Ever-evolving they may be, but Satomi’s oddball pop songs are another band staple; this time they deliver the cutesy, punky, and thoroughly entertaining Nurse Me.

Earle’s slurring nonchalance and Colvin’s precise delivery are a joy as they weave around each other amid squealing harmonica and distorted, rocking guitars. The result is very much a band (rather than acoustic) album.

An aural pool party for anyone who digs the nu-Baleric compilations of Psychemagik and Too Slow To Disco.

Along with equally genre-transcending Ryley Walker and James Blackshaw, here is stunning proof that Tompkins Square have serious intentions beyond the reissue market. Watch this space, listen to Brigid Mae Power.

It may be a touch overlong and that relentlessly 80s production won’t be for everyone’s ears, but this is a triumph.

Occasionally you find yourself flinching at how closely Biffy Clyro have adhered to the uplifting radio-rock format.

It’ll be a shock to the system for Futureheads fanatics anticipating herky-jerky guitar pop, but with the distraught Monster Again, nakedly vulnerable Thunder Song and the graceful, elegiac titular song standing out; it makes for an intensely cathartic and wholly absorbing experience for listeners prepared to dump their preconceptions at the door.

Winningly, their wit is matched by a thrilling, fizzing set of noisy, melodic songs that ought to inspire utter devotion and soundtrack many, many summers of abandon and heartbreak.

Far from instant, spectral in feel and altogether dark in tone, The Bride is a challenge--although one with glorious pay-offs. Fans expecting the poppier sheen of Daniel or What’s A Girl To Do? might be disappointed, its treasures lie just beneath its surface.

It’s true, Love & Hate will win no prizes for innovation. But this s more than just gussied up heritage soul to peddle to nostalgic baby-boomers.

All the pieces are beautifully composed and played, as you would expect from someone whose orchestral arrangements are sought by artists ranging from Gorillaz to Katherine Jenkins, but what Postcards From really needs is an accompanying, immersive Virtual Reality video experience that would allow us to see, and understand, what Brice heard.

Genuinely experimental, A Hermitage is a tremendously exciting release which demonstrates there is still new territory to be explored in heavier music; it need not always rely on tried and tested formulae. Jambinai are proof that it is better to be brave.

It seems to exist almost in spite of itself, careening energetically down paths it desperately wants to avoid. To that extent, Blood//Sugar// Secs//Traffic is a cacophony of contradiction, but one very much worth investigating.

Capsule Sickness boasts a warmer tone, if one that lacks direction, unlike the fuller sound of Crux with its sharply distorted, decidedly un-humanlike “vocals”. Other tracks stalk the no-man’s land between noise music and techno, constantly threatening to stomp on any unexploded landmines just to see how impressive a sound that might make.

It’s infused with enough rhythmical disturbances and difficult time signatures that it ends up straying far from that path. It’s still full of joy and wonder, but there’s an extra element of wilful confusion. While it makes these songs less accessible at first, in the long run, if you stick with it, it actually adds to their clout.

No one ever asked The Monkees to be anything more than pratfalling archetypes who could act and sing a bit, yet they asked more of themselves than they needed to; and they’re digging deep again today.

Oscar is still finding his feet but with promise like this--and the irresistible Sometimes--there will be plenty of room for him when the time comes.

It’s an album to truly cherish.

Holy Ghost [is] their best effort yet.

All the members’ parent groups are associated with dramatic music, but arguably in quite different styles, and the first few numbers are what you’d expect Editors to produce if they got hold of previous collaborator Goswell and placed her inappropriately high in the mix.

Frontman Jake Webb’s lyrics are often as intricate and tangled as his weaving guitar lines.

This mischievous ethos has rarely been better displayed than on this often uneasy listening set from Berlin-based, old-school activist DJs Graef and Astro who, after name-making solo careers, came together last year to form their Money $ex imprint as a platform for their woozy marriages of obscure vinyl sensibility and startling aural foraging.

Their sitar-heavy take on the genre incorporates a variety of outside influences, though it’s a penchant for krautrock which yields the best results on this fourth album.

LUH can write a spirited song, that’s for sure, but if you’re not ready, forget it.

It makes for an uneven, unbalanced experience that, sadly, is better on paper than in practice.

By the spangled keyboards, spectral funk and squalling sax of closing pair Toots and Teeth, Van Dinther has successfully forged his own new personal universe, showing jazz’s original questing spirit still alive, kicking and able to make new sonic waves.

It’s an album that feels reflective but forward-thinking, observing a time and space but interpreting it in a way that all can appreciate.

Crisply produced by Glyn Johns, working with EC for the first time since Slowhand, the record proves a remarkably rewarding listen.