Rattle That Lock is a small, intimate album that maintains Gilmour’s impeccably tasteful quality threshold throughout.

How Far Will You Go? is generally closer to The Rocky Horror Picture Show... and is accordingly tremendous fun.

A casting off of the shackles of self-consciousness has borne exquisite fruit here, with any accusations of novelty or fetishism negated by the brilliance of musicianship, attention to detail and sheer fun of the thing.

Evocative and enriching, Tiersen’s Eusa is a faultless work.

Despite some dubious song titles, that horrible “supergroup” tag and annoying residual longing from White purists, Dodge And Burn is a sweet pill to swallow.

A record that takes the blues-rock of 2013 debut Sistrionix, rases it to the ground and rebuilds something for which the phrase “new and improved” would be an understatement.

With Morningside Murray has delivered on the promise of her early singles, creating an album that’ll be much-loved.

Great Big Flamingo Burning Moon is another collection that showcases the band’s strengths: Dave Tattersall’s winning way with a pithy short-story of a lyric, and hook-laden songs punctuated by bursts of savage lead guitar.

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.

It’s hard to imagine a more prescient-sounding record than one that explores how nascent technologies affect our motivations as modern consumers at a time when we’re all frantically buying online to stave off the effects of lockdown. The songs dealing directly with this are The Future Bites’ most captivating. ... There’s no need for the buyer to be wary here. The Future Bites is guaranteed to weather the ravages of time.

Fellow musos will stroke their beards over this uncompromising pop compromise and devotees of the group’s collaborators will dig it up as a surprising bit of deep catalogue.

A rare example of an eponymous album where the title feels wholly appropriate.

What remains a constant is the warm murmur of the voice delivering tales from the heart with a literary confidence few in his field can match.

The aching titular song and the pre-Raphaelite-esque beauty of The First Song Of Spring compete with the best of the band’s balmy canon, while the dark, dulcimer-assisted A Cat On The Longwave supplies this otherwise life-affirming comeback with an unexpectedly downhearted conclusion.

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.

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

A collection of great songs, to the point where exorcising the spoken word passages would have created a more sharply focused set.

Slick yet lively, powerful yet clear. Samba (“second-born” in Songhai) showcases Touré’s step up towards the mastery of his famous father; he is now an accomplished bandleader, singer and songwriter, to go alongside his obvious talents with the six-string.

Funk is the dominant addition to the music presented here, with Mystic Djim & The Free Spirits utilising Latin rhythms on the punchy Yaoundé Girls and Bill Loko’s addictive Nen Lambo – apparently so popular it caused its creator to flee the country – adding liquid jabs of synth. On Sanaga Calypso meanwhile, Pasteur Lappe harnesses disco’s ubiquitous grooves. The best stuff here keeps the additions subtle however.

The result is an often joyously multi-hued meeting of minds, mixing the duo’s initial no-nonsense nods to The Troggs/Stooges with glitter-band swagger, splashes of psychedelia and the subconscious eruptions of Haines’ ingenious lyrics. [Jul 2025, p.100]

Childhood don’t want for exploratory instincts, but focused tunes prove more elusive. Without them, this long hot summer of an album risks passing you by.

It’s no River II, though perhaps with a bit of harsh pruning, it could’ve been a carefully edited and extended version that preserved the blues-vs-bossa split of the original vinyl. What The Other Side of The River most definitely does offer, though, is proof that beyond those superlungs that still belt out the 60s cover versions in 2016, it’s from Reid’s breathier excursions that true beauty flows.

Post Plague is stronger, more menacing and, as ever, on good terms with melody.

While you couldn’t place it--or anything else on You’re The Man--up there with his finest work, as an exploration of Gaye’s creative process, it more than earns its position on your shelf.

It’s only when the tracks pass all-too quickly in a live-sounding, bass heavy blur that Modern Dancing feels anything less than exhilarating.

The weakest tracks on the album somehow resemble Kings Of Leon B-sides echoing up from the bottom of a bottomless dark well. But taken all together, the sun-kissed synths and woozily inventive guitar work on Pennied Days does just enough for Night Moves to win the day.

Day Of The Dead not only represents a triumph of admin on the part of its curators, but the sweetest love letter to the Grateful Dead imaginable. Deadheads will adore it; the unconverted may find themselves a lot more Dead-curious.

The understated closer Admiral Of Upside Down is evidence that somewhere beneath all the sonic experimentation he’s inherited at least a modicum of his famous father’s ear for melody.