A debut album that suggests anything is possible.

The GOASTT wig out like shamen throughout Midnight Sun.

Sound Of The Morning displays an irrepressible knack for songwriting. There’s a nimbleness, too. ... A real treat.

The Ones Ahead is billed as his first collection of new music in nearly 20 years, but it feels no less vital or inventive than his most celebrated work.

They're good at what they do but when songs like Double Negative kick in, those with older record collections might find their hands instinctively twitching towards their Wire LPs. [Feb 2024 p.103]

Critical Thinking lashes out against the ills of the modern world and asks vital questions about the purpose of art and their own relevance. If that sounds heavy, it’s mostly set to some of the most uplifting music of their career, all shimmering, arpeggiated 80s indie, exultant choruses, and their take on the Big Music (Bunnymen, early Simple Minds, Waterboys) that set the teenage Manics’ hearts racing. [Jan 2025, p.100]

A woozy, jazzy soundscape. [Apr 2026, p.98]

Their fourth album’s trembling vocals address mortality, heartbreak, collapse, resilience, different extremities of weather, running to someone and leaving the city at night. Such earnestness is offset nicely by jaunty synthesizer sounds and admirably expressive drum work. It remains unfortunate that Wolf Parade have never reached the fascinating twitchiness of their heroes Modest Mouse.

As with the name (the band is actually from NYC), there’s a satisfying contrariness throughout a curious and sometimes excellent set.

On her follow-up Cornish dominates and the results are smoother round the edges, more considered, heck, even mature.

From its bossa nova kick to its slabs of heavy organ, Kofi Psych sounds like an attempt to conjure The Doors’ Break On Through (To The Other Side) from a half-remembered conversation, while Say The Truth bears unlikely fruit from its cross-pollination of highlife rhythms, celestial early prog and The Strawberry Alarm Clock. Sadly, Essilfie-Bondzie died as this compilation was in the works but, as this set often shows, his legacy is assured.

If the title track is effectively Bowie's It's No Game (No 1) on steroids and Druantia has you checking the label copy for an Eno credit, there's an intensity of commitment and a density of sound to both that wrestles you into submission. Things let up on redemption ballad I Belong To. [Oct 2024, p.103]

There are subtler, sometimes surprising, details lurking in the main maelstrom. Also in contrast to that cathartically apocalyptic racket, the duo have added some nice warm brass parts. [Christmas 2024, p.131]

It's as widescreen as anything he's ever done. He's back. [Jun 2025, p.105]

It’s Allison’s ongoing development as a songwriter that really shines here. Clean now feels like preparation for the emotional and musical strength of this record: a quiet acknowledgment of the tough times that life throws at you.

Fading Frontier seems to be Deerhunter’s most crystal-clear record to date. Nine times out of 10, it’s precisely this clarity that allows their miasma of messages to hit home the hardest.

The Next Day is certainly his most engaging and intriguing since Outside. For now, that’s more than enough.

Holy Ghost [is] their best effort yet.

It’s an easy-on-the-ear, hard-on-the-shoe-leather set.

For the most part, this album of amiable desert blues lacks the fire that lit up its predecessor.

If Condition does not herald a radical artistic reincarnation, it does involve a subtler devolution into a slightly more primitive form.

In short, it’s another essential compilation of vintage music from the peerless Analog Africa, whose contents should further strengthen Benin’s reputation as one of the African continent’s most important musical centres.

Throughout, a balance of reflection and celebration is finely struck: while Feist-sung elegy What Happens Now is a tender beauty, Paying For Your Love blasts off like an indie E Street Band in full flow. [May 2026, p.101]

Hiss Spun is easily a contender for her best work.

Crowell continues to stake his claim as one of the genre’s most learned and accomplished performers, and if there is a gripe it’s that, at 11 tracks, the party’s over way too soon.

While Find Me Finding You won’t necessarily offend dyed-in-the-woofer Stereolab aficionados--no apple need ever fall far from such an efflorescent tree--it still successfully stakes out a corner of its own, its abstract yet meticulously formal layers suggesting an aural Mondrian painting.

What really sets Total Strife Forever apart is Doyle’s vocal ability.

True Meanings is, on the surface, a traditionally introspective singer-songwriter record, but such a reductive description runs the risk of underselling a package that contains some of the most accessible, thought-provoking and downright enjoyable music of his lengthy career. The vibes are resolutely bucolic, embellished just the right amount by a chamber orchestra.