[An] album stacked with songs of trailblazing angst ('Je Me Perds'), sinister desperation ('Cold') and nut-cracking jams {'Stop Kicking').

There's little warmth other than a palpable meeting of minds of its creators, whose culture of experimental collaboration is only to be lauded.

That this 'art collective,' incubated in south London's makeshift spaces--all sketchy car parks and vibrant experimentation--should turn out a debut as casually brilliant as Other People's Problems is not surprising in itself. But that it should sound so vital, kind of is.

This dream team (two thirds Britney producers Bloodshy & Avant, one third Mark Ronson collaborator Andrew Wyatt) decided to take a step back and make an album 'as a band', rather than as competing knob-twiddlers. And it's worked.

Albarn's best work has cheek, wit and a smart-alecky desire to shake things up. All this reverence doesn't really suit him.

Noctourniquet's greatest strength--or, to hardcore prog-trolls, its unforgivable weakness--lies with its melodies.

Stripped of her day-to-day outfit Vivian Girls' fence of lo-fi fuzz, Katy Goodman's faultless way with Technicolor pop melodies blazes through La Sera's second album.

In the end, MDNA is a ridiculously enjoyable romp, but oddly not for the bits that are supposed to be fun. Instead, it's the psychotic, soul-bearing stuff that provides listeners with some of the most visceral stuff she's ever done.

Foreign Body crawls under the skin and stubbornly lodges itself there.

They're hardly bringing in a new era, but there's definite promise here.

Those wanting clangour and dissonance will be disappointed, but everyone else will be pleasantly surprised.

Even if the Mensa-folk crew feel dumbed down on, there's just enough Mercer magic on Morrow to light up your local drop-in centre.

Sonik Kicks is the sound of Paul Weller growing old the only way he could--not particularly gracefully, but with no small amount of style.

It's a great shame that this album's component parts don't raise the whole above 'nice to know they're still around' status.

There's a certain lack of substance throughout the album which isn't fully covered up by Rose's elegant stoner shimmying.

Ekstasis reminds us that music can mean so much more.

It's as dreamy and atmospheric as you might expect, but the truth is that only a handful of Jónsi's 15 tunes here really work without the context of some CGI tigers.

Amid the smartly rendered pastiche of this debut, Bainbridge references Prince and Janet Jackson, yet turns those joyous sounds unpleasantly arch.

There's occasional crimes of flannel-wet schmaltz but mostly Smart is like an esoteric, London-based Dam-Funk with a fondness for chemically enhanced raving.

A curious hybrid, channelling both Bruce Springsteen's 'Darkness On The Edge Of Town' and Hendrix's 'Electric Ladyland' into proper classic rock ('Cherokee Werewolf') moments, but elsewhere sounding a bit elevator music.

There's a smorgasbord of top tunes here.

Rossen is a master craftsman--and one of the best songwriters in modern rock--and with Silent Hour/Golden Mile he's set the bar tantalisingly high for Grizzly Bear's return.

No Gods doesn't disappoint.

When it works, as on 'Let Them Talk', it's a mongrel-pop joy. When it doesn't, as on the overloaded 'Venison Fingers', it's a mess.

They're tight in the way that only the threat of bottling can foster.

New Jersey's The Static Jacks haven't got the most ambitious creative palette.

Home Again provides a sumptuously soft place for tired ears to rest.

A reverence-inspiring return.