This is an understated gem of a record.

Vitalic's third album retreads the same gleefully maximal path as the records that came before it.

Each of these six songs is named after a traditional Norwegian dish, and together they cook up a satisfying if unadventurous snack.

What it all adds up to isn't big-push psych loonycakes like The Flaming Lips, but something more subtly disorienting.

It sounds like Aerosmith, with plenty of hard-rocking blues swagger and lighters-aloft balladry, but most of the tunes are rubbish.

Recorded in a primary school, the Reading warbler's third solo record is whimsical, pleasant and calming, with shades of Damien Rice and Regina Spektor.

The Avetts are clearly happiest when they're miserable. Which is fine, if you're in that kind of mood.

Only the Bond-esque 'Confide In Me' is worthwhile in an otherwise sorry array of pop bangers left soggy on the barbecue.

As its title suggests, the album is one for the long haul rather than instant gratification.

While the low-key arrangements and melancholic song choices may make Tinsel And Lights an EastEnders special of a Christmas album, if you're planning on a microwaved turkey dinner for one this year, there's probably no better soundtrack.

If the thought of tackling Young's longest ever studio album hasn't scared you off, you must be a fan. In which case, prepare yourself for a treat.

They need to retire. NOW.

When they do keep it 'cloud'--with the dissolving beauty of 'Cloud Body' and the fairytale-like 'Love Is Life'--the results are remarkable. But elsewhere, romance and originality suffer.

It quickly loses its appeal and gives way to the feeling that this is a just reasonable thrash metal record.

It doesn't always work, and the softer 'Awestruck' is kinda preachy. But when the vitriol is squeezed into Fugazi-via-My Bloody Valentine-via-Sonic Youth swagger, as on the mighty 'Catatonic', it's admirable.

The magnificence of their live show is lost a little on an album that screams 'organised fun' more than 'spontaneous party', but mostly it's giddy garage rock.

Unfortunately, this rarities compilation focuses on OM's 2008-until-now phase, and it grates heavily.

Trust never want to be seen to be trying too hard, but finale 'Sulk' is where it all comes together, like Chromatics with an evil glint in their eye.

It might lack the raw appeal of Kendrick's 2011 mixtape 'Section.80', but it's also a big-budget reminder that the 25-year-old hasn't forgotten his roots.

Its bluster and sheen ends up burying the barbed poetry of frontman Mike Duce.

A sharper edit and this would have made a great EP.

For those who can stomach its muscular experimentation, Circles is out of this world.

The album's more subdued moments--like the disarmingly sweet navel-gaze of 'Simple As This', or the folksy arm-around-the-shoulder reassurance of 'Note To Self'--are its most remarkable ones, where Bugg's voice, usually accompanied by little more than an acoustic guitar, takes on a preternatural wisdom.

So while The Haunted Man deals in less trinkets than its predecessor, it's not scant in splendour.

Slightly predictable, but the work of master craftsmen.

When Wainwright leaves us hanging at the end of 'Everything Wrong''s soft chimes with the frank, childlike, "I have been really really sad/Except for having you with your dad," each sentiment is a choker.

Lyrically witty, full of neat turns of phrase, his songs recall the quirks and kinks of Jonathan Richman, the tale-telling and wit of Alex Turner (specifically the Arctics man's gentle, romantic work on the Submarine soundtrack), and the playful verbosity of Pavement's Stephen Malkmus.

It's cinematic, dramatic, and has vocals so indistinct that Tamaryn (the singer whose band this is) could just be coo-ing "turn up the smoke machine" over and over again.