If you've the stomach to set aside your indie sensibilities and endure the occasional terrifying flashback to '(Everything I Do) I Do It For You', Battle Born holds some majestic moments.

The trio's first new album in eight years finds The Black Keys' filthy uncles, Grinderman's cellmates and The Stooges' delinquent offspring still deeply embedded in a scuzzy groove.

Turns out bringing his [Glyn Johns] old-school rock'n'roll expertise into the southern-fried fold makes for a perfect match.

The debut album from Liverpool girl-trio Stealing Sheep strips the style of all Wicker Man cheese and stuffs it full of modern relevance.

The psychedelic outings sound too sharp as a consequence, but it's an effective repositioning overall, even if it's hard not to want to scruff up their hair just a little.

We Are The Ocean's third is a record full of lean, muscular rock and sees a band who were once regarded as sub-You Me At Six also-rans, deliver an undeniably stonking LP full of catchy choruses and chunky riffs.

The resulting noodly beats might have pricked ears in 2007. But in 2012, with Flying Lotus set to redefine the LA scene with his keenly awaited fourth album 'Until The Quiet Comes', it's not quite enough.

Considering Take Care is an affecting masterpiece easily on par with his debut, there could be no greater accolade for the genius of this man.

Cuba is just another tool for Mala, an outlet for his name-making style, which remains instantly recognisable and consistently listenable throughout.

It can be dour but that just makes the moments of light, such as the galloping, violin-augmented 'Golden Age', gleam all the brighter.

This fifth album is a relatively sedate affair.

As it turns out, Love This Giant is completely out of kilter with what's contemporary, and off-the-hook brilliant to boot.

Tempest is a relentless exploration of bleakness.

It hides more than xx did, sneaking its miserable joys behind bare spaces, surprise time signatures and subtle dramas. But listen after listen it reveals just as many treasures beneath its layers of shimmering sadness.

This band surf the cosmic channels of krautrock, cruising along on motorik beats, waving at pals The Horrors and tipping their hats to Syd Barrett as they chug through hypnotic, psychedelic pop songs.

Their introspective, mainly mid-tempo 11th album is a massive foamy middle-finger to retromania, running elegantly from jangly indie to kraut jabs.

Loud, weighty but oddly civilised.

Come Of Age breezes through their awkward teenage phase with ease.

'Algiers', their seventh album, is far less surface-level appealing, but the sad twang of a pedal steel and Joey Burns' rich lyrical imagery draw you in, and depth and craftsmanship is slowly revealed.

At times things seem a touch over-produced--something that's always a risk when you spend half a decade working on 11 tracks. But mostly, Marshall's thickly layered studio shenanigans make Sun shine.

It's a tougher listen than usual, but it's still laden with lashings of classic Lekman pop hooks and a vocal that's sweeter than a Swedish cinnamon bun.

Caminiti's style is uniquely desolate and delicious.

This fifth album of Afro-Latin rhythms, tropical chanting and brass from the former TV On The Radio (on 'Return To Cookie Mountain' and 'Dear Science') and Foals ('Antidotes') collaborators will do nicely.

It's a hardcore record from a top-shelf kind of a guy, but the work of a unique mind.

Frustratingly, the one thing Held needs is the one thing their Tumblr-goth fans are short on: concentration.

A fun comeback album filled with screeching and penis jokes.

The result is excellence as usual, with DOOM rumbling along between sinister and silly while JJ slings in off-kilter operatics.

Not a classic, then, but you could just listen to the good ones a lot.