There are moments on indie folksters Why?’s fourth album that propel you into a state of emotional bliss.... [But] Eskimo Snow isn’t immune from the odd blooper, however.

Half of it’s as good as anything TVOTR have ever done.

It’s this ability that makes The Big Pink so special for, beneath the dissonance, the artful posturing and the pop hooks is something far more enduring: these guys have got a soul and they’re not afraid to bare it.

It’s the vividness of the lyrical themes and rich, poetic words that ultimately carries the record over, but unfortunately so much attention is paid to crafting the perfect setting for Graham’s brooding lyrics that they all too often become lost, a nuisance among an overly eager wall of sound.

As a bite-size CV of the last five years of his career, it’s pretty good.

The beats on Tongue N’ Cheek are still raw, clamorous and unpredictable, but in a springy, primary-coloured way.

This record isn’t a fifth as clever as it thinks it is. It’s glorious in a dozen other ways, though.

Journal For Plague Lovers is an outstanding album in its own right and is not "The Holy Bible." But then again, what is?

Downbeat dinner parties, say hello to your new soundtrack.

You can’t help but feel that Gary Go’s biggest ambition is to be on the soundtrack for "The Hills."

That it isn’t resoundingly terrible (as background music it’s passable, as long as you can’t actually hear it properly) is due to its general beigeness rather than the sparse flashes that illuminate it.

Mostly, though, The Dodos’ little quirks--the lack of bass, the blustery drumming, the lyrics that threaten to say something profound but never do--irritate rather than intrigue.

While not their best, it’s decent enough to ensure there’ll be more-- even though the truly off-the-wall moments are either rare or misguided, meaning the record feels slightly anonymous.

Not quite Animal Collective or Stereolab, but at times sounding like an Ibiza chill-out album, there are hot flushes of brilliance here but they are few and far between.

Wild Beasts have undergone a sea change, and this beautiful album is a treasure that deserves plundering.

If you’ve ever been enticed by Spanish guitar, here’s your rock’n’roll introduction.

Despite bringing in all these names to make it an event album, The Blueprint 3 delivers because of hefty beats and quality rapsmanship, nothing else.

Red may only be a fleetingly satisfying confection, but maybe that was the plan all along.

Music theory waffle/spiritual musings aside, this sees the pair expand their austere template with new instruments and ideas to great effect.

Always inventive, often beautiful and occasionally totally sublime, Mew have always stood out from the pack, and this latest--with producer Rich Costey back on board--sees them raise the bar that extra inch higher.

This barrage of generalised morality is cozened by overwrought production that sees the sun-baked reggae backbone of his previous efforts stripped out to make way for a confusing hotch-potch of styles and an overwhelming sense of desperation.

Origin: Orphan is the sound of The Hidden Cameras finally proving they can make records as wham-bam powerful as their performances, with deliciously sumptuous results.

Jack Penate has made a record that’s light on its feet, has glamour bordering on sex appeal and that doesn’t make you wish a fatwa upon its author.

As impressive as her gossamer-light voice layered over the strings and breakbeats on ‘Bad Boy’ is, Speech can do upbeat as well as down.

Watch Me Fall’ finds him with space to show off the full genius of his songwriting, turning the fuzz down, the jangle up and taking the (for him) radical decision to throw in violins and even some pianos.

It’s a shame that Quirk’s quirky vibrato is so prominent as it ruins an album that otherwise sits somewhere between untroublesome and mildly enjoyable

That’s what’s frustrating here--although, like Waits, he’s obviously a truly poetic lyricist, the instrumentation is much more engaging than Henry’s placid voice.

What makes it so compelling is the simplicity of concept: like everyone, they get pissed off by jerkish behaviour, subdued by small misfortunes and comfort themselves with life’s small pleasures.