Probably the best post-punk album you'll buy all year.

Most of the time 'Lowedges' is so laid-back in Hawley's well-bedded-in, Fifties crooner way, it almost buries itself.

If you're bored of 'Danger! High Voltage' like us, there's plenty to plunder, though ultimately you'll be filing this album away in your "don't play anymore" library after Echobelly and before Electric Soft Parade.

It’s this rediscovery of how to make pop music with loud guitars and peculiar sounds which makes Kaito so fresh.

It's like a thicker, dirtier Good Charlotte.

It sounds like a dog howling over a Sepultura record. No, worse. It sounds like Fred Durst.

It's a move on from 'Here Be Monsters', musically if not lyrically, and, for all his world-weary posturing, he's still only 25 for God's sake, though obviously in love with the idea of being a great singer songwriter.

There's nothing that catchy here - Manson seems to have used all his best hooks already. But it's not terrible, and it sounds good LOUD.

Cex played with Mogwai last year, and the experience seems to have had a profound effect on him. The best moments of the late nineties Scottish post-rock explosion seem apparent here, and there are even hints at prime Arab Strap, which is of course quite brilliant.

'Imperial' is an evolving and ever-involving shard of artistry by a true original on his 'Victorialand'-era form nonetheless, and that's got to be cause for celebration.

A beautiful, engaging, enchanting record.

The sound is small scale, but the bewildering range of styles shows he thinks big -­ listen with your brain plugged in.

Lamb's most rounded and complete collection yet.... Even if they've lost something special in the process.

Unlikely to be defined by any passing scene, Herren seems likely to go his merry way in the way production auteurs do, body-swerving ham-fisted attempts at pigeon-holing or categorisation.

'Black Cherry' is a record that, like Lemon Jelly's sophomore effort, 'Lost Horizons', consolidates rather than defines but, when Alison gets her honeyed tonsils into the warm duvet-textures of the title track, the world can happily stand still for 5 minutes and we'll gladly give them another bite.

As long as you are open, you will love this album. It will be as important to a lot of people as 'The Queen Is Dead'.

'Think Tank' is an extraordinary record that pushes boundaries and sets new standards.

So few men have managed to touch our scabrous hearts in such a way. Cohen, Bukowski, Barrymore, Hulk, Waterman... Middleton, Moffat.

We don't dislike anything on here, and each time we listen, we like what we hear even more.

This album, if it came from a newcomer, could kill a career stone dead.

Whereas 2001's 'Confield' often felt like a thankless task 'Draft 7.30' is often, by Autechre standards at any rate, a much more welcoming beast.

There is no New here.

Summer Sun is a compelling, enthralling and gorgeous album that gets better with each listen.

Manitoba is a lunatic and a fool, and his strange music, crafted from nature and machine and birdsong and the wind and the air and the seas and THE GODS... it is a fine, fine thing indeed.

'De Stijl' is just about better song for song, but the sheer vitality and energy of this one alone makes 'Elephant' their most accomplished record to date.

There are too few ideas here to really make 'Keep On Your Mean Side' worth our devotion.

Like post-Kelli Sneaker Pimps or a goth Massive Attack, it adds slow trip-hop beats and whispery vocals to a dreamy soundscape.

An unholy brew of overreaching ambition and soul-destroying complacency.

This debut is pretty good, but don't be surprised if you overhear some twunt proclaiming "A.R.E Weapons are so 2001 daaaaling" anytime in the next couple of months.

Many of the choruses are great, but by about track eight you begin to realise this isn't about songs, this is about mathematics, and if you've actually paid for the album with your own money, you've been well and truly had.

There is nothing groundbreaking about this LP; it's just classic.

Even in spite of their obvious knack for a beast of a tune that knows no indie fear, they do a cracking job of getting peculiar on us as well.

A return to form: no tongue-in-cheek pop motifs, but a welcome re-embracing of the mid-American rock that always informed Pavement's more enlightening, abstruse moments.

A beautiful ramble of a record.

There's definitely something horrid, hairy and horrendously hippyish hobbling these lovely boys.

It's a lot less dangerous than we've been led to expect.

A third of this record sounds like the Cocteau Twins covering Enya, and another third sounds like a trip-hop Blind Melon... But the other third is pure Muggs.

About as boring as a record can be.

This is hip-hop - experimental, brave, and weird, just like it's supposed to be.

This is no whimsical, fey take on folk music, rather a bold, buoyant frug with the skeletons of The Doors, Teardrop Explodes and other likeminded explorers of the stoned side.

A shimmering snowflake of a record.

Fischerspooner might be harking back to a more colourful age, but '#1', more than any other album apart from, perhaps, 'Original Pirate Material' is very much The Sound Of Now.

A collection of skewed pop classics that draw as much on the contemporary R&B of Timbaland as they echo the darker side of New Order.

How anyone can describe Leeds' The Music as a "best new band" is beyond me. Unless they're over fifty, sport a footballer's perm and weep at Almost Famous.

This may not quite live up to 'Ocean Songs', but it still stands up on its own.

It's every bit as essential as any of its predecessors; completely essential, in other words.

Calexico provide drama, atmosphere, tension and tenderness in the 16 tracks here, not only because they have soul but because they're so good at their craft.

It's an obvious comparison given the company they keep, but, this time around, Aereogramme really are Mogwai and The Delgados on the same record.

'The Datsuns' is an album that could have been made in 1967, 1977 or 1987, but which, fortunately for them, was made in 2002.

Mostly, it's Chan's wonderfully bold and understated piano and guitar work that makes 'You Are Free' what it is, a collection of shapely and becoming lo-fi oddities.

For those who looked forward to the new genre-leading direction in downbeat dance that would come with the next Massive Attack album... well, let's just say the major challenge you'll face with '100th Window' is deciding whether there is a hidden track or that 'Antistar' is really a 22-minute song with an excessively long silent bit in the middle.

Anyone expecting a return to the spiky garage rock of 'I Should Coco' may again be disappointed by Gaz & co's refusal to whole heartedly revisit the three-chord bluster of their debut, but with 'Life On Other Planets' Supergrass have come closer than ever to the psychedelic pop-punk masterpiece of their dreams.

Despite the unconventional approach, it's definitely an album.

As ever with the great man, this is a record that rewards the attentive, and repetitive listener.

It's all good. Favourites switch with listens, and we can assure you that this record will remain on your deck all year.

Challenging, arresting and moving in equal measures.

Startling for all the wrong reasons.

Stripped of the Pumpkins' pomp angst and invested with a new pop-rock sensibility by fellow cohorts David Pajo and Matt Sweeney, in Zwan Corgan has simply formed the perfect band.

The Raven... does fly on the side of the bizarre, but it holds some rich pickings.

There is much to get teeth-grindingly irritated about with this album.

'Hate' is gloomy without being self-indulgent, and grand without being pompous.

'One Bedroom' is an infinitely pleasurable listen, and one that (very gently) blows away any post-rock preconceptions.

'Lovebox' doesn't quite scale Vertigo's dizzy heights, but it'll be perfectly at home both in clubs and in your lounge.

This is a brilliant, visionary album and needs rewarding with units - MTV won't have the scoobiest what to do, radio programmers will freak, and hip-hop will, once again, move forward.

No great leaps of faith, no huge style shifts, just more of what we've come to love them for. But a bit more laid back and, erm, druggy? If that's at all possible.

As an album, the thing seems to suffer from a lack of texture, variation, and (dare we suggest) innovation.

In their quest for paper, The Roots have lost their way.

There are no real surprises here but then in the land of pop-punk surprise is not high on the agenda.

This could be one of the most important records of the year.

FC Kahuna have aimed scandalously high with this record, and they've not been found wanting.

One of the most important rock bands ever meets one of the best, and guess what, they've only gone and knocked out a bonafide masterpiece. It's 1993 all over again, but it's also 1970 and 2002 and beyond, because an album this classic transcends any pigeonholing.

From its downbeat organ opening to its exhilarating climax, it's almost the sound of a garage band taking on 70s prog-rock excess - all the ambition and none of the flabby indulgence.

This is better than anyone could have expected.

This is a smart LP. From the opening chunder of 'One Note', a mean bass riff and some grade A wittering, their throb is pure and their thrum sweet.

The trouble is that Jay is stuck in an artistic straitjacket of his own making.

Like Spiritualized re-scored and re-scripted by Timothy Leary, something inescapably dark, dread ridden and mesmeric lurks within these tracks.

There are ideas galore here, which is always admirable, though you feel he could have taken the 15 tracks, whittled it down to 10, and developed all this stuff to staggering effect.

Say hello to the future of electrofilthsoulhop.

This is Justin Timberlake squealing like Michael Jackson's pet monkey, a recipe for joy if ever there was one.

Yes, of course it's a touch on the pretentious-sounding side, and it's also one of the most remorselessly miserable records of the decade so far, but none of this should discourage you from embracing it wholly.

Sigur Ros do this better than anyone else right now.

Compelling. Devastating. Amazing. And rocks like a bastard.

Quite simply, only the Chili Peppers are even in this class now, and it took them a lot more than four albums to get there.

It's full-on, one-dimensional and perfect. It ain't clever, but it could be very big.

2002's first REAL classic.

Quite unlike any other chill out album you're likely to hear, 'Melody AM' takes low rider funk and splices it with 80s synth-pop ambience and analogue dub techniques to create a truly inspiring epic pop landscape which neither strays into questionable light classical territories, nor worrying prog rock terrain.

With a secret nod and a flick of an amulet, JJ72 have wandered into Mercury Rev's sacred ground of mystical contemplation.

You've heard all this before, but it still sounds glorious.

Everything about Lemon Jelly is meticulous, extending beyond the detailed production and lush orchestration.

Hot Hot Heat have managed to find a corner of the rock universe that hasn't been overkilled and have made an impressive and imaginative album.

A techno electro smart-ass punky rap thing that'll detonate in your living room.

The signature wordplay and musical ingenuity are as strong as ever here... but they're rolling with a far harder edge than you remember.

[The live disc is] arguably far more interesting and focused and energized than the studio effort.

The songs are pretty, the guitars are mellow, all complimentary and measured; dull, in other words.

It's slinky, suave chill-out music, gently exotic, best listened to lounging on throws amongst cushions.

This hack-job (bish-bash-boshed out by uberproducer Stephen Street) takes all the bland, tawdry, white-bread bits from the past two Suede albums, butters them up with a smear of Bon Jovi balladeering, chews them into gloop with nicotine-stained, plastic dentures and... well, ends up flushing a once-great career straight down the in-at-number-16-out-the-next-week toilet.

Much of 'Trust' dallies down the dark end of the street, where graceful Velvet Undergroundisms lounge around sharing tabs with gentle folk implosions.

Only problem is, though, Ladytron still sound too self-consciously detached and robotic for us to view this as a great leap forward.