A dark, beautiful collection. [26 Aug 2006, p.43]

It's sonically peculiar, coolly melodic, relentlessly detailed and, frequently, exhilarating.

Yes, there are jokes and doo-woppy moments of light-heartedness, but this is a soupy, stoned, distressed-sounding album at odds with the Lips’ image as the world’s premier party band.

While there are clichés here that love songs struggle to escape from, I Thought I Was An Alien dumps twee cold and hard, running into pop's warm embrace.

Woolhouse mostly lives up to the dark nature of his moniker, but for brief moments he glimpses light at the end of the tunnel.

They've set themselves up nicely here, already nipping on the heels of fellow slacker extraordinaires Surfer Blood and Yuck.

After a while, the whirling atmospherics give way to the Dandys' dorkier tendencies: the jaunty chuggers, Taylor's dissolute mannerisms, the quirky little twists and tricks.

They build a monumental wall of hardcore noise on 'Egophillia', before taking a wrecking ball to it and screaming wildly into the mess. Elsewhere, there are tight grooves on ‘Disdain’ and ‘Terrible’, and the guttural riffs on 'Starved For’ offer plenty for bleeding gums to gnaw on.

Each tune is utterly lovely in its own right, but--my God--are they depressing. [7 Oct 2006, p.39]

It's business as usual on the whole.

The only problem is they always just come up short when trying to make their own version of FTP's 'Pumped Up Kicks'.

A melodic masterpiece of boldly indignant malevolent spite.

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

The result is delirious party music, which, although at times deliciously dumb, is never – as cerebral Addison Groove fan Aphex Twin would attest – stupid.

Ghostface calls upon most of the remaining Clan members, switches the formula occasionally and hey presto, yet another minor Wu-Tang classic 20 years on from their debut.

While they mainly hit a balance between shifting symphonics, subtle keys and pyroclastic guitar, sometimes--such as on "Plainclothes," a ballad/disco/punk-funk/noise jigsaw--there's just too much going on.

There are ponderous moments later on, like the uninspired ‘Teenage Disease’, but this is a band who’ve found a second wind.

The good news is that lyrically, Nas is pretty much back on form.

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’.

The simple fact she's intent on change makes her and the rest of her career infinitely more intriguing.

Kasabian's paranoid mindset is so in tune with the zeitgeist you almost imagine singer Tom Meighan has a sell-by date stamped on the arse of his corduroy strides. [4 Sep 2004, p.71]

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

It's all as comfortable as a favourite battered chair, but give it a chance and you'll discover a gem of a record. [2 Jul 2005, p.64]

Sadly, TAI...'s surprise maturation isn't yet 100 per cent complete.

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.

In revisiting the production of her '80s records she paradoxically produces something that sounds timeless.

OK, at Disneyland. Yes, on drugs.

There's a strange disconnect here, one that might be ironed out by facing the past head-on rather than treating it as a concept.

There are some particularly heady flavours here to be sure, some blended well, others not.

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

The album has a coherency that was absent first time around, and there is also a rattling freshness to the sound that Timbaland has rustled up.

Diasporic dancehall reggae, spruced up and polished around the edges, but essentially retaining the artist's signature style.

The psychedelic outings sound too sharp as a consequence, but it's an effective repositioning overall, even if it's hard not to want to scruff up their hair just a little.

The whole thing wafts along in a pastel anasthaesia, Dadone's vocals rubbing against barely-there songs crafted with shards of synth, glockenspiel and harmonium. Conversely, the only times Weathervanes descends into twee is where it tries too hard to be noticed.

It's far from their best work, yet from the fuzzy lollop of the title track to the reverb-drenched "Pendleton," it reaffirms that not only are Buffalo Tom one of America's great lost bands, but that real estate's loss is rock'n'roll's gain.

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

Love Me follows up 2012 debut album ‘Salton Sea’, but edges away from sleek, techno throb towards something more tender and torch song.

Their debut sounds sleek and exhilarating, although Foals seem cautious about completely breaking out of the punk-funk strictures that have confined them so far.

In many ways Boys & Girls it is as note-perfect an album as you'll hear all year, yet it's also often perfectly inert.

Their spooky, sexy, dark folk is kept bare and bolshy, like Laura Marling with sex and humour.

This psychedelic folk pop-athon of tickled riffs, snappy elastic basslines, shimmering synths and sweetly sung vocals is all dreamy eccentricity, with a bittersweet hint of rhythmic unrest, from start to finish, and should send Hidden Cameras fans into an amorous tizz after just one listen.

Triumphantly succeeds in underlining Dulli's deft touch in understanding the magic woven into the fabric of great pop. [4 Sep 2004, p.73]

It might have taken a decade, but this feels like grime finally beginning to grasp its vast potential.

It isn’t flawless: a few tracks blur together in the middle stretch, and some lyrical moments fall flat. But the integrity and conviction behind the creative statement more than compensate.

Teenager is simply more wonderful, bittersweet laze-pop of a hue at which The Thrills have become grand masters.

For in the Düsseldorf duo's continuing remit to bewilder and dazzle, conformity is the enemy. Sick of being billeted as d'n'b smugsters, 'Idiology' is a post-everything record - it's the sound of music being carefully shredded in the hope of finding something new and better.

Her songs sound even more spaced out and unreal than ever.

Slightly predictable, but the work of master craftsmen.

There is an admirable consistency to the production, and at its best Event II is touched by greatness.

While there are a few too many lounge-bar moments - a hangover from his NERD days - when 'In My Mind' is good, it really is excellent.

This album, like their previous two, has one moment of utterly triumphant rock Valhalla amidst a bunch of pretty good retro-soaked poses.

It sounds like the start of another beautiful friendship.

In less dexterous hands, of course, this could--and most likely would--be a disaster, but Darnielle's lyrical prowess and songwriting nous ensures he just about gets away with it.

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

As a sort of lyrical sermon from the mount with uptempo beats to crush the weak-hearted, 'The Sneak Attack' raises the stakes on the microphone skills front as KRS-One lectures, hectors, drops streetwise politics, and laments the state of the world.

It critically casts an eye over Wolf's public persona.

Smoke And Mirrors [is] a dense, torrid quicksand of clattering shoegaze chaos at the heart of this six-track stopgap between Brooklyn duo Widowspeak’s celebrated second album ‘Almanac’ and their soon-come third.

It allows this album to coast through even its dodgy moments and emerge as a loose and easy proposition.

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.

Yes, the Secret Machines do prog, but vitally they do so much more.

Somewhere along the line the Chilis got sophisticated on our asses.

In contrast to... 'Yr Atal Genhedlaeth', which was a bunch of promising, but half-finished song sketches, 'Candylion' is a much more coherent and loveable affair, and up there with some of SFA's better moments.

Clearly, still in love.

The Glasgow trio bring an almighty ruckus on second album Youth Culture Forever, building on the ear-splitting success of 2012 debut ‘Cokefloat!’ while discovering enough new shades of grey to give EL James a run for her money.

There are so many distinct yet intertwined influences peppered throughout Slave Ambient it would be remarkably easy to lose the thread altogether. Yet somewhere in the haze it all just kind of… fits.

Fucked Up can remain relevant without the need for continual, exhausting reinvention.

If you like your rock with sawdust on the floor and blood in its mouth, this is as good as it gets. [14 Aug 2004, p.49]

Out there, sure--but this is the sort of experimentalism Radiohead scoop plaudits for. [18 Feb 2006, p.35]

What remains is pure, unspoilt guitar-pop genius that demands to be marvelled at. [18 Sep 2004, p.65]

Beneath the plasticky politeness is the same old wry fatalism that the likes of Smog continue to strive for.

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.

The debut album from the London five-piece is impressive enough.

'We Are Science' has a spooky cinematic scope with a dubbed-up, electronic gospel feel for our times.

As an album, it’s uneven, but its stream of highlights make this a fun listen, perfect for the summer.

'Jarvis' never quite gathers an irresistible momentum like his past glories did. There isn't a bad song on here, but there are several which don't fulfil their full potential.

It’s refreshing that his second is so subtle.

Policy is a gloriously unhinged sprawl of a record, but fittingly for the man who constructed sparse piano tech-paeans for the soundtrack to Spike Jonze’s 2013 movie Her, the downbeat moments resonate, too.

This gallopingly demented album comes off like a battle between two gargantuan, city-pulverising, sci-fi beasts engaged in an epic ruckus.

Still Flyin’ are a silly, dumb blast of a bash worth attending.

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

Those heavier cuts are the album’s best--dark, dreamy and abrasive.

The only clanger is 'Do It'.... This aside, it's a nest of treasures.

The Nextwave Sessions EP careers wildly between moods and atmospheres, and sounds like a band happy to let go and experiment because they’re comfortable with who they are.

So, yes, it’s a tougher collection than the first, lacking the merciless hilarity you’d expect. But it’s also a strong step forward and one that proves they won’t disappear in the changing breeze of fashion.

There's a smorgasbord of top tunes here.

It's surprisingly gentle, allowing the emotional context of a soundtrack or accompaniment rather than the vacuum-packed, controlled conditions art of their last album.

'Reformation...' is darker and deadlier--more Cramps than Killers. [10 Feb 2007, p.32]

While I Want To Grow Up doesn’t exactly break new ground, it compensates by being affecting, relatable and having occasional gnarly solos.

Boy do they give good ocean of sound. [19 Mar 2005, p.59]

It's a fine debut that hints at a finer future - and for their determined attempts to twist something new out of retro influences, we salute them.

After three Twilight albums that never lived up to his previous might, he's now hit paydirt. [13 May 2006, p.41]

In the album's quieter segments he proves that his deft touch remains.

It's a record of rare precision; the kind that comes from figuring out exactly what you want. The kind that comes from being all grown up.

Evan Patterson's lyrical turns of phrase are still subtly unsettling, and the overall collision of punk and blues is a bit like Grinderman, without the spectre of ironic smirking.

[A] groovily electronic, acid-addled collection of throat-tickling, Venusian rhyme formations. [23 Oct 2004, p.51]

This is an album that you'll like rather than actually love.

It shouldn't work, but it does - perhaps, because, for once Albarn doesn't sound like he's trying too hard.