A few of its 15 songs could have been omitted--not least the seemingly half-finished closer Forever And Always--but there’s certainly more to enjoy than not.

Non-Believers offers up a more fragile, exposed side of the songwriter. While the catchy, jangly hooks that have defined Superchunk for so long are present on these 10 tracks, they feel more tentative, gentle--even slightly unsure of themselves.

Peanut Butter’s 10 songs fizz by in no time at all. A livid onslaught of pop suss.

Such a willingness to experiment is often claimed to be the secret of his longevity, and if that throws up the odd clunker now and again, the other results more than make up for them.

Essentially cinematic in scope and deliciously varied, the main man is somewhat reminiscent of Robert Hunter in that he digs up nuggets from a wealth of sources.

The entire programme is executed with credibility and verve.

Why Make Sense? is a record painted in broad strokes. There are optimistic bangers – that lead single has a scintillating build, taking the listener ever upwards, with Alexis Taylor’s falsetto laced over it; even for Hot Chip, it immediately sounds like a floor-filler. But there are also slow jams.

Though it may take several listens before you realise how comprehensively it’s seeped into your pores. It’s a subtly fetching, minor-chorded, soft-pop sepulchre, conveyed with stealth and tranquilly defocused implication, as opposed to sturm und drang.

Despite the crossroads much of The Waterfall suggests, the band and their leader seem wholly, spiritually aligned--thrillingly so, in fact.

Dr Robert does, admittedly, provocatively parade his influences on the celebratory, Electric Warrior-style The Sound Of Your Laughter and the Jean Genie-esque strut of The Guessing Game. Yet If Not Now, When? still exudes enough contemporary pizzazz to convince on its own terms

Taken at a meditative, reflective pace, it’s a dense, magisterial record, but there’s always space for Fay’s humble, declamatory “alternative gospel” ruminations.

MG fits nicely with some of those minimal wave releases, though, and DM fans will of course be in heaven.

Global is as pastiche-y as the album’s cartoon-styled portrait sleeve, but no less enjoyable for that.

Touchstones are many and include Delia Derbyshire (last year they collaborated with the BBC Radiophonic Workshop on an original score to the 70s sci-fi film Le Planete Sauvage) Can, Grace Jones, Moondog, John Carpenter and Grayson Perry’s pop folk art. But, once again, their sound is their own.

Despite his heavy pedigree, the poppier songs are some of the best here, the only blot being an honourable but lacklustre run through 20th Century Boy.

By track 11, Let Love Lead, you feel you’ve jogged along the cliché-rich, emotion-free AOR road for longer than its 43 minutes and 57 seconds.

The band’s signature slow riffs and brutal, unison forces are all present, while it’s between these chord changes that the interplay of feedback, overtones, drones and whistles play, against and with, in and out of the bludgeoning drive of the enormous, portentous menhirs of minor melody.

As expected, these 13 tracks live up to Fairport’s high musicianship, and are greatly helped by their rich variety, the maturity in song choices and the breadth of moods they evoke.

While Vast Aire and Vordul Mega rarely hit the heights of their former lyrical ingenuity, their stream-of-consciousness rapping style remains one of the most potent forces in hip-hop.

No Pier Pressure is another patchy collection that includes some of his best recent work alongside his most risible.

If there’s a sense that some of Kouyate’s charm has been lost through his newfound worldliness, the experiments bear exquisite fruit on Ayé Sira Bla.

The Swedish-Malawian duo of Johan Hugo and Esau Mwamwaya decamped to a rented house on the shores of Lake Malawi for album number three. That apposite choice of location has paid off with a warmer, more pointedly African sound as insects provide environmental chatter and local villagers add laughs, jokes and musical accompaniment.

It crackles with a credible contemporary energy and parades a succession of brutally accessible would-be hits courtesy of Still Hurt, Insecurity and the soaring, Hüsker Dü-ish Tides.

Yet, for all its superficial obliqueness, Wire is an unashamed pop record at heart.

Some of the music is at the most extreme end of Jenkinson’s output, yet remains zanily accessible.

Howard’s voice is at its best when doing that kind of Arethra/Irma Thomas-ish stuff, and where the band uses simple dynamics, rather than density, to showcase the song.

It doesn’t always gel entirely (the false-ending-blighted Look At Your Life quickly grates; Change simply feels forced) but Who Am I’s blissful harmonies are second to none and both the celebratory Relief and chugging, metallic The Times subject the Hackneys’ patented, hard-driving Detroit rock’n’roll sound to a strikingly contemporary overhaul.

There is heart here, despite the often airless production, deliberately claustrophobic, like the city that inspired it. Repeated listens make the gems shine brighter.... Yet other moments weather less well, sounding exactly like what they are: raw material worked up in just five days.