It’s a slow-burning beauty and is certainly amongst Cunningham’s best work to date. His next moves will be closely measured against Lines, as this is a soaring debut made to last that will resonate with people for years to come.

More than a curio but not quite essential, Myths 002 will not drastically change perceptions of either artist involved, but is another commendable display of their lack of fear when it comes to exploring new ways of work.

Across Stellular’s twelve tracks we're presented with a strident procession of indie pop that demands attention.

SweetSexySavage is a powerfully optimistic record, and while it glances back to a pop/R&B heyday, Parrish has crafted something entirely of her own, refined by a canny approach to lyricism and unbridled intimacy.

The album digs for transcendence by jackhammering away at the ills and addictions that afflict individuals and hold us back collectively. Uniform’s journey to zen through anger leads to draining music for the morning after.

With its focus on covering most of the canon and the scintillating pace that it moves at, though, Live in Paris won’t just satiate the fans--it could well provide a new access point to one of the great American rock bands for those yet to be converted.

It’s a record of reflection, of trying to piece together just what exactly killed the relationship.

Easily strong enough to act as an ideal entry point to Chapman's extensive discography, and quite likely the veteran's definitive statement, 50 deserves to reap all possible plaudits.

Even though there it no overarching message here beyond the powerful insistence on only living free, Segall has delivered a record with purpose that, above all else, recognises that freedom and love reign supreme.

The Pace Of The Passing is an expansive and ambitious record that should delight fans of Bombay Bicycle Club but also pull in listeners not be so acquainted with his previous work.

It’s not an exaggeration to claim that it is one the most honest, soulful and inspiring debut British rap albums since Roots Manuva’s Brand New Second Hand from 1999.

Apocalipstick is fast, furious and, most importantly, fun, making it the first truly badass album of 2017.

In short, Trials more or less achieves the goals the band set with Fear.

Even more consistently inspired than Eitzel's previous two, excellent solo albums (2009's Klamath and Don't Be A Stranger from 2012), Hey Mr Ferryman demands that Eitzel is at last granted at least as much attention and acclaim as his fellow songwriting Mark, former Red House Painters-leader Kozelek.

When Migration is at its best all is forgotten: Bonobo's ability to immerse the listener in a gorgeous electronic escapism is better than ever.

Menace Beach seem to be taking the opportunity of a rather ominous looking 2017 to create a pretty attractive alternative musical universe for them and their fans to inhabit.

Near To The Wild Heart Of Life is proof that, while Japandroids are still capable of the cathartic sermons that can lead to hoarse voices and declarations of love, they can break from the formula and deliver something fresh and exciting. It’s still life-affirming, but in a new way.

William Basinski has created yet another outstanding work of art with A Shadow in Time, an audio sculpture of serenity and bliss to begin 2017 and put what was a saddening year for music to bed.

When it's all done, you can hear that this is a good band, doing some good things but I wonder if with more focus or investment it might bear greater results.

Life Without Sound is a triumph of Baldi’s vision--for something bigger than just hard and heavy punk, and for rock and roll with pop intelligence. He’s pulled off both here.

While Hang doesn’t explore much new ground, that’s never really been on Foxygen's agenda. It's a great return all the same.

As a soundtrack to a new era where we’re all through the looking glass, old certainties bonfired and every phone alert quickening the pulse, Rennen hits the right tone--its rhythms shivering and uneasy, its melodies veering from melancholy to euphoria in a single stride.

The result is another record that provides ample room for the elaborate unfurling of Stelmanis’ talents as a vocalist, her altitudinous range the billowing banner of a call to arms.

In five tracks and just over 20 minutes, Not The Actual Events manages to build on Nine Inch Nails' past while stepping resolutely into their future. And after 28 years, we’re still excited to see what comes next.

This proves that it's Mike's rare ability to make powerful and relevant political music that sets him apart from the crowd.

Divisive as they might be, Cudi’s experimental urges are what make him interesting; on Passion, Pain & Demon Slayin’, he’s largely drowned them in a sea of unenlightened navel-gazing.

How refreshing it is to hear the sound of disaffection and fury channelled into music as cathartic and primal as this, rather than into either the kind of disorientated rhetoric that dogs our politics or the cowardly, disengaged pap which hogs the pop charts.

Cole’s most affecting statement to date.

In all, it's a glossy debut that certainly gives you something to shout about.

Their extroversion is by no means a dead-end and does show ample potential, but analogous to stepping out into the light after a period of darkness, one must become accustomed to the surrounding brilliance. At the moment, The xx’s vision is mildly blurred with sunspots.

At times acutely annoyingly, far-out wackiness permeate much of the proceedings, rendering the album's less rewarding half as disposable as the band's frustratingly inconsequential recent self-indulgences ala messy guest star workout The Flaming Lips and Heady Fwends (2012).

With Not Even Happiness she’s spreading her wings musically. There’s more polish to the production, yet the joy that is her storytelling, heartfelt singing and inventive guitar playing are the songs heartbeat.

Like the other aforementioned boxsets from Cherry Red, they eschew the ‘hits’ to get down to the obnoxious and primal heart of the genre, this is geeky crate digging in CD form, designed to entertain and educate.

Reflection is a product for everyone; not just the music lover. Yes, the music alone can be easily appreciated for its virtuosity; however, the whole package assists people with their day-to-day lives and provokes mindfulness and interaction with the wider world.

All too often, though, Peace Trail sounds like another case of Young chucking half-formed ideas at the wall to see if anything might stick before moving on to yet another project. That said, there are genuinely powerful moments here that promise of better things to come.

Whilst it is a pleasure to hear Tycho again with new ears, it's difficult to argue that what is being heard is anything new.

It’s perfectly passable, but everything that marked The Head and the Heart out as potentially exceptional has been buried.

Happily, the good outweighs the bad by quite a margin on Christmas Party.

The result is an earthy, positive album that buzzes with authenticity and pride.

In the nebulous field of psychedelia, there’s plentiful room for a band as immediate and audibly exhilarated as Virginia Wing.

Someday, Buddy doesn’t shy away from its own big moments, but it does have a way of deflecting attention from them.

The fact that the duo have chosen to deploy a stripped back approach to the album, and the fragile beauty this evokes, leaves little doubt that the pair are more than capable of weaving some seriously ethereal magic, even when they're miles apart.

Despite the fact that the future caught up with them, this collection shows that there remains nowt so queer as The Human League.

Jah Wobble’s reggae influenced sub-bass lines were the perfect foil to the ice cold (let’s not say angular) riffs of Keith Levene, which gave rhythm to Lydon’s musings of death and boredom perfectly, making Metal Box a true a milestone in British rock music.

Remain Calm’s 13 tracks pass in a brief 28 minutes, the shortest of these contorted vignettes lasting just the same number of seconds. Each is it its own entity, a different shade of light and colour, a different lifeworld entirely.

Vol. 2 probably won't win PC Music many new fans or converts, but it'll satiate die hards and offer those who listen closely just enough deviation from a successful formula.

Far from a fans-only stopgap, Häxan sustains the creative peaks the band scaled on Allas sak.

Problem is, this is essentially the same stuff they released in 2008, and since there are 77 minutes of it, it's entirely too much of the same stuff.

Unlike with previous records, there is no overarching theme to We Got It From Here, and it can often leave the album feeling a little chaotic. But in the end, A Tribe Called Quest were all about beats, rhymes and life, and this album has that in spades.

For the majority of Woman, Justice are acting out their pop dreams through machinery. Where in the past they’ve allowed to let the equipment do the talking, here, they show that they too are human after all.

Super Furry world is a weird place, and the gift of hindsight simply tells us that the Welsh quintet were simply inviting us in the easy way. It also doesn't take much scratching at the surface of Fuzzy Logic to realise how insidiously bizarre it is. ... As with any reissue, the accompanying bonus disc of demos are a mixed bag; mainly straightforward runs of album tracks are interspersed with some genuinely interesting alternative takes of familiar material.

His reluctance to be confined to one particular sound (which makes him even more psychedelic), his nonchalant attitude towards genre, his increasing influence in leftfield rock and his skill in piecing together rhythm, chaos and calm makes him one of the most captivating artists indie rock has right now.

Ruins shows an added steel and stronger resolve, the sound of a band toughening up, but still retaining that initial spirit that made them so distinctive.

There will be plenty of important political rap coming in the near future, but it is unlikely that much of it will match the cohesion and clarity of Common’s vision

Samson’s nasal, quietly reflective voice, exposed and unadorned, paints a deeply sympathetic picture of one Winnipegian’s contemplative mid-life, and its supporting cast. The world depicted may be his and his alone, but plenty of it will appear familiar to the rest of us.

Do Easy invites you into its own rarefied world, a world where things are exotic, tranquil and seductively unique and makes you want to stay there.

Young Narrator in the Breakers isn’t shackled with deference or reverence. It balances musical intelligence with elegance, orchestrated chamber music with disco and in doing so shows a band in possession of not only a brilliant record collection, but the imagination to transcend it.

Palace show they have matured-yet-remained faithful, and expanded-yet-honed. So Long Forever is an album from a band who know what they want, and how they want to get there.

Restless Spheres never settles on one kind of terrain for long, but it exudes the assurance of an artist who has explored a range of styles over time and found his consistency among all of them.

Her most polished record to date, in every sense of the word.

Monument Builders doesn’t offer a happy ending, but nor is it devoid of hope. Perhaps Loscil’s most confrontational record, it processes the darkness in order to expunge it.

Dupuis’s credo on Slugger is so simply, yet still colorfully as expected, stated and essential that flash-drive copies of Slugger should accompany all high school freshman Health class textbooks.

Jessica Rabbit is the work of a band in stasis, but also one who sound desperate to pull themselves out of it.

Their progression has never been less than thrilling to watch, and--this is a compliment--Older Terrors feel like another step, not a destination. We have much to expect from this group yet.

These songs have the funereal grace of David Bowie’s elegant final goodbyes (The Next Day and Blackstar), as well as Bob Dylan’s trio of reflective, mournful albums that helped usher in--and bring some clarity to--the fractious start of the 21st Century (Time Out of Mind, Love and Theft, and Modern Times).

At times the songs could do with a bit of pruning, the elongated blues of the closing “Liquid Lady” overstays its welcome somewhat, but Until the Hunter is an immersive and rewarding record that will keep admirers of their other bands happy and shows that side projects can be more than rock star folly.

Where ideas are intelligently pursued and the power is more restrained, the result is a delicate beauty, as in the enigmatic delight that is "Stellar", an almost static piece that turns gracefully on a beautiful keyboard sequence, concluding fittingly. It’s the highlight of the album and works much more effectively than the long title track that promises much in the first third but then lacks clear direction.

Sellers has the distinct tics of a (significantly but not entirely) self-taught musician but also flexible stylistic impulses that keep Primitives at arm’s length from rigid genre tags.

Songs like “Give Up”, “So Long”, “Terrible Youth”--all of them, really, there are only nine--are fuzzed out and unfussy, but not just simple pleasures. They kick in the door but then make themselves welcome for a long stay.

This is an assured step forward in every sense--Honeyblood are back from the brink and there’s a new sting in their tail.

For many of their ardent followers, it’ll be no surprise that this nine song offering fits comfortably within the band's back catalogue, rich as Third World Pyramid is with all the hallmarks of a BJM release.

When it works (and that's most of the time), FLOTUS proves the wisdom of risk-taking over crowd-pleasing complacency.

It’s a disco ball in a downtrodden pub that occasionally shines a light on the ashtray angst of early Iceage, while remaining focused on the wider picture.

It’s certainly the sound of the band taking a step forward and trying to find its feet, sliding a little on the frozen ground but still heading towards the sun.

It’s pop music of the highest calibre, music for the head, heart, feet and everywhere in between.

With the tactful musicianship of Holland Baroque thrown in for good measure, Confessions is a record of bottomless charm.

Strands isn't so much about anything alien as it is about the sublime frontierism we project out into it, built as it is upon an awareness of our many Earthly sins. It's what we'll play when we try to escape out into the void, only to fall inexorably back to our sordid reality to dream once more.

The credentials are there, the ability is clearly there, but for now these emperors are yet to truly shine.

There's nothing particularly wrong with Clear Shot. It's a perfectly acceptable album, only it sounds like they're holding back a little.

Sometimes you can lose yourself, in the twists and turns, but ultimately, this is unashamedly fun music from two of the most interesting musicians around, and being brought along for the ride is a worthwhile experience.

Welchez and Roswell have proven their creative resilience with Dreamless, an album that illuminates the painful moments that plague all of us, while also providing hope that creativity can keep the shadows at bay even in the darkest night.

Masculin Féminin offers a fascinating trip down memory lane for a band which has quietly--or rather more loudly, in the case of these songs from 1994 and 1995--made their mark on modern music.

There are many highlights, to the point where it's evident this is just an exceptionally consistent record.

There are a few outright duds on the record.... Hopefully the next NxWorries LP sees .Paak challenging himself a bit more, because the duo have the talent to put out a truly transcendent record.

It's not a perfect record and finds Gaga pulling in so many different directions, but these are songs tied together by a common feeling. There is so much warmth here, so much that's human, and a lot to love.

A step toward the intimate clarity of Front Row Seat to Earth, it still didn’t foretell the use of more ambitious instrumentation on “Diary”, “Used to Be” and “Do You Need My Love”, embellished with brass, wire and ivory. Mering counterweights the classic touches with ambient drone here and electronic manipulation there.

Running Out Of Love isn’t the sound of hectoring; it’s The Radio Dept. getting on with the business of making important records, being one of the most challenging, uncompromising and rewarding bands we have and proving that political music is as vital as ever.

The album is fresh with synth, bells and whistles that could be part of an actual gameshow. There are some cracking verses and screeching guitar sections that will sound great live.

It shows a remarkable advancement in the band’s no-holds barred approach to making loud music. It may sound much more slick. And the mix is a lot less noisy and raw. But don’t be fooled – the tunes are just as brutal and punishing as ever, while that superior production allows the tunes to breathe in a novel way.

The distant rumble of the crashing sea and the odd squelch of moog provide a thrilling climax to a superb album.

The result is a record much darker in tone than previous outings, yet still harbours the sardonic wit that endeared us to them all those years ago

We get the usual fan service on discs two and three of this new version. The second CD is a largely charmless collection of odds and ends.

While it does skew a bit more electronic, Every Now & Then maintains the psychedelic spontaneity of the group’s first record and adds in even more refined percussion.

Although wrestling with Sport, at first, may prove to be a challenging affair, it rapidly becomes a wholly rewarding and thorough sonic work-out.

It’s fun, it’s weird, and like nothing you’ve ever really heard before.

This album doesn't feel so much like the work of a band trying to make a cereer-high album as much as a band using a great record to remind us why they've made so many in the first place. Most bands would love to end on a high note; DEP actually did it.

All Wet is an album with its fair share of sturdy pop, but hidden deep alongside are a selection of instrumental, French-spirited house and slouch-shouldered techno that act as pillars to help support and connect them together.