyrically there are a few choice morsels (for example: “Cat fight, swollen lip/Hair caught in the teeth of your zip”), but taken as a whole it leaves a taste of saccharine.

The album itself consists of 11 tracks of unimaginative pub rock that, at best, rips off The Darkness, and at worst comes across like a bunch of teenagers in their first band.

In places it’s a bit samey, marred by a shortage of songs. But The New Life is, nonetheless, a must-listen.

Endless Boogie justify indulgence via countless glorious shut-eye air guitar moments that nod to the Groundhogs, Canned Heat, the Stones at their tuffest.

III largely eschews fuzz but has plenty of rough edges.

Almost every sound here is precision-tooled for maximum obnoxious effect.

Their debut album is 11 whispered R&B songs, all textured, considered and thoughtfully constructed.

It’s a bit TEED on a beach, or SBTRKT with mask exchanged for a tasteful side-parting.

Most of the time, though, Be Your Own King is so chipper and catchy it comes over like an indie version of Alphabeat.

It’s unconventional but at the same time totally pop--a tricky balancing act Lidell just about pulls off.

Exhilarating and violent.

A masterpiece that merges the experimentation and freedom of their side projects with Cave’s most tender songcraft.

Out Of Touch In The Wild sees them evolve into the Field Music you can dance to--or the Talk Talk you can smile to.

It’s terrific nonetheless, a coiling gothica sci-fi soundtrack that cocoons Richard Pike’s echo-soaked vocal amid pulsing, binary-code electronics.

Lashings of reverb and experimentation with acoustic instruments draw the music into something much more evocative.

It’s all lovely stuff, but the darkness within my soul says it’s maybe too lovely.

The emotive finesse of ‘Cherry Blossoms’ might further the calls for a shoulder to blub on, but chugging full-band showstopper ‘Ramona’ shows Yellen’s songwriting to be as rich as his voice.

MBV is not really an album at all, but an oeuvre in fast-forward.

There’s still a sense, at its heart, of a warm, yet slightly neurotic overthinker, sat at a mixing desk in his bedroom, possibly in his big white underpants, and just going wherever the spirit takes him.

Clinical and precise rather than mind-blowing, Temper Temper will keep BFMV as a band with one foot in metal and the other in the mainstream, which is exactly where they want to be.

For the most part, Honeys is a prime example of how the innovativeness of your chosen style matters not a jot, as long as you’re doing it with aplomb. And most importantly, having a bloody laugh.

Holy Fire brings new words to mind. Sharp. Emotive. Massive.

Anna falls frustratingly short of hitting the back of the net.

Without [Kate Nash collaboration Awkward], Fidlar is still an electrifying, intensely fun album. But with it, it would have been perfect.

What they offer on Waiting For Something To Happen is a fey-pop selection box that leaves out the gothic grit and garage-infused rabble of early tracks.

Ensconced in the current UK hip-hop trend of being both depressing and cheesy, 23-year-old James Devlin raps about weapons, swine flu and diabetes.

The departure of backing vocalist Ryan Richards robs the band of one of their dimensions, and come the lunk-headed thrash of ‘Grey’ you’re left wondering if this renewed heaviness is there to paper over a lack of ideas.

It envelopes you softly, despite being wholly inscrutable.

None of the band’s bolshy character is lost on Bronx IV, but they do find new places to go.

From the moment ‘Bombs Away’ hoves menacingly into view, it’s clear this is Eels at their most visceral.

Take note, Mr Paltrow: this is how you do life-affirming.

Raw melody made Unknown Mortal Orchestra exciting two years ago; now they’ve matched it with attention to detail.

Fans alienated by My Morning Jacket’s more recent material will find plenty of comfort here.

A twinkling set of songs that benefits from Wild Beasts soundman Richard Formby’s gossamer production touch.

From there on in, though, it's ploddingly lightweight.

The subtle, sleepy, silkily textured likes of 'Pity Love' and the spry, sly 'Just To Make Me Feel Good' are a sweet breeze.

At times, a lack of crescendo leaves his songs teetering on the precipice of drama. The money shot, though, comes with the title track--an epic, swirling conclusion to his debut.

Christopher is all dreamy lushness with synths that range all the way from zappy to squashy.

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

Out Of View, engineered by The Horrors' Josh Hayward, is noisy, irreverent fun.

Many have tried to recreate the vibrancy and laidback groove of vintage soul-pop, but to absolutely nail it you need to be someone truly cosmic. Amy Winehouse just about managed it, and Matthew E White is one other such person.

Light Up Gold is one of the best debut albums you'll hear all year.

By the time you reach the halfway point and prepare for CD2, you realise Opposites is not, as feared, an unedited expanse of rock-band mind splurge, but two albums' worth of well-constructed songs.

Collections is a confident and professional album, not all that different to 'Acolyte'. And it's not different enough.

Ant's famous sartorial attention to detail doesn't extend to the music here, as experimentalism meanders into the bizarre and unlistenable.

With this, their follow-up, they're in familiar miserably poetic folk-song territory. For some reason, every song evokes the pub.

Criticism aside, Rocky's debut is full of superb moments and offers a rich tasting menu of unique sounds.

The prime intention of Wolf's Law is to overwhelm with bluster, muscle and noise, to orchestrate us clean out of our boots.

Call it highbrow, call it highfalutin, but with Wash The Sins, Esben are carving hulking tablets of stone boasting that intellect is nothing to be scared of.

Ultimately Anything In Return suggests a tendency to follow the musical trends du jour rather than defining a true Toro Y Moi sound.

Completists can tick a box, but it'd be a shame if this was really the original New Order's last word.

Peace & Magic marks the duo out as genuine oddities, music makers full of irreverence, wit, silliness, wild experimentalism, genuine musical brilliance and weirdness.

How anyone outside the walls of a mental asylum could genuinely enjoy the annoyingly repetitive industrial drum-throbs, aimless experimento-guitar crunches and lyrics about "reeking gonads" that characterise songs called things like 'Epizootics!' is beyond me.

Even a late appearance from The Weeknd can't save this omni-tonal snoozefest.

'Spectral Split' is the pick, 17 minutes of tropical marimba, but the seamless whole is a joy, locking you in as you float downstream.

Each song feels fully formed yet tells a unique and important chapter in this period of Owens' life.

The period-precise score captures the claustrophobic dread and paranoia of the fictional film shoot documented in Berberian Sound Studio.

Save perhaps for an unusual dalliance with folk ('I'll Be Around'), little new personal ground is broken, but their songwriting chops and sound design remain cherishable.

Slowly but surely, they are moving towards something extraordinary.

Where there was tension and urgency [on his debut], now there's bigger, poppier and probably more commercially viable folk songs that don't quite pack the same punch.

The pair [Ghostface Killah and D-Block's Sheek Louch] strike up a good chemistry... The rest of the record, sadly, struggles to get out of first gear.

Big Boi is the best thing about the album--and double props for staying true to his entire career's quest of never making the same album twice. But Vicious Lies And Dangerous Rumors as a whole? It's all over the place.

Safe, yes, but by no means stale.

The darkness that gripped Stevens during his last outing seems to be still tugging at his heels. But compelling as those moments are, more fun are the tracks where he puts his expansive imagination to use and lets go a little.

Ultimately though, this feels most like the result of a major-label brainstorming session titled 'Which Of Our Artists Will Fill A Santa Suit Best This Year?'

Mary J Blige, Ella bloody Fitzgerald and the odious Cee Lo (see above) all phone in a hand, but… look, just get the book [his autobiography], OK? It's brilliant, and this isn't.

As an introduction to the dark sounds coming out of Scandinavia right now there's nothing better.

So while Nocturne is gorgeous, it's a little too predictable to become truly exciting.

Hegarty's songs and personality suit the drama of orchestral arrangements, providing him with the perfect platform to 'perform' rather than sing--and his voice works in perfect harmony with the 42 musicians behind him.

An appreciation of jarring off-key vocals is essential to really love Naytronix, but at the root of all the batshit tinkles, twonks, robot vocals and dial-up noises is a smooth melodic funk pop perfect for seducing the microwave of your dreams.

Silly? Indisputably, although Dani Filth's theatrical vocals ensure that 'The Abhorrent' is every bit as grandiose and ridiculous as a classic Hammer horror.

Whatever he does is never less than great, and these 11 songs are no exception.

Too often, ¡Tré! falls back on a formula--fast, box-ticking choruses fashioned from chords you can count on the fingers of one hand--that Green Day have pretty much stretched to breaking point.

For five songs, it's the best album ever, rattling along on post-punk guitar flourishes and Cale's auto-tuned vocal. After that it descends into an enjoyable weirdathon.

The downside is it's a couple of tracks too long--'Just In Case' being a slow jam too far--but a confident strut of a debut nonetheless.

Over 13 tracks, though, Kreay's 'thing' wears waaay thin.

What's extraordinary about Otherworldly--its expressive saxophone blare, heavy afro-funk workouts, hepcat proto-rapping and unyielding positive vibes--is that it feels like these dudes haven't aged a damn day.

On Field Music Play they bring their brand of clever and excellent to other people's pop songs.

Definitely a beautiful album but its hopelessness is never-ending, like a friend telling you their relationship troubles for hours and hours.

For the most part it lacks either the experimentation of James Blake or the pop sensibilities of SBTRKT.

It showcases Solange's experimentation at its best, but is only a prelude to a full album in 2013.

Bits of it rule.

Epic guitars, crashing drums and intense keys--it's a dramatic record that will shake your bones.

Winehouse's live performances were (sometimes brutal) indicators of how far she'd gone into her own personal darkness for inspiration. It's perhaps predictable that it's the earliest material here that makes for the less harrowing listen.

Their taste in remixers still tends to the indie-friendly, but their imposing guitar squalls are repeatedly processed into a wildly different beast.

As much as the album is warm, wistful and pleasant, every song is a variation on the others, using similar chords and the same key, although final track 'Long Journey' packs more of a punch.

Unapologetic makes a compelling case for Rihanna knowing what she's doing. This most compelling of pop phenomena still has something new to offer.

It's Beirut/Bon Iver/PJ Harvey brilliant, taking Damon Albarn's 'Dr Dee' to sublime extremes.

Disappointingly, given his previous sterling output, this is a pretty boneless pastiche of the genre.

Intriguing, but unsatisfying.

This is a rock album for those whose idea of rock heroism is Red Hot Chili Peppers, U2, or maybe Muse if they're feeling a bit crazy. If that's you, you'll bloody love it. Everyone else will have to hope Example's evolution is just the beginning.

Why are you half-arseing your way through such a thick slurry of clod-hopping ska-by-numbers? Or wallowing in pits of cliché?

Not a bad album, but a divisive one for sure.

If these pals enjoy bugging out to clusters of dizzying breakbeats and/or swooning, sad house chords, so much the better.