At times it can be a bit round-the-campfire twee, but when they’re doing something as cut-yourself-sharp as ‘Wall Paper’, it’s easy to forgive Concrete Knives for the odd moment of artistic bluntness.

That Christopher Owens' songs are so simultaneously vivid, immersive and indulgent is one thing, that he has crafted the character to execute them so expertly is quite another.

The tenth Magnetic Fields album sees Stephin Merrit returning to both form and familiar territory.

It’s good to have them back.

A witches' broth of soothing vocals, swooshing 90s synths and computer drum beats.

It’s a half-hour packed with ideas and wonky ambition.

Their boldest and most fantastically frisky record to date.

The enjoyably fluffy, pacy tunes here match Best Coast’s debut, but the content makes you want to scream ‘Get a f***ing life and chill out!’ at the speakers.

On NZCA/Lines, he achieves his goal [to make 2012 sexy], slipping from slick pop that transforms the mundane into sheer seductiveness ('Okinawa Channels'), to monastic barbershop harmonies ('AM Travel Approach').

[The album] is a natural progression from the first, as the band’s distinctively jangly, incessantly upbeat guitars are remodelled in increasingly eccentric ways.

'Infinity Overhead' finds [Minus the Bear] pondering The Big Questions, confirming suspicions that amateur existentialism and post-millennial indie rock comprise a winning formula.

¡Uno! is Green Day's least ambitious record in years and a return to what they do best: short, sharp, scatterbrain pop-punk.

Its Yeasayer-aping can seem too familiar at times, but on the whole Young Magic's debut is a beguiling brain-burp of a listen.

Articulate lyrics, brutality, aggression and hot, thick-and-fast sequences that could turn Benjamin Francis Leftwich into a spliff-stealing thug characterise 119.

A riot of dumbness, 'Hot Cakes' is predictably brash and Queen-like.

There's a nagging sense of melancholy throughout that gives these tracks a compelling and slightly haunting quality.

As far as second albums go, this is quite brilliant--enough of a departure to render it excitingly fresh, yet still tinged with all the bleeps, pulses and slides that put the magic in Magic Arm the first time of asking.

When it works – as on the heartbreaking 'Together' and a barrelling 'The Magic Position' – it highlights his gifts as a songwriter, but on the dreary 'Bitten' and a seemingly endless 'Vulture' it makes you long for something simpler to mark his brilliance.

They've honed their ability to be urgent and primitive, to write songs that make boys and girls want to snog each other, and added nuance and depth. Everything feels bold, fast and confident.

An album of chilly, detached beauty.

Unfortunately, the result is usually a bit syrupy and mawkish.

Refreshingly repetitive. We love you too, Bear In Heaven.

Though Shangri La is at least entertaining, it’s without that lasting, killer incision that will guarantee longevity.

Ultimately, Endless Flowers is a poppier, prettier record than Crocodiles have managed before.

The Londoners' ramshackle summer vibes are still happy to coast along on a slacker wave rather than streamlining too directly.

With frantic whip-crack beats, chirruping synths and a booming 'no messing' baritone, the NYC duo's anti-authority anthems rage against the hypocrisy.

Her classically trained sensibilities shine through on her first solo effort, which sparkles with understated beauty.

Packed with shimmering riffs, synths and loops which sees the Californian mastermind diversify his much-tipped take on 'alternative 80s'.