This might be a bit noisier than their newer fans are used to, but they won’t do much better than starting at Numero uno.

The band’s writing and performance is so tight it’s actually become uptight and as one accessible masher follows another, Only Ghosts reveals itself to be regrettably one-dimensional.

COW makes massive gains from having been created quickly, much of the source material being recorded on the road, and the samples and titles provide pleasing echoes of the group’s earlier work. Despite the nostalgia, those samples manage to sound fresher than those of more recent projects.

A true gem that deserves the attention that famous episode received all those years ago.

An alternate version of Young Americans named after it’s working title, The Gouster, is compiled here officially for the first time, and works an absolute treat as an album in its own right. ... Still, Bowie completists will own everything here.

Iit’s actually every bit as tantalising, sumptuous and fully-realised as its illustrious predecessor.

As she breezes past 70, the mood of Dolly’s songs is inevitably nostalgic and retrospective.

75 Dollar Bill are blending elements from the past to create a stunning future.

It’s hard to imagine the masses rushing out to buy this, but any curious readers will be in very safe hands if they happen across it on their travels.

Subtly and unobtrusively produced by Fugazi’s Guy Picciotto (as Goats was), Black Peak then finds the envelope pushed further still. If the concept sounds impenetrable at first--off- putting even--keep at it.

Songs like Fire Burn and Close The Door show the band still have a passionately political edge, and Bounce is a worthy addition to their canon.

Winter has a distorted, almost industrial grind, fitting incongruously with an uplifting chorus, but saving the best for last, closer After Something is a rather beautiful ballad.

Torres apparently took five years out of recording between his debut and this album, and it feels like he’s matured, honed himself in that time, producing a most considered beauty.

Shimmering industrial dance pulses seem so back in vogue that it’s almost as if no-one ever laughed at Nitzer Ebb. Hence, Wrangler’s second studio album, generally much less brutal than Nitz, but featuring a few lyrics undercooked enough to have featured in the latter’s back-catalogue, may be ploofing about at just the right time.

A really gorgeous record, and well worth seeking out.

Braver Than We Are knows its audience and plays to it perfectly.

The misty, murky sound he strives for, regardless of its influences or genre, works best when a voice or idea makes itself known clearly, and though those moments are few, their inclusion just about justifies the whole project.

The sassy European and fraught, fatalistic Bilbao also have their moments, though there’s too great a reliance on mid-tempo numbers and the proto-punk aggression hinted at sadly fails to materialise.

Smash The System is another complex smorgasbord that fans of Haines’ music and sense of humour will lap up. And that non-concept thing might just be another arch attack.

It’s the beautifully resigned sound of a failed search for redemption.

It’s fine for the moment and could even earn Krell the spotlight he craves, but when that fad ends, only the smart will survive and graduate to longer term success. Expect to see his mortarboard first and highest up in the air.

The feeling you’re left with after listening is one of calm. So, mission accomplished on all counts.

On the whole Ape is a chilled listen. It’s glorious that Banhart has found this high watermark plateau so far into his career, especially when you remember he was once in danger of becoming the one-time token hippy at the party.

The pairing works, and although there are two, even three tracks that verge on the forgettable, the likes of the utterly sublime The Morning Stars, and the way Sick As A Dog builds to its rousing climax of “I use the same voice I always have,” more than compensate.

On the whole, Sorceress is a decent album, but Opeth are capable of more.

Slower, heavier and maybe a little bit more messed up than before, while not stabbing at the same loud/quiet buttons, AYHL is a most welcome, if mildly unhinged continuation.

Dusk goes nowhere, basically. It ambles, seems happy to hide behind the sofa, but is charming, feels totally complete and when it ends you feel the urge to hit repeat. Again.

The tracks drift by like soporific imitations of past glories--for the most part there’s nothing especially wrong with the songs, they just sound as if they could have been composed using a Van Morrison Song Generator.