It’s confident and cohesive, but the precision may not be the Gossip’s ideal sound.

It's an album wrought with nostalgia, fuzzy-tape hiss, and unbelievable musicianship that any fan of Koster will surely eat right up.

We’ve heard enough from Slaves in their fledgling career thus far to know that their sound is always going to be abrasive, but with the exception of Spit It Out, the quirks that made Slaves as appetising a proposition as they were are nowhere near the forefront.

Their blueprint is a simple one, and QTY pull it off by being airtight from beginning to end, while the production work of Suede guitarist Bernard Butler seasons the deliciously retro sound perfectly

Sequenced beautifully to balance lyrical narratives with haunting instrumentals, it’s another Six Organs of Admittance album...but so much more.

Contrary to the slipshod musicianship of their older peers, September Girls are more than competent unit that model themselves accurately with a toughened exterior, and most of the flaws arise out of its production inconsistencies; the most glaring being the distracting interchange between vocal clarity and obfuscation between tracks, and the whirring fuzz is stretched out far too thin.

Charging power-pop anthems like I’m So Free and Dear Life agree with his current stature as an elder statesman who can try to keep it cool, except that when he veers into strummy gloss pop (Up All Night, Square One) it makes him sound out of touch.

The result is not a loss of the uncompromising minimalism or dry wit, but a more dense brand of the edgy, psychedelic punk only noticeable in its absence from the duo’s previous work as The Lovely Eggs when listened to alongside This Is Eggland.

Temples aren’t shy in applying a hazy, glitzy gloss to a lot of their work, but the strength of an ungarnished tune--Oh! The Saviour--shows that their rare disrobed moments can be stronger than their decorated ones.

There is absolutely nobody in the world but hardcore Apples in Stereo fans that need to hear Travellers in Space and Time, it's a record as slight as they come.

The record is nothing new, but he somehow manages to make it all his own.

Presley’s made a competent facsimile of a 60s psychedelic album.

Where The Heaven Are We is a solid start for B-Town’s latest export, and when considered the almost fainéant construction, there’s probably a lot more to come from this lot.

What Midlake has crafted here is monastery music – glorified Gregorian chants that achieve nothing if not snuff out the candle light in your head that represents your slowly melting interest.

Its intensity has style, whatever Zeros lacks in substance or license, and an enjoyably infectious pulse that's consistent up until the final bits of backwards sound rotates during ƨbnƎ ƚI.

Attention Please makes them into something more profound: an often puzzling albeit enthralling and super-malleable "fuck you" to the safety of classification.

Not only does the music feel like filler and lacking in substance but the album itself feels like it’s only purpose is to merely keep music ticking over until something worthwhile comes along.

While Corgan feels reinvigorated, utterly convinced that's he's finally nailed it this time, the final product doesn't hold up as an entirely ingenious one.

In Heaven certainly does enough to make an initial impact, and on its own, it's hard to ignore.

Actress’s music always seemed like meticulously detailed sketches that came to life and immersed the listener, but while Ghettoville comes off as an interesting sketchbook of ideas, it rarely transcends that to become something greater.

Most of the album sounds immaculately produced, of course, the result of him basing his operations in Nashville with a group of seasoned musicians. But Dylan remains mostly anonymous throughout, letting others shine while he adds some occasionally poignant touches.

Noctourniquet, while not completely successful, finds The Mars Volta at their most pop and their most reasonable.

Even when it seems a bit disjointed on close inspection, it's when you take a step back that this album really comes into focus.

They are capable of making albums that are big, over the top and fun. The Resistance is over the top, but comes off as boisterous and overblown.

Lupercalia, despite its flaws, does provide a satisfying sense of closure. Now, hopefully, Patrick Wolf will be able to graduate onto subjects other than himself (and an attempt to do a full-on disco record would not go amiss either).

he annoying melodrama that made his rap material so exhausting is what gives his new music some real power. For the first time ever, the instrumentation suits Baker’s natural whine.

The band needs to play to its strengths, rather than a production style. This is not a band that sounds good with buried instruments. This is a group that sound best when they are in your face.

While it may not be the greatest thing to ever come out of the Po-Mo singer-songwriter scene, Lily Perdida offers plenty to admire.