It’s a challenging, warm if understated effort destined to thunk into the indie solo album dartboard somewhere between Julian Casablancas and Duncan from Maximo Park.

This Chicago MC keeps high-concept gibberish to a minimum, packing his second album with rhymes about robots and skateboards that nonetheless roll with the sort of swagger which leaves other brainbox rappers red-faced and grasping for their inhalers.

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

The main criticism of this record is that a few tracks are merely good, as opposed to epochal.

It's fair to say Gaslight are a band who have made people's lives immeasurably better simply by existing; American Slang won't change anyone's world and it's unfair to punish it for not, but we just hoped for… more.

It all adds up to a deeply deranged and intermittently great listen, and serves as a decent stopgap 'til the band's next album proper.

To hope for a "Running Up That Hill" or a "Wuthering Heights" would be to miss the point, and the subtle pleasures – there's enough people walking the ways Kate cleared 30 years ago. Follow her footprints off the beaten path, and you'll find some weird winter wonders.

They may never outshine M83 but Rituals at least establishes Team Ghost in their own right.

Considering the scattered legacy that feeds the roots of this album, and the other OTT keyboard abusers of our times, some foolishness is only right and proper. Fortunately, there's some belting tunes to chew on too.

Adams could clearly make use of an editor here--but you can't possibly hate an album that uses pedal-steel on every track. [24 Sep 2005, p.43]

Although inescapably discomfiting, the music’s complex textures keep the listener snared.

It's a bit cheeky, but that's Kylie, and that's pop. Where the songs are as good as 'Can't Get You Out Of My Head' it works beautifully.

What's so impressive about Xzibit is his rhyme flow, which is one of the smoothest in rap and provides a wonderful contrast to his profanity-led ghetto dwelling lyrics. With Dr Dre providing beats for three of the tracks and overseeing the whole project, Xzibit now has the perfect musical canvas to accompany his underrated skills.

Throughout their debut album London Grammar walk a fine line between haunting and boring.

The Sun Kil Moon frontman may revel in the role of indie-rock’s great white grinch, but as Sings Christmas Carols proves, he’s no more immune to the spirit of the season than his furry green counterpart was.

Manchester Orchestra are from Atlanta and play loud/quiet grunge. Nothing new then, but fans of the Pixies and Weezer will love it.

This time with their best songs since "Tell Me When" in 1995. In more ways than one, timeless.

It’s not all dark and uncomfortable, though – both the pretty ‘Save The World’ and ‘Ripe For Love II’’s arpeggio guitars balance things out nicely.

The record’s barrage of barrelling noise is linked by stuffy interludes of piano (‘Prelude III’) and strings (‘Chandelier Shiver’), meaning the quintet only narrowly avoid coming off as pretentious. But when Eva sings “I held the arrows/I pulled the strings” on calm, clear-headed highlight ‘Opalescent’, the emotional strength at the heart of Rolo Tomassi shines through.

'So ... How's Your Girl?' is precision-tooled to amuse the Beastie Boys, for sure. But it also harbours a wit and dexterity that not only represents the usual cliquey extended family, but also manages to transcend them.

As long as Braids can escape unscathed from the hype machine, this could be an amazing journey.

Dear John is more or less all about getting dumped, blending hymnal keyboards, tender strings and pained vocals.

If you really feel you need another Canadian choral indie troupe in your life, this is worth a punt.

His spectral vocals comfort like new bedsheets, lyrics straddle tranquillity and loss (‘Ghost Of My Old Dog’) and there are enough sun-over-hill-moments (‘Brand New Sun’) that hold their own against his Snowdon-high standards.

It's a tough record to get a handle on, all fidgety switches of tempo and style, but the slippery acid of 'Industry City' and woozy electronica of 'Closer 2 U' reveal the breadth of Woodhead's vision.

We’re pleased to report that her third English-sung studio effort is as nutty as ever; combining Neptunes-esque beats with flamenco, post-punk riffs, synths, Arabian strings, gongs and disco.

The Betrayed plays to their strengths in that it sounds more like the work of blue-quiffed CGI-animated ninja warriors than real people with wrinkles.

On their fifth album there's a newfound clarity in the production that provides an added dimension to their tunes.