Western Stars is Springsteen at his most novelistic, scratching out pocket portraits that owe as much to the printed word of John Steinbeck, Raymond Carver or even Jack Kerouac as they do a lineage that would boast weather-beaten troubadours like Kris Kristofferson, Jimmy Webb, or his younger self.

Songs reflect on his outsider past (The Ballad Of The Hulk, Young Icarus), deal directly with the writer’s block he feared happiness would bring (Writing) but now boast a welcome immediacy and intimacy as he lays his new life proudly bare. ... It sure took a while, but the Smog has finally lifted.

Overall, Bird Songs Of A Killjoy is the sound of someone recording exactly what they want to. Nothing here feels out of place, or sounds like a pastiche of another era. Bedouine has found herself a winning formula.

Further may not take Hawley anywhere new, but it succeeds in drawing you back into his world. Not a bad place to be.

While this isn’t an album of chart hits, a pop sensibility is evident in the way that they treat music-making as primarily a challenge of curation. So, myriad high-pedigree producers and instrumentalists abound, and yet somehow, a cohesive aesthetic emerges.

At 68 minutes long and 16 tracks, its length becomes an issue during a third quarter which drifts. But as an exercise in breaking with consistency, I Am Easy To Find shows The National remain open to new possibilities after all.

The gorgeously wistful All Of Our Yesterdays and Skyless Moon lament time’s passage, but Here Comes… barely wastes a second of its sweet, tender and winningly off-piste, high-plains drift.

A profound and poised third album, UFOF makes digging deeper seem like a natural calling.

A strong contender for album of the year. ... Titanic Rising is remarkable for its breadth, effortlessly shifting from the 90-second ambient wash of the title track to Picture Me Better’s homespun take on the cosmic cowboyisms of Kacey Musgraves. Then there are Merings’ lyrics, evincing a similar shift in scale and scope.

Overflowing with cultural, mythological and artistic allusions and a prepossessing unrest, Life Metal is an album that insists upon provoking imaginative thought, and is sure to do more for your gut motility than any prune.

The truth is finally out. People are talking about the music. People are dancing. People know Fat White Family are better than maybe Fat White Family themselves think they are.

Like the skull ring and handcuffs on the sleeve, some things never change and, with its seductive bite and defiant energy, Talk Is Cheap is still a compelling centrifugal presence amid the bells and whistles. It remains the best Stones-related solo album.

Badbea fair glows with uncomplicated affirmations, literally buzzing with Collins’ unique wasp-tone guitar interjections--a sound that no one else has come close to approximating.

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.

Lead single Feel So Great doses up on the psych medicine and, with many a song culminating in a wig-out, Natural Facts boasts a grubby sheen that Cosmic Cash was missing.

While you couldn’t say Inside The Rose goes beyond the furthest reaches of moments such as V (Island Song), from its predecessor, neither does it play things safe. Newcomers may feel that elements of Kate Bush circa Hounds Of Love or Hansa Studios-era Depeche Mode provide reference points, yet nevertheless, a track such as Beyond Black Suns is nothing but pure TNP: overlapping motifs, doom-laden beats, interweaving vocal lines and a song that resolves nothing, but does so with the utmost confidence.

The Long Ryders should be proud--they’ve made a fine album that’s a worthy follow-up to their 80s oeuvre.

The lyrics continue to take a few listens to fully digest (beyond the regular laugh-out-loud moments), as do Fearn’s often misleadingly direct grooves. His basslines sound particularly mighty here, and Williamson’s vitriol (which fills most of the record) continues to be very much needed in contemporary Britain.

The Route To The Harmonium feels like a return to the warmth of some of his earlier outings--not that he’s exactly satisfied--with a more mature Yorkston having crafted perhaps the album of his career.

Inferno, then, may not afford Robert Forster the mainstream acceptance that’s eluded him for so long, but it gets him back in the game and proves he’s recaptured the magic he once needed to keep ahead of his best buddy in his metaphorical rear-view mirror.

The comp is thoughtfully subdivided by mood/demeanour, with each disc respectively entitled Rock Off!, Tubthumpers & Hellraisers and Elegance & Decadence. The successfully realised intention is to demonstrate that there was more to glam than just implacable, sequin-shedding, mindless stomping--though some of us would be perfectly content with three discs’ worth of just that.

The Specials remain adept at appropriating the songs of others to further fuel their message.

Such is the unrelenting flood of language and emotion from this remarkable performance that it’s difficult to take everything in on first viewing and repeated listens become essential to experiencing the fullness of it all. ... We can just be glad that this particular spell of lightning was bottled so beautifully.

To overly analyse the motives or intentions behind any of these revelatory tracks (87 in all) is to risk missing out on their more implicit, primal joys. This is Dylan at one with his domain; explorative, inventive, persuasive and, as is almost always the case, enigmatic.

Unprecedented in 1968 and unparalleled still, Electric Ladyland has bequeathed us no end of spoils. A fine celebration of Hendrix’s most kaleidoscopically-realised endeavour, this 50th anniversary set even restores his originally intended cover photo. Dig.

It’s a fuller, more contemporary-sounding mix that is fascinating on first listen, but unlikely to replace the original mixes in fans’ affections. ... Still, the extras are why we’re really here and that’s where this reissue really delivers. By becoming a fly on the wall at their sessions we have the chance to feel closer to The Beatles; to better figure out how they did it and become privy to their casual chats. Close your eyes, suspend your disbelief and you’re there as they make history.

While this collection spans three decades, the focus is skewed towards the later years.

While few would suggest that there’s material here rivalling Bowie’s 70s peak, there are more than enough elegant, standout moments. You may not exactly fall in love with it, but you’ll certainly strongly admire the work here.