It’s still occasionally a bit too ‘nice’ for its own good, but in a cynical world, sometimes a little hope and buoyancy doesn’t go amiss.

Occasionally devastating, often outstanding.

Adam Green’s flowering from puerile anti-folk twonk with The Moldy Peaches to suave lounge-country crooner is laudable.

They're most fun when they're really letting loose, though, which is pretty much always.

A fun comeback album filled with screeching and penis jokes.

The anti-folk pioneer's sixth album for Rough Trade is a familiar comedy of errors, full of dusky textures with a sparkling hue of optimism.

Allow Caramel to ooze out and it’ll rock you into an unsettling trance.

It all suggests a promising future for the reinvigorated band.

Gauntlet Hair’s reference points are sublime, of course, but when they come up with the grudging funk of ‘Simple’, it’s something that’s all their own work.

With bursts of martial snare and brass held together by a minimalist, bass-powered spine, it's reminiscent of The Neptunes' spare genius and feels like off-the-peg future pop.

Made In Sheffield is a surprising record, lovingly conceived and beautifully executed.

The Bachelor is a thoughtful record whose greatest flaw is only that it’s overthought (though to the fans obsessive enough to fund it, that’s probably a bonus).

Overall, it makes for a fascinating listen that rewards close attention, even if a lack of true standouts means the album is more impressive than loveable.

Mission Desire, a token shard of folk gloom, does little to undercut the finely honed futurist gleam elsewhere.

What's most intriguing about Content Nausea is listening for possible signposts as to where the next 'proper' Parquet Courts record might be headed.

They’ve upset people’s expectations and made a handful of very good pop songs, but Twenty One ultimately just proves that they’re as unpredictable as they ever were.

Soft and slipper-shod as it may seem, there's a complex coldness to Sandoval's lyrical persona.

Overall, Pure X’s immersive charm remains intact. Only ‘Rain’ betrays the heady sonics of old.

Overall it just about balances out.

You won't listen to it again and again; yet the time you do, it'll be a blast. [4 Feb 2006, p.29]

The album's overall trajectory feels directed by human hands. But just as often elements feel like they've been left to lie where they fall.

Kill For Love keeps in this spirit, playing with the attention to detail of an art-house movie (and a near 1½-hour running time).

Brain-rinsingly psychedelic without needing to tell you about it, they deserve to sit at the table with Current 93 and post-Syd/pre-stadium Pink Floyd.

One of the strongest punk debuts of 2015.

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.

The trademark tempo jiggery remains and it's all threaded together with airy production that underlines rather than overwhelms.

This time around Tessa Murray and Greg Hughes give the same tricks a more professional finish.

Most of the scattershot pastiches hit their targets.