Simpson’s gentle deliveries benefit from his wealth of experience and mature understanding of the work, making for a richness that imbues all the songs--never more so than on Come Down Jehovah.

[Shivers is] the only weak moment on an otherwise enjoyable release, it sounds phoney, purposely strung-out, as if self-consciously aping Neil Young’s wracked-out Tonight’s The Night.

It’s all grimly compelling, but you won’t be whacking it on at any dinner parties. Unless you’re Andy Kaufman.

This is effectively juxtaposed with ominous understatement, and the shifting moods, combined with varied instrumentation including harmonium, banjo and electric piano, make for an intriguing, satisfying listen.

The symphonies Fuck Buttons make remain as miasmic as ever: odd and unusual to hear for the first minute or so, before fully entrancing the listener. Beguiling stuff.

Both as a protest against subjugation and an affirmation of Mali’s world class musical heritage, it’s hard to imagine a more eloquent and powerful riposte.

While Knock Knock and The Signs admittedly veer close to theatrical, declamatory pastiche, Solstice--which laudably endeavours to track the journey from the shortest to the longest day-- is nine-and-a-half minutes of bona-fide neo-prog: a shimmering three-way between Camel, the Super Furries and David Gilmour.

Move on, there’s nothing to see here.

It’s unlikely to have the impact of their career-defining Lights... Camera... Revolution, but it’s hardly a folly akin to a Chinese Democracy either.

Rubin’s experiment has paid off handsomely, even though at times you’ll find yourself comparing the new songs to any number of familiar signature tunes from Sabbath’s catalogue.

Grey’s skills are undeniable, but this feels too all-encompassing to pass muster as a perfectly rounded album.

QOTSA can still devastate and his lyrics still tread that delicious line between romance and nihilism, but ...Like Clockwork either runs too slickly, or the mechanism feels forced.

Re-Mit sounds alive, funny even, as if Smith has made peace with something--possibly his own genius.

Give yourself over to what’s not only a 21st-century masterpiece, but also something timeless that will resonate whenever you find it.

An uninspiring audio fluff. Cruel, after having previously reached such satisfying heights.

While MVOTC doesn’t represent a seismic leap from their earlier material, the general feeling is of a much more considered collection, with greater emphasis on song craft.

Ultimately, you don’t quite get the sky-scraping, genre-blending bangers mustered in the past, nor the negative synergy and diminishing returns of many collaboration-heavy, late-career albums.

Monomania retains those same Deerhunter kernels if you’re willing to forage. You might get your fingers grubby, but the fruit, often deep inside the shell, is still delicious.

While much of the record has one foot in 70s AM radio, Friedberger’s past cannot help but ensure that there’s an inquisitive, often eccentric worldview at the heart of each of these songs.

Signs of progression are, admittedly, belatedly embraced by the ham-fisted, if heartfelt dub-out Serious Business and the bowel-quaking Sunn O)))-style title track, but it’s too little too late.

It’s certainly the best down-to-earth storytelling item to emerge in ages.

The 90s revival starts here... maybe, but It Hugs Back is also a warm, fuzzy species all of its own, and well worth cozying up to.

Once I Was An Eagle represents a bold, adventurous step forward that’s resulted in her most fulfilling work yet.

The occasional moment of reinvention and the band’s tongue-in-cheek attitude make for a playful listen, but even an audacious twist on Divine’s Female Trouble can’t transform the covers album format from an enjoyable diversion to something more substantial.

To say it’s Stewart’s best album for more than 30 years may, ultimately, not be saying much, but it’s refreshing to hear him at the helm of a high-quality record, to hear him singing with heartfelt vigour, and--perhaps most importantly--having fun.

Wolf People invest every glowering note with a watchful intensity that signifies their unswerving dedication.

Trouble Will Find Me manages to pull off the impressive trick of finding the band at once at their most direct and musically inventive.

More so than anything in Harvey’s back catalogue, FOUR impresses with its purity, simplicity, accessibility and lack of pretension.