Here Malkmus dispenses with the electronic curiosities that blighted his 2005 solo album Face the Truth and adopts a more polished version of the old indie-rock of soaring guitar solos and oblique lyrics.

His serious moments are as hard to comprehend as a Chuckle Brother tackling a eulogy: you know he must feel emotion because he is a human being, but you are constantly expecting the arrival, stage right, of a pantomime cow.

Merritt's lyrical dark wit chimes nicely with the books' macabre surrealism.

Their sixth collection is broad, bouncy and almost entirely forgettable.

Then, six songs into a characterless album, one on which ambience takes precedence over tunes, 3D and Daddy G unveil three stunning numbers that compare with anything in their back catalogue.

The follow-up adheres to a winning formula: this is sunny pop in a Sixties vein. But why don't they try something reckless?

With Uncle Dysfunktional there's no faulting the band's ambition - the music veers from country to samba to electronica - and Ryder's lascivious drawl and surreal wordplay remain intact.

It's Chrissie Hynde reinvestigating her roots with some rockabilly and a Dylan vibe.

MPLSound could be a thank-you note to those Parade-era purists patient enough to have stuck around.

Between the odd pretty guitar motif ('She's Too Much') and marching drum roll ('The Valley') the pile-driving beatwork and rapping cameos only highlight the fact that the weakest element here is Duran themselves.

Although looser, Draw the Line doesn't reinvent the Gray wheel.

He's back on his own terms, those of the earnest hyper-intelligent bookworm who won the plaudits of Jay-Z and 50 Cent, and sounding a lot more comfortable, with 'Hostile Gospel' and 'Say Something' re-staking a claim for the hip hop high ground over beats that are soulful and sonically coherent.

This odd and occasionally lovely concoction might just redeem Iggy from that insurance ignominy.

Unquestionably, it would have been better still had the songs been layered with a little less sugar.

Convening at the point where Iron and Wine meet Panda Bear, it's dreamy and chock-full of ideas.

The happy-in-love rockers are doggedly inessential, but ballads such as 'The Knowing' and 'Plan to Marry' redress the balance beautifully.

Despite high points --the powerful 'Longest Days'; the romping 'My Sweet Love'; the brooding 'John Cockers'--most of these 14 songs struggle to leave a lasting impression.

They hail from sunny Sydney, but this solid second set cements the Bells firmly in rock's melancholia tradition, echoing the Bunnymen and Tindersticks.

Elixer is at least a more pleasant listen; ignore the Prince mystique and it's a collection of reasonably well-turned pop ballads.

The Fife songsmith breathes new life into traditional songs cribbed from versions by the likes of Anne Briggs and Nic Jones.

Asleep in the Bread Aisle is promising, if unspectacular.

From the full-on Nintendo Wii panic-attack of 'Alice Practice' to the breezy, off-kilter electro-pop of 'Crimewave' and 'Air War', this sumptuously squelchy 16-track debut already feels like a Greatest Hits.

Minor mis-steps are a fair trade-off for an album that doesn't simply doff its cap in tribute.

A record on which electronics and a grown-up wistfulness meet in a charming, comfortable manner.

World-weary and introspective, frequently discordant, this is the sound of a man pondering where it all went wrong.

They undoubtedly still see sounds others only dream of, but sometimes that vision is a little clouded.

Although still flying the party flag, their hectic mash-up of house, disco and hedonism is no longer quite so thrilling, even with help from Santigold.

With a unique Backstreet Boys meets Bon Jovi production sheen, every track holds its own.