With clever lyrics, batshit crazy instrumentation, and several songs you'll soon be whistling on your way to juvey, Sons and Daughters should have you leering scarily from the school bus for a good long time.

Here Dylan has written a great part and acts it out beautifully. And, as usual, everything is out in the open but nothing, absolutely nothing, is revealed.

A travelogue of even richer and stranger territory than its storming predecessor ‘Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts’, although, inevitably, there’s more than a sprinkling of dead cities and lost ghosts throughout, to say nothing of the occasional red sea too.

This is anticon at their most approachable and reflective and should be filed on your shelf somewhere near Dosh, Boards of Canada and Arcade Fire.

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

With 'The Last Romance', a whole lot of people are at last going to fall in love with Arab Strap for the very first time.

It's all good folks but let's be clear. IT'S NOT GENIUS.

'5:55' is a welcome addition to the Gainsbourg family's musical legacy, and we can't give any higher compliment than that.

The Champs' music is so exhilaratingly, grin-inducingly, fist-shakingly wonderful you cannot help but want more. VI delivers in spades.

A staggering, synth-smeared beauty of a record.

It’s good fun, it’s a scream, and it stands up well to the likes of '...Do Dallas'.

A worthy endeavour from one of the most important bands alive.

The jewel in Scott's creative crown is that he has an uncanny knack of keeping it flowing, even when his beats and tones are jerking our sensibilities to shreds with their cerebral madness.

Aside from a few duff tracks 'Loose' is an absolute beauty that couldn't have arrived at a better moment.

'Brother Is To Son' has to be listened to many a times before certain things start to fall into place. But when they do, boy, they sound great!

If you are the sort of person who thinks of cannabis in terms of how much you smoke a day rather than how much you smoke in a month or a year, then you are going to like this album very much indeed.

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

Aside from one or two bore-me-ups, this is an album of understated perfection.

[Delirium] is hardly the kind of record that will be everyone’s bag, but there is so much variety and so much imagination packed into it that we find ourselves recommending it despite ourselves.

Recalls the overwhelming splendour of the Go-Betweens at their finest.

The results are almost painfully fashionable, f'sure, but utterly essential nonetheless.

This record is, the odd awful phrase here or there aside, rather marvellous.

'The Loon' retains a genuinely empathetic sincerity that deserves applause, but should be praised to a greater degree for bringing weird, left-of-centre indie back to the fore.

It just feels that amidst his bare and heartfelt explorations of life and the old wooden box wherein we all end up, Brock has learned to dance, learned to allow himself a smile.

Moffat knows how to conduct, contort and concoct fountains of melancholia.

So once you get behind the relatively unobstructive and emotive voice, what you have is the sound of NYC circa '77 pushed through the ramshackle indie filter.

An album which feels like a hand-me-down from a ghost.

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