Their truck-stop talk of tumours, drunk moms and Isaiah 11:6 focus the album on Deep South degradation, but the lush Lemonheads-pop of ‘Drive’, the stoned drive-in glam of ‘That Man’ and the girl-band psych-blues of ‘Baby Mae’ lend this record the tint of a narcotic and poetic take on Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Tusk’ with Jack White on fuzz and Phil Spector on shotgun.

Ducktails have been labeled ‘chillwave’ and ‘hypnagogic pop’ due to their naval-gazing appeal. Sadly that appeal is lacking from this release, as is any sense of urgency, leaving Wish Hotel languishing in the middle of nowhere.

It’s the sound of the genre at its most bonkers, with the scene’s most brazen producer churning out never-before-heard sounds that range from the acid-ghetto-house of ‘Acid Bit’ to the footwork/jungle hybrid of ‘I’m Too High’. Impressive stuff.

Moby has created an album full of saccharine strings, endless loops and narcoleptic synths. The mind boggles.

His ninth leaves behind the wearing synth experiments and lo-fi oddities of recent years for a set of witty piano-pop songs.

A couple of slower-paced moments, ‘Khattaba’ and ‘Mawal Jamar’, drag a little, but 'Warni Warni' is undoubtedly the best Syrian-folk techno banger you’ll hear this--or any other--year.

‘The Yellow Roses’ typifies the lull in the album’s mid-section, and is all the more annoying when you realise how special this record could have been with a little more quality control.

It is a serious album for serious rock fans, even though taking anything seriously isn’t exactly Andy Falkous, Jack Egglestone, Jimmy Watkins and Julia Ruzicka’s strong point.

[Lemmy's] voice is a bit croakier these days, but the band’s riffs are as pummeling and unforgiving as ever.

It's a well-assembled album, and the steady trance-like flow of 'The Forest At Night', and the eiderdown of sound on 'Transcend' are absorbing.

If you’re a fan of the band’s stoner charm and enjoy guessing lyrics to songs as they meander from your speakers, there’s fun to be had here.

Overall, Shulamith is a record that takes on serious issues but always feels engagingly personal, with ideas set to the kind of alt.pop melodies you couldn’t forget even if you wanted to.

On the whole, Red Hot + Fela works both as an introduction to Afrobeat, and as a reworking of the genre, making it a fitting tribute not just to Fela’s music but also his indomitable spirit.

Sheffield's ever-progressive 65daysofstatic have outdone themselves here, loading their fifth album of megaton guitar instrumentals with electronic styles.

BOATS II is your standard 2013 Southern hip-hop record, complete with ticking beats (‘Extra’), Auto-Tune (‘So We Can Live’) and eye-rollingly explicit lyrics (‘Where U Been?’).

It’s not awful, just bland, and lacks the bite that electro-pop records need to be lifted out of the purgatory that is mediocrity.

Across is nonetheless a very fond retread around the outskirts of a dank, delectable career.

A rush job, perhaps, but it’s still the sound of three guys having the time of their lives.

He’s mastered this stylistic skittishness and you’ll do well to find much dispute about his talent.

Although not as immediate as his collaborators’ work, his introversion pulls you into his unique soundscape.

Drizzy’s candid lyrics about battered egos and insecure relationships were refreshing early on in his career, but the persona is wearing thin as he recalls how rich his melancholy has made.

As a whole, it’s winningly Lynchian, and ballsy enough to open with an 11-minute song.

Two properly good moments out of five isn’t a great ratio, but at least it’s telling us that The Men’s wagon is still rollin’ steady.

He flirts with past glories on the throbbing ‘I Am Dust’, but Splinter never sounds ahead of the curve he created.

It’s fun, but not the comeback it could have been.

Turn it off halfway through and it’s brilliant.

New is the sound of an old dog having fun with some old tricks.

There’s something very ‘mopey American teenager’ about Lightning Bolt.