Never does this album sound more genuine than when it's low-key, because it's then that Clipping. foregoes the satire--the very lifeblood that runs through CLPPNG's veins.

Those artists who standout from the rest of the pack do exactly this with the additional knack of killer songwriting, and Honeyblood fortunately have that going for them in an abundance.

They don't shatter boundaries or expectations, but instead provide a grand, bedrock-solid opus stuffed with 10-tonne emotional blows and tranquillity most indie-pop groups shun.

No dead sharks here, then; just the sound of a once-cult band confounding their perceived limitations and joining the top tier of Britain's pop purveyors in the process.

Season Sun is a wonderfully charming mix of interesting sounds and textures, featuring plenty of psychedelic and folk inspired harmonies that will grow and seep into your senses and leave you pining for a spontaneous summer road trip.

Even if she doesn't match the heights of Florence, she can rest easy knowing she's made much better records.

The music is bigger, bolder and more direct, but crucially there is still that lingering murkiness on the edges.

The production on the album is very shiny and polished, but at times far too cut and paste as every chorus seems to be layered with Sia's vocals, providing a backing falsetto.

It's a cliché to say that an album needs a few listens, but it's true of Plastics, as each new play reveals more depths.

There are times when the album feels like it starts to tread the same ground, but there is also sign that Jungle have it in them to do things that are different.

At its heart it is an album at odds with itself as much as it is with its audience, too weird to gain mainstream popularity, but too pop to be truly revered by existing fans.

It goes without saying that this is a must have collection that will educate, entertain, and most importantly, remind us of Cabaret Voltaire's lasting influence and cement it in an approachable collection for further generations to delve into.

One or two additional flashes of brilliance fail to act as saving graces, however, leaving Await Barbarians a disappointing effort from one of modern pop's mavericks.

This sense of uncertainty is powerful, and what makes Phox one of the most honest and refreshing albums in recent years.

The title couldn't be more appropriate--it's an album about the healing power of music, a testament from someone who made it through, a shout to keep going.

The production isn't the only platinum facet of LIZZOBANGERS. Her technical ability is unparalleled. She doesn't just summon narratives or tell stories, she uses pace and rhythm and dialect to shape a song.

The record with a chirping synthesiser in the background that sounds like the dawn's birdsong. Tomas Barfod may not have produced a perfect album, but then when has love ever been about perfection?

Neon Icon is either the greatest social commentary on 21st century music, a moderately funny joke or a terrible hip-hop album. It is this conundrum which makes it such an endearing listen and one of this year's must hear albums.

Wysing Forest has a time and a place but unfortunately falls short of the mark that was set by Abbott's previous memorable output and the work of his peers.

Ostro is a very good album, and it's one that sticks with you the more you let it.

A touch more volume on the instruments and a bit of extra distance between one man's mouth and his microphone, this might have been a blissful exercise in studied yet clamorous rock music.

It's certainly far more accessible, and much more ingrained in traditional dance and electronic styles, but it still has that unfamiliarity that remains The Knife's trademark.

Despite Jack White's claims that each song is separate due to the archive nature of his source material Lazaretto is a cohesive entity made distinct by the range of styles and structural arrangements on individual tracks.

Familiars is bleak and dreary, potentially at the cost of dragging in certain spots. However, those willing to spend enough time wrapped in its moody embrace will be rewarded with a quite beautiful experience.

On the whole, it feels like this is an album we've heard before. In all fairness, they rise well above mediocrity in certain areas.

Their third album, Until Silence, is a pleasant listen, but falls at a couple of key moments.

The beautifully crafted lyrics of Things Are Really Great Here, Sort of are slowly offset by the melancholy implied in the title, at times through the stirring yet mournful violin-caressing and whistling Bird.

With Seek Warmer Climes' slight redirection, Toubro and Lower offer mantras to live by, beguilingly presented and difficult to ignore, but with a serious sting in the tail.

Noise is another impressive addition to Boris' expansive catalog of experimental rock.

So Deep Fantasy works as ten lithe, wiry punk ragers, ten howls into our personal nothingness. It works very well as that. But it's more.

In her grand tradition of coining absurd descriptive phrases, Del Rey and Auerbach have christened all this "narco swing", an apt characterisation if only one assumes it's short for narcoleptic; it takes some doing to make sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll sound boring, but in her hands, the vices of hedonism scan as crushingly monotonous.

Donker Mag is unashamedly synthetic in its make-up--a carefully constructed affectation of hooks, melodies and outlandish braggadocio.

There aren't too many moments on the band's fourth studio LP that are going to reach out and steal you away.

Thankfully, rather than this coming across as some comprehensive grave robbery, Greys have added enough of their own ingredients to concoct quite the powerful brew.

It's this widening of scope, combined with such a strong sense of identity, which makes Reality Testing tick over beautifully.

Heartstrings may be a rather trippy journey, but be assured, you are at all times with a capably lucid and extremely thoughtful driver.

The poor lyrics and minimal change in style makes almost all of Luck's tracks sound like slightly more polished B-Sides to his debut of 11 years previous.

This is still a lovely, lovely record, on the surface at least; I'm not sure it'll stand up quite as well to heavy rotation as its predecessor.

WIFE marries the intensity and raw energy of Kelly's background in metal with the subtler inflections of electronica and aquatic pop fluidity; in doing so, he forges an intense album, well worth getting sucked into.

International is extremely effective as a pop album, with stand-outs ('Armida' is very, very good) and a consistency of tone matched by pretty flawless execution.

It's cerebral, visceral storytelling. How you feel about that is your prerogative.

It's an album that you need to experience for yourself, to have it ease into your world and make a home, to feel its freedom, to visit and revisit again and again.

While there are hours of discussions to be had about whether "electronic/classical" hybrids can consistently sound good in a pop context, New Eyes provides ample evidence for erring on the electronic side of that split.

There is a little too much grace and not enough diss.

A considered but playful overdue debut, Towards will no doubt sustain and serve them well as head onwards and upwards.

We know what these artists can do separately. We've even had a glimpse of what they can do together, and when held up to that (and I'm not going to pretend it doesn't hurt me to say this) Do It Again just doesn't stand up.

Easy Pain is absolutely colossal.

Parquet Courts succeed at remaining magnificent, without really exerting themselves.

They say love is blind; on the basis of this intelligently balanced LP, though, it certainly isn't deaf.

While it is never an easy listen, it often feels necessary to wipe Lee Spielman's spittle from your cheek, such is No Peace's front row ferocity.

The Moon Rang Like A Bell starts off with captivating momentum, a potential to take you on a whimsical, emotional journey. But along the way it seems to have sacrificed that sense of purity first apparent in its experimentation.

The Long Goodbye successfully captures the atmosphere, the tears, the laughter, the unbridled joy of that last ever gig, that final blowout, like a time capsule to be preserved forever more and to keep the spirit of LCD Soundsystem alive.

Are We There is one of those rare albums when you stop listening to the music as simply a combination of chords, melodies and carefully constructed instrumentation, but as essential, emotional communication from one person to another.

Upside Down Mountain suggests that he's starting to move into a new period of his career where he can use his wisdom to write songs that are passionate in a new, more mature way, without having to try to dredge up an old fire that doesn't quite burn as violently anymore.

The fact that Tempest offers very little in the way of hope (the rest of the album's tale has been one of disaster so to believe any happy ending will last is naive at best) is representative of her bold story-telling, but it also means that through heavy beats and dispiriting lyrics, this is a tough album to get through in one piece.

The best place to file Zoetrope would probably be on the shelf marked 'albums worth a punt if you have a few bob spare'.

The variety of sounds and instrumentation on the record is something to be admired.

Yes, it's clear that this is a more matured, polished Mr. Scruff that often bristles with darkness, but it's a more mature Mr. Scruff at that sacrifices the puckish rogue charm we all fell in love with.

Ben Frost has pulled off something quite remarkable with A U R O R A in making a record that's pretty terrifying in places yet so utterly irresistible.

Much like this path's brightest gems, Revelation is unique, yet strangely familiar.

The album closes with appropriately titled 'Come Down', a sparse and intimate song with earnest vocals and harmonies that ease the reader out of an intoxicating album-induced daze.

Too often, though, this feels like folk music on cruise control despite the attempts to introduce subtle electronic elements to the background of many of the songs, like a Fence Collective recording gone a bit wrong.

The message behind the music is much more clichéd, and much less interesting.

Data Panik etcetera delivers up-tempo, four minute slices of pop-perfection and in a variety of styles.

Like the rest of her discography, Hour of the Dawn a short and sweet collection of music for and from the heart, only this time around it's played right from the guts.

Incredibly, they're becoming even less safe, even less predictable, as they near pension age; on this evidence, long live Michael Gira.

POBPAH's third LP lunges confidently into all the right places, emitting sunshine, glee, rainbows, sugar and sparkles as it goes like a sweaty unicorn running a marathon.

Whilst it makes for an interesting record, it does mean that it always ran the risk of dividing opinion. The album is however, not without its highlights and for fans of shoe gaze, post-punk, or noise rock in general, it's well worth seeking this record out and letting it consume you.

There was a sense of duty in pressing play on Luminous rather than an organic excitement or desire.

It feels raw, genuine, but most of all, human.

It's a thrilling ride.

On Bermuda Waterfall, Savage has taken a real step forward, proving beyond reasonable doubt that he's a fine songwriter; he just needs a little more instrumental refinement, and perhaps a slightly more nuanced understanding of his strongest vocal suit, before he's truly mixing it with the big boys of throwback pop.

Intimate, raw and captivating; there is lasting wisdom found in In The Hollows.

Young Magic's second full-length is arguably a more accomplished body of work than Melt, which although also very strong, doesn't have the same congealed feel.

Southsiders is extremely competent, and has enough really great beats to more than make up for the general air of insouciance. It's good. It just ain't essential.

This is a good record but unfortunately there's something missing.

It's encouraging that there are some clear signs of expansion on Brightly Painted One, but the question now is whether Tiny Ruins really have anywhere else to go.

Garbus' sound is still a little too vague, still in need of some real streamlining; the promise remains blindingly obvious, but the execution, for my money at least, is still missing.

Someday World shows us our trappings and our mortality, but rather than get overly sentimental, or even revert to doom-mongering, it creates something fun.

It's another tour de force for Wales' musical explorer-in-chief, packed with the fine tunecraft, psychedelic references and experimental instrumentation we've come to expect from him.

The Faint have come back in from the cold with the release of Doom Abuse, and frankly it's like they never went away.

Midnight Sun is a very interesting record, and shows the duo expanding their horizons without forgetting about the importance of their melodic roots.

This is 100% bittersweet, but it's honest, it's genuine and we see Li's true colours, hopefully shining back on us.

This is not a record for the faint-hearted. Hell, it should come with a health warning, but if you give it a chance you'll be rewarded with the most innovative electronic albums in a long time.

Even given the mixed results it's good to have them back. Listen without expecting the impossible and you'll find ample to enjoy.

It is the lack of cohesion between music and voice that remains the most prominent feature of the album and its biggest stumbling point; leaving May a disappointing effort from an artist that we know can do better.

There is no denying that Loom is a beautifully fragile album.

This album is more of a reset than a reinvention, ditching the guitar was meant to make or break them, but it's kind of done neither.

Food feels like a full-fledged look at the life, pleasures and pains of Kelis, something none of her old records ever really delivered.

Z is promising but it seems that SZA's identity isn't truly clear as there are too many different styles competing to be heard.

The album suffers from a bit of an identity crisis, it is an honest album as the name suggests but it seems Future has difficulties in being an artist who feels the need to balance his street upbringing with his skill at writing, what are essentially, hip-hop love songs.

The Way And Color is an admirable, solid effort, surely paving the way for better material on the not so distant, sunset dripping, horizon.

Twerk-inducing and loud; 'Goddess' is the game-changer for Iggy Azalea and the glistening cherry on top of the immaculately produced, lyrically creative gem that is The New Classic.

This has infinitely more charm than Kane, albeit with a very familiar love of a predictable lyrical couplet.

They've managed to do themselves justice, and that should be enough not only to please their existing fans, but to win a few new ones too.

It works well enough as a snapshot of where Everett finds himself as he approaches middle age, but the overwrought agonisation on the past and infuriatingly samey instrumental choices make it a difficult record to love.

There is no tweed/banjo suffocation here, and the hands-aloft brand of folk that Horse Thief have stumbled upon only strengthens the power of what are finely-honed pieces of intelligent songwriting.

Much like funsize Snickers bars, there's a gooey joy to be found in the brevity, but especially for us this side of the Atlantic, there are bands who have improved on the formula of twee-punk/whatever you want to call it.