Once more riotous than riot grrrl, Luscious Jackson return as a welcome blast of old school New York grit, happily still brandishing their smouldering, idiosyncratic magic.

It would have been good to have a wider selection of their work here. Surely such an enduring and eclectic band deserve more than a single disc for their admirable milestone anniversary.

Mug Museum emerges as another low-key intelligent pop gem from Le Bon.

Later songs Bear and Cleaning Out The Rooms are rewoven to even more emotional effect than in their previous guises, on the Zeus EP and Valhalla Dancehall long-player respectively.

He’s painstakingly conceived a uniquely personal concept which, for the first time, includes creating new music for the project.

As a writer, Dave has always inevitably been overshadowed by Ray, but the album features some of his most articulate and inspired songs to date.

A riot of synth squelches, bleeps and wibbles threaten to derail the music yet never quite do; indeed, repeated listens to the likes of Love Is Blind reveal a wealth of riches hidden among the dense patchwork of sounds.

Thirty years on from its relief, in seeking a wider truth for contemporary times, NMA plumb paganism and tribalism with a powerful resonance.

Askew executes sad back-parlour arpeggios on a Hdusty, reverberant piano and his distinctive 10-stringed Martin tiple, his antediluvian voice as tremulous as Willie Nelson on a toning table.

The uncharacteristically tonguein- cheek, Bowie-esque Japan To Jupiter is arguably the record’s apex, but quality and contemporary relevance abound, ensuring Folly is a comeback that equates with anything but the absurdity suggested by its title.

Surgical Steel is both muscular and accessible enough to appeal to metal fans of almost all stripes.

Truly, this is the gift that keeps on giving. Aural aphrodisia.

An innovative release in the style of the recent Kate Bush and Tracey Thorn seasonal offerings, Snow Globe is a very welcome, wistful and idiosyncratic addition to the festive market.

It’s worth reminding yourself that the swarming deeps, lo-fi thumbprints and careworn erudition of Bowler Hat Soup--released in a limited run of 500 vinyl copies--would represent a career-best achievement for a preternatural craftsman of any age.

The Coincidentalist, recorded by M Ward and Sonic Youth’s Steve Shelley, often sounds inauthentic and contrived.

You may variously be reminded of The Left Banke, The Byrds, The Mystery Trend, the Face To Face-era Kinks with their oft-tinkled harpsichord and even--in a recurrent, snakily-phrased vocal tic--Beck circa 1996 and The New Pollution.

Parker’s rarely been in better voice, buoyed by the presence of old friends intuitive to his innermost thoughts and intentions.

No one’s taking anything too seriously, but if this were a DVD it wouldn’t be a surprise to see Ry flashing the biggest grin in the room.

Separate--one of a few songs (along with the slightly annoying sludge march of Beat, the frenetic whimsy of Inquiries and the juddering instrumental Once) that falls just short of those huge expectations. But when this record hits the mark, it’s very good indeed.

It feels self-centred and bored, and is reflected by much of the album’s music.

Covers of songs by Nick Cave, Chelsea Wolfe and Lanegan’s Gutter Twins bandmate, Greg Dulli, bring this collection slightly more up to date, but nothing sounds out of place. Rather, in Lanegan’s hands, they coalesce to form a record of timeless, typically morose joy.

Factory Floor have achieved a pure distillation of their live experience: this is as direct, exciting and thrillingly minimal a dance record as you’ll hear this year.

Torrini and collaborator Dan Carey envisioned the record as a chance to explore the possibilities of the studio, and it does sound lovely, in a New Age kind of way. It seems, however, that this has come at the expense of strong songwriting.

If the quality flags on Spanish Eyes or Girl Of Mine, that’s down to oversentimental material. And when the completed versions kick in with Raised On Rock, it ain’t hard to see why Elvis was still scoring hits amid glam, metal and Philly soul; class wins out.

A high watermark in the canons of all involved.

It may be too reserved for excitable fans hoping for I’m Still Standing sequels, but the purity and simplicity of this unadorned balladry (Can’t Stay Alone Tonight, The New Fever Waltz) may bring many who fell by the wayside back into the fold.

Fans of Sonic Youth at their most experimental will know what to expect, anybody coming to this with fresh ears should try before they buy.

Either titled as a lark, or a worrying admission that, as the 70s dawned, Dylan had run out of ideas and was content to waste everyone’s time with tepid cover recordings.... If anything, it further muddies the waters.