In ‘Seeking New Gods’, Gruff Rhys has yet again crafted another pop gem of an album.

This record offers a maelstrom of mistakes and confusion and glee and love and loneliness and hope – and the mess of it all makes for the biggest gift.

Curry flexes his ability to flow and rhyme meticulously lines that explode your mind, his gruff delivery similar to that of RZA or even Busta Rhymes.

This is a Suede record, so there are moments of aching majesty – see the tormented ‘It’s Always The Quiet Ones’, ‘Turn Off Your Brain And Yell’ and the hopelessly devoted ‘What Am I Without You’ (which sees Anderson giving himself to his fans) – but, all in all, ‘Autofiction’ finds the indie greats getting back in the garage to make a racket.

For those patient enough to wait for this record to relinquish its quiet delights, the treasures waiting to be discovered it are rich indeed.

Two years ago, such a mis-match of styles usually resulted in dizzying chaos for the duo, here it’s inventive and enjoyable as they capture teenage life with devastating precision.

An honest, innovative collection that bolsters her reputation as a stellar songwriter, Yanya “undiluted” makes for an absorbing listen.

The fight for a better Ireland deserves songs that mirror the depth of the crisis, and in its endlessly captivating glory, ‘Skinty Fia’ rises triumphantly to the task.

The ore of modern Pitchfork rock is here, laid out in all its flawed-diamond beauty. For a canon so flagrant in its faults, Quarantine is all-but faultless.

The 2009 Projectors have adopted a more enjoyable model, thanks in part to Longstreth holding back that horn.

Like all the great British pop records of the past five years, Devotion combines the present and the past to make a record that sounds both contemporary and timeless.

A record filled with such emotional scope and range that it's tailor-made to showcase Lanegan's world weary roar. [24 Jul 2004, p.47]

Fender’s effortlessly direct lyrics are the anchor that uphold him as a heavyweight within Britain’s indie rock scene. The closing tracks of the album – ‘TV Dinner’, ‘Something Heavy’ and ‘Remember My Name’, on which he is joined by Easington Colliery Band – see him reaching upwards with new sonic ambitions.

A joyous, celestial celebration of sound.

Journal For Plague Lovers is an outstanding album in its own right and is not "The Holy Bible." But then again, what is?

Belying its also-ran billing, Darkest Before Dawn... is a minor masterpiece of dark, smart, modern hip-hop.

Fittingly, the emotional alchemy that Opeth muster on album number 13 is a sonic brew that could sedate a herd of buffalo.

This is Yo La tengo on snug autopilot. [2 Sep 2006, p.21]

The Ghost Inside’s self-titled, fifth album is a towering statement of positivity, transforming pain into catharsis, determination and hope.

The vocals are as limber as the glitching, swaying soundscapes and the whole album is a mesmerising listen that constantly surprises.

An album that’s chock-full of bravado, intelligence and, frankly, hits.

The Chemistry Of Common Life finally proves that rather than being a messy gimmick, Fucked Up are a startlingly talented punk rock band.

A record that, when given the requisite time and attention, offers unfathomable depths to explore.

It's full-on rock carnage. [6 Nov 2004, p.59]

A classic of sad pop. [23 Apr 2005, p.51]

As his musical repertoire has expanded from minimalist folk to occasionally playful pop, so has his tolerance for the foibles of the flesh. 'Dongs Of Sevotion', from its silly title to its intermittent flashes of tenderness and humour, is the proof.

The ultimate rare treasure. [24 Sep 2005, p.47]

In every way, ‘Bob Vylan Presents: The Price Of Life’ is a far more eclectic record than anything the duo have released before. Their alt-rock tracks about inequality will speak to a wider audience but the band never soften their edges or pull their punches in a bid for accessibility.