'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.

'The Mysterious Production of Eggs' is unmalicious, delicious classical indie with enough originality to mark it apart, and what it lacks in jaw dropping charisma it somehow makes up for with songwriting and instrumentation of the highest order.

'Rooty' isn't going to change your world - 'Remedy' did that - but it is another indispensable, truly, properly, madly inventive and utterly enjoyable album of the sort that, at the moment, only Basement Jaxx make.

'The Hardest Way To Make an Easy Living' is a far more skilfully crafted album than the 'A Grand...', despite what you might have heard.

The effect of the new bleak mood lurking beneath the glimmering pop is to pare away the occasional over-cutesiness that has marred Of Montreal's work in the past and enhance the freaky psychedelic sublime of Barne's best moments.

Daring, inventive and groundbreaking.

What's great about this album is they've managed to wield the same monolithic power riffs but make them count, with melodies and ideas way more consistent than before.

Their most contemporarily relevant and best album since 'Fox Base Alpha.'

With that warm soapy trumpet now hinting at something a flutter more soulful than the usual dose of despair and despond, the Tindersticks have actually moved on and started meaning something again.

No less of a passion-scratched, damp-sheet-scrumple of an affair than its predecessors.

The Books make the incongruous harmonious, the silly sensitive and the complex easy to understand. 'Lost And Safe' will sweep you up into an aural world where, for once, beauty and humour co-exist.

How deliciously perverse, and how very, very her.

They've managed to produce a seventh album that's the equal of their baggy debut.

Leaning closer towards the fiercer end of the guitar spectrum, 'Molé' is a splurge of intense and angry songs, a reaction to the filthy Bush era.

'The Warning' is a splendid combination of braindance and footdance.

There's a rural beauty, crafted by man and machine, in places as exotic as an orchid.

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

Distant connections are subconsciously weaved into an undulating whole that fans of electronica, Tortoise and Mogwai will all appreciate - at least in parts.

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

Simply put, 'Worlds Apart' is a delicately violent piece of art.

When the tempo is slower on certain tracks such as 'My Interpretation' and 'Any Other World' the initial comparison is unavoidably that of one to Robbie Williams or Elton John, but there is none of the dead-eyed cynicism of the former and none of the bellowing oafishness of the latter.

A quite beautifully realised album.

It’s clear that Lemon Jelly have well and truly upped the ante.

If 'Fever To Tell' was a scratchy post punk effort, then this is their gothic record.

With 'The Argument' arriving awash in the unmistakably sinewy and elliptic post-hardcore sound Fugazi have made their own (sonically at least) this is more or less business as usual.

It has the electric hot valve excitement of sixties garage rock, the stomping sexuality of glam and the amphetamined rush of punk rock all dusted down and mashed together in its fever pitch workouts.

He has humour and cerebral sharpness in spades.

This time, as well as simply delivering the goods, Wilco come bearing a basket of extras.