The feel that McCombs as an “artist at work”, given carte blanche, is prevalent. Dreaded jams are not cut back, verses sprawling and unpruned. And despite this, his usual delicious chaos seems absent.

They remained off all save the hippest of radars, yet this exhaustive 80-track anthology incorporating their complete studio recordings and an exuberant bonus live set shows that they nonetheless amassed a fearsome catalogue.

Patience and resolve are required, for there are truly baffling abstractions. ... Yet when Davies knuckles down and crafts glorious, idiosyncratic pop such as Needle & Thread, the slow-burning Chills and vulnerable, Television Personalities-esque Beauty Queen Of Watts, he and his ad hoc Moles can burrow into the very deepest recesses of your heart.

One Day All Of This Won’t Matter Anymore is the perfect example of a band still moving forward, without losing themselves in the process.

Looking beyond the harsh aesthetic, Walker has created a score that is rich in texture and highly innovative.

The pretence of mental struggle can be artifice too and Bugger Me might be nothing more worrying than an eccentric art project. Either way, it’s a fascinating glimpse into an unusual mind.

Delt’s high voice and pretty 60s-harking melodies make even Phase Zero’s fastest-tempo track feel decidedly chilled. It’s not always clear what message these melodies intend to impart as many of them remain clouded in a fog of heady effects.

Sadly, Exploded View’s admirable commitment to spontaneity has resulted in a muggily-recorded LP which fails to match the usual high-quality post-punk output of the esteemed Sacred Bones label.

While Vulnicura Live may not cut quite as deep as Vulnicura proper, rest assured that it is every bit as breathtaking.

The songs don’t sink under any weight; they’re light and spacey, though even the scat Rainy Days has real substance. It’s a swinging saloon.

While Dâm-Funk’s singles and albums have established him as funk’s most forward thinking artist, his DJ sets have concentrated on classic 80s boogie gems. His entry into DJ Kick’s long-running mix series is less rigidly formatted.

With a voice that sits somewhere between Bill Withers and Dr John (a neat trick), this is soulful, raw and rasping stuff.

He lends his delicate, soulful voice to just one track--a delightful cover of Paul Simon’s American Tune--and the rest of the time is heard on piano. There are several unaccompanied solo pieces, including his own composition, Delores Boyfriend, which is rendered in an ornate style that encapsulates the New Orleans sound.

Neatly produced and performed to sound slick and punchy, Far From Home remains true to the calypso traditions of reportage, wit and joy.

So the album remains a solo project, despite the welcome input from Robyn on Hang Me Out To Dry. The duet hints at how human Metronomy can sound when more life is squirted onto their palette.

Command Your Weather is like a 40-minute bear hug from a band that peddle heaviness with heart and soul. Hurry up and get yours.

The 11 tracks, all originals penned or co-penned by Neville or Krasno, get to Neville’s very heart, placing his sweet voice in a gritty R&B setting.

With the forensic detail one would expect from the Elvis reissue programme, Way Down In The Jungle Room is the most complete and comprehensive collection of Presley’s final studio recordings ever assembled in one anthology; and very necessary it is too.

For connoisseurs of the form, there is so much to recommend, from previously unreleased, grime-caked demos (including Street Walking Woman by The Phoenix and Trust by Hellmet) to ringers that somehow managed to claw their way into the light of mass acceptance (Race With The Devil by The Gun, Gypsy by Uriah Heep).

There is perhaps a great album here. But amid this 17-track sprawl, it’s hard to find.

Hypercaffium Spazzin is a great collection of their trademark short and snappy songs.

Boy King is too one-dimensional to be effective. It’s as if the band have taken their sound to army college to beef it up, but in the process forgot all the books they’d read, the ugly facets that made them such interesting wallflowers.

Overflowing with gnarled pop melodies and stuttering beats, Sweatbox Dynasty may be decidedly askew, but the manipulations and distortions simply add character to what is in fact a very listenable album.

This time round Walker has brought influences from his native Chicago scene to the forefront of his music, loosening up and expanding his sound with frankly blinding results.

That this is a good album should surprise no one; that she managed to make it at all is another matter.

He has certainly struck gold. This is out-and-out the best pop release so far this year.

In My Hour is a gorgeous prayer with gently plucked violin, and there are gospel and jazz tinges too, with rock adding bite to tracks like Lorelei. Indeed, one could wish for a little more of the latter, and some songs do sag a little under their own weight, but generally speaking, Carolina is a lovely thing.

Bismillah and Karam add gentle layers of spiritual jazz and afrobeat to the mix. Best though are the tracks which plot a less quiet path; Indefinite Leave To Remain begins with intermittent, raindrop-like piano flourishes over recorded vocal snatches before guitar and drums build into a monsoon-like barrage.