Resplendent with Beam’s raw, whispered tones and snatched memories wrapped in the warmth and emotional calamity Iron And Wine are known for, it’s vintage stuff.

In the fury of these cool-crushing rushes Mi Ami are exhilarating, roaring forwards, chasing risk like Can tied to the back of a pick-up truck and dragged across the surface of the sun.

Perhaps it's the introduction of an outside producer (Per Sunding) for the first time, but they're sounding like a band with something to prove.

The results are lush, psychedelic, often funky and always immaculately produced. But compared to, say, Cosmogramma, it sounds unadventurous and polite, as if Alias has grasped the sound of Fly-Lo et al rather than the spirit.

Adventurous, forward-looking and luxurious, all at the same time.

The results range from danceable ('Phoenix', 'Sad') to unnerving ('Telegraph To The Afterlife', 'Sixty') and give off an atmosphere of ghostly melancholy that subtly subverts Elton's reputation as a cosy British institution.

More laidback than their most feted, punk-derived early albums, this nevertheless compares favourably with the new 'un by Meat Puppets fans Milk Music.

As Minor Alps, Hatfield and Caws have made a gorgeous debut that sounds as if they’ve recorded it in each other’s pockets, their tones exquisitely matched, the songs intimate.

Her 2011 debut 'Hearts' had the drift and shimmer of shoegaze, but Chiaroscuro is sharper, even flirting with techno on the densely layered 'Faith' and handclapping electro on 'Denial' as Lindén tries out all the electronic styles of the 1980s.

Tiersen never loses touch with his innate sense of melody, but the lack of edge means that Infinity's charms are, in fact, finite.

From the frantic 'Smoking Kills' to the joyously frank drinking song 'Bottle To Bottle', there's more than enough evidence to suggest the Brighton trio are the caustic blast of honesty and character the UK punk scene's been lacking recently.

It may sound a little high-concept, but its ultimate themes of empathy and diversity are subtly communicated. Glass Animals’ melodies have an immediacy that diffuses any hint of chin-strokiness.

The follow up sees How To Dress Well stepping into a more experimental world. The results sounds a little like American ambient producer Grouper on a 5am nightbus, and suits Krell well.

There are no meaty rockers like ‘Inhaler’ or ‘What Went Down’, or slow and sprawling mini epics like ‘Spanish Sahara’, ‘Late Night’ or ‘Neptune’, but we need something else right now. ... Foals are still peaking.

While NewDad might not be as structurally inventive as the power-pop-indebted Hotline TNT or as heavy as the nu-gaze-leaning Fleshwater, they are perhaps more streamlined and together, which counts for plenty. ‘Madra’ is the sound of a band who have reckoned with where they come from and used it to map out where they’re going.

She asserts herself not just as a global star, but as a fully realised artist, shaping her sound and vision with an intentionality that signals real growth.

Some contributors slip seamlessly into her world, amplifying her playful spirit, while others feel more like drive-by cameos, impressive in name but disconnected in vibe. The result is a sonic joyride through the world of dance that dazzles in flashes, even if it never quite eclipses the original.

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

It takes a pretty special type of artist to release 11 zip files of music for free, follow that up with three albums within a year and still pique your interest when a new release crosses the doorstep. But such is the way of Wiley.

Ireton’s voice has an unschooled grace which elevates ‘Hiding Neath My Umbrella’ to the status of an interesting, if flimsy, curio in Murdoch’s canon. It’s just a shame the rest of the record, and the new recruits, are so fucking woeful.

So, you're a founding member of the legendary hip-hip combo Wu Tang Clan. And your fans are extremely pissed because you went and done a track with that Justin Bieber.

While Hardwired... To Self-Destruct isn’t dissimilar in delivery to their last record, 2008’s ‘Death Magnetic’, Metallica still--in their fifties--remain both vital and innovative.

Sound Mirror’s mix of jazz rhythms and psychedelic funk cuts a distinctive, if unfashionable, path.

Reek[s] of overt smugness and wilful obliqueness. [16 Apr 2005, p.51]

'Road To Rouen' is the sound of a band at last hitting their stride, finding out who they are and sounding like it's finally making them happy.

Caracal is about Disclosure maturing, moving on and showing the listener how to rave respectably. This is dance music for grown-ups.

Strange Weekend's gauzy dream-pop is almost incapable of provoking anything but love.

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