Ultimately it feels short on substance, with the sort of atmosphere that can drain through your fingers.

There’s a lot to love about music that’s as head over heels in love with youth as Soft Will is.

Bosnian Rainbows finds Omar in controlled, more conventional territory than he has been in a while. There’s structure, sub-four-minute songs, melody. It’ll never be Nick Grimshaw’s Record Of The Week and it’s still prog, but it’s a punky prog that at least feels like it is actively trying to make friends with you.

The album begins to lag toward the end as the slower tracks drag their heels, but it’s still an impressive debut.

An utterly charming album.

Ultimately, however, it’s hard not to notice that the production outshines the delivery.

When the energy levels fall off entirely on the maudlin piano-powered closer ‘Never Again’, Idiots' early signs of promise seem a pleasant but distant memory.

The four-piece’s debut is a forcefully soulful affair.

Immunity is expertly paced, and as good for coming down as it is for coming up.

There are a couple of duds, (‘Book Of Love’, ‘Please Say No’), but, as forlorn closer ‘You Were Right’ ably demonstrates, few bands do heartache with as much majesty.

Their fifth album (strung together by a loose concept about an imagined village you needn’t worry about) is as softly satisfying as a bobbly old jumper. One with thumbholes.

Kveikur comes as a violent but welcome surprise.

Ultimately this is an album to dance, not cry, to.

The problem is, when you project a futuristic, magical and otherworldly image, you’d better have the sounds to match. And unfortunately, Ice On The Dune is a four-to-the-floor electro-pop album that has literally nothing to do with the cheesy fable invented to go with it.

What could be mistaken for something approaching a masterpiece reveals itself as far more hollow.

There’s still enough dusty amplifier buzz and garagey thump to keep indie aesthetes happy, but intentionally or not, Spectrals now sit in a sonic nook which most resembles the stolid pre-punk orthodoxy of pub rock.

By Benga’s own high standards it feels a little flat.

It’s a tightrope across a canyon down which many a pie-eyed baggy daredevil has fallen. Jagwar Ma make it look effortless.

The good news is that 13 is an amalgam of everything you’d want from a new Black Sabbath album featuring three of the original members.

Some of the album’s charms only emerge when you search hard for them, as on the disjointed gloom of ‘The Light In Your Name’ or the dankness of ‘Spiral’, and there are a few ponderous cold spots.

As Britain suffers from youth unemployment and economic crisis, our greatest currency is the chime of a golden tune. Peace have delivered 10 of them.

More subtle now, but Alice and Kacey are keeping us guessing.

This record is a triumph of belief and dogged determination over those people who thought he was a barnacle on the coattails of his famous friend.

A few tunes--like the Afro-flecked ‘LA Calling’ or ‘Everywhere’--pass muster, but the whole thing is about as cosmic as a hairdresser who’s just read in Grazia that hippies are ‘in’ this summer.

Throughout, Settle will blind you with so much sheen you’ll want to tile your bathroom in it. Sadly, the London Grammar-featuring ‘Help Me Lose My Mind’ is a bit of an unnecessary cool-down.

Josh Homme and his all-star pals prove the virtue of taking your sweet time on a record that’s as self-assured as it is damn sexy.

There's undoubtedly something there with Frankie--those effortless, skippy choruses aren't as easy to do as they seem. But he and his Heartstrings haven't quite found their true north yet.

Like a good new party drug, Lesser Evil finds a sweet spot more often than not if you let it.