Nothing continues his life’s work to twist and distort. To invert boundaries and genres and do more. Yes at times it seems like there’s a little something missing. Yes at times it could use something more. But there is and it could. It’s called Nothing. Sometimes that’s the point.

While retaining links with Toledo's DIY past, much of the tracks bleed in to one another, making stand-out moments such as "The Drum" and "Times To Die" fall flatter than they deserve. Fortunately however, the entire second half of the record makes up for any early indiscretions.

Mythologies is the sound of a band who've realised their previous limitations, improved on the sounds they're most comfortable with and invited us to listen to them discovering their ability to splatter the canvas with all kinds of beautiful mess.

There are undeniable moments of beauty (the radar-bleeping beginning of “A Light Above Descending” is lent a lovely, watercolour quality by its gentle horn accompaniment), and the live cuts tend to fare better than the studio recordings, imbued as they are with a tangibly excitability. It’s irrefutable though--much of Sea of Brass (by which I mean both the studio album itself and its associated extras) does feel bloated.

Courting the Squall is a collection of songs from a musician unencumbered by expectation or industry pressure, just Guy Garvey recording a bunch of tunes with his friends and seeing where his muse leads them. That free spirit gives his poignant solo material a fresh buoyancy that still sounds intimate, due to his estimable songwriting gifts and the band’s ability to not overthink these compositions and just let the musical magic happen naturally.

Pray For Rain sees Pure Bathing Culture taking a step towards an elevated form of the type of leftfield pop the band produced during their first outing, and in doing so, they’ve created an album wrought with subtle nuances and big ideas.

Musically speaking, there are a few hopefully upbeat indie-folk numbers to provide a certain spark to the otherwise bleak lyrical subject matter.

The idea that you can have too much of a good thing is thoroughly debunked with Thank Your Lucky Stars, such is the beauty of the songwriting and their uncanny ability to create an all-consuming mood.

It’s complex, witty, and--crucially--taps into a side of each man’s creativity in a manner hitherto unseen.

Temple’s chameleonic tendencies make it unlikely that he’ll release an album in this vein again. With that in mind, it’s best to enjoy Be Small for what it is: charming, skilful, and pleasing to the ear.

It's an album of disco sadness, dry ice cut by lasers enabling glimpses of people dancing in with tears in their eyes. The reality doesn't actually sound like much fun, but within the context of Now I'm Ready, it manifests itself into arguably the best pop record of 2015.

It's no surprise that the best tracks on the album are taken from her two excellent EPs that came before, full of that experimental, genre busting pop she wanted to achieve. The rest of the album, though, fails to truly inspire and stir up those same emotions in the listener that Sey so clearly has in her voice.

All We Need ultimately serves as another reminder that--with some seasoning--there is a great Raury record coming down the pipeline. This just isn’t it.

II is another step forward for a band who were once a side project, but now stand firmly alone and away from the shade cast by others.

With For The Company, Little May have added another worthy entrant to 2015's albums of modern blues and, unlike the relationships that inhabit its songs, it gets better with each visit.

As If, with its foot shuffling inducing melodies and rhythms, is an album that will delight both hardcore and casual fans, and will undoubtedly put a wide Cheshire cat style smile on anyone that comes into contact with it.

Cold Moon is an winter morning. Not a dark, brittle winter morning, but a happily futile winter Sunday morning, where the a few snatched hours of watercolor sunlight feel all the more precious for their scarcity.

Dilly Dally have crafted a well formed rock album that’ll surely go to make Katie Monks the next pin up girl of the anti-pin up girls.

“The Airport” and “Leaving the House” add piano to the partnership of Graham’s voice and MacFarlane’s guitar playing (he switches from a clean and quiet electric on tracks one to five, to an acoustic on six to eight), and the color it brings to both makes one wonder what it might have sounded like had it been included on the other songs as well. On the other hand, it’s a small revelation to discover how whole and affecting songs like “I Could Give You All That You Don’t Want” and “Drown So I Can Watch” can be with a few circulating quietly strummed chords and Graham’s austere and ecstatic declamations.

Whilst Central Belters has plenty of great music on it, it’s a confused marathon of a listen. There are too many obscurities for the casual fans, too many hits for the dedicated.

With a formidable knack for telling an engaging story in the space of a song, Divers is further proof that, as a lyricist, Newsom is second to none.

As with every Neon Indian album, VEGA INTL Night School can feel chaotic, effusive, even overwhelming at times. But, much like the proverbial “bright lights” of the city which provide the inspiration for this LP, it's dazzling, too.

Removed from the expansive instrument-led sounds of previous records Ganglion Reef and Golem, 1000 Days immerses inwards. Strident stadium rock collides with characteristic psychedelia with a natural euphoria.

Not everything that he turns his hand to here comes off, but when it does, the results are characteristically spectacular, and do more than enough to preserve St Germain’s reputation as an electronic musician of rare complexity--one who’s made a trademark of pulling off convoluted ideas with crispness and flair.

It shows that Deerhunter are every bit capable of making a fully inclusive, autobiographical, all-american, classic rock album and that would be a journey worth watching--from outcast weirdos to national treasures.

Majical Cloudz have created a series of crystalline pop songs, which are emotionally direct and powerful; and will surely create a whole new set of subjective responses.

At worst, Sexwitch marks a fascinating detour in an already accomplished career. At best, it’s a creatively adventurous standalone release. In actuality, it likely falls somewhere in the middle.

Each fleeting harmonious moment on the album relies on the one that came before it, and the one that comes after.

When it comes to Israel Nash's Silver Season, it's impossible to get tired of it. Try it--it won't let you down, either.

Ultimately, while Grey Tickles, Black Pressure should be a career-definiting opus, it just seems unfocussed and uncertain; Grant's barbs aren't as sharp, which means too few of the songs stick like they should.

Savage Hills Ballroom is confounding: an album about new life and new directions loaded with references to death and dead ends; an album about disillusionment in the glossiest package Powers has ever produced.

Protomartyr save their best for the final half of the album beginning with the buzz saw, fuzz chug of “The Hermit”, moving into the splashy moroseness of “Clandestine Time” and recent single “Why Does It Shake?”. But it is on “Ellen” when The Agent Intellect truly peaks.

Fish is his fortieth release where the folksy fingerpicking comes lightly southern fried and, lyricless, It’s virtuoso playing which tells Michael’s story

Surrender, accordingly, is the sound of a band in the throes of an identity crisis.

Whether it haunts you, puts you in a dreamlike state, or simply makes you hum along, Beach Music is an album which should be listened to without hesitation.

In Dreams skirts a line of uncertainty between if the album is too over-populated or if the listener is too feint of heart.

The record is a veritable patchwork of perspectives. It elevates the voices of women who, on paper, might seem broken, were it not for Remy’s ability to trade desperation for cynical dynamism.

All Things Under Heaven isn't perfect: after a startlingly strong first half, the quality of the material drops. As it does, it becomes increasingly difficult not to notice just how semi-endlessly long and repetitive some of these tracks are.

That isn't to say the record is particularly socio-political, it's just that nestled between the grooves are wry examinations of the aforementioned, often only revealing themselves after several listens.

The arrangements and execution have finely coalesced, but the anything-goes spirit that sparked Blitzen Trapper’s late ‘00s renaissance seems to have moved on. The wild mountain nation has been tamed.

For the second time this year, Hey Colossus have succeeded in outsmarting just about everyone.

‘Their most mature work’ it may be, but listening to a shuffle of all their output to date outlines a noticeably poorer quarter.

Five albums into her career, Peaches is as dirty as she ever was, and shows no sign of calming down.

Hughes sells it (and everything else on Zipper Down) in spite of relevance or degree of truth because he knows what any fan of Eagles Of Death Metal knows: they're here to entertain you and that's pretty much it.

Despite all of the duo’s lofty intentions, slick artwork and studio trickery, the soggy samples and limp singing guarantee you won’t go back for seconds.

Long-time fans--particularly of King of the Beach--will find plenty to like here, but it’s difficult not to feel that Williams, by now, has scraped the bottom of the pop barrel; his future, as No Life for Me suggested, looks brighter when his stylistic eye wanders elsewhere.

Over time, it's proved itself to be dark, intelligent and one of the most imaginative albums of the year so far, but whether it’s as enduring as its predecessor, only time will tell.

The five-piece side-stepped the easy option of giving the listener Sunbather II, refused to pander to the metal community by compromising their experimental tendencies and instead made a record that's not necessarily better than Sunbather but one that could end up being more important or influential.

Lighthearted and wild in places, intimate and revealing in others, Ugly Cherries is whatever you want it to be.

It’s not a reinvention, but Mercury Rev did their experimentation on their earlier records. Here they just get on with the job of sounding like nobody else, which suits them very nicely indeed.

Constantly changing, Mothers is whatever you want to make of it. Presenting a sound that never settles, and will never tire, Swim Deep have at last demonstrated the strength they've always been capable of.

Every Open Eye is full of epic singles that reverberate dizzingly around the head.

With their debut they have, for the most part, broken metaphysical barriers between techno, noise and punk, and presented a record beaming with youthful exuberance, and containing a frightening level of intensity. The presented fruits of their labour, inspired by Kiely’s breakdown, are resounding.

Dungen are back, the same as ever but a little bit more so this time around.

This is the first New Order album for a long time that sounds like it could only have been made by them.

Wilderness is scholarly but not overly-calculated, ornate but not lavish. In a career that has been nothing short of innovative, this arguably marks a creative peak.

Self-mastering some of the tracks was a practical as well as a creative choice for the Brooklyn front man.... By doing this his output is becoming increasingly self-reflexive of his sound, his motivation and his vision--it unifies his music, making it stronger and Deezier.

With this record, Frahm reminds us that music--whatever it's genre, origin, form or status--holds a power like no other medium to represent our shared, human emotional experiences.

Honeymoon reaffirms her ability to make important, masterful pop music that doesn’t pay a blind bit of notice to fashion and it's all the better for it.

Ultimately, one of No No No’s greatest strengths is its lack of clarity.

Me is both a fabulous anthology of boisterous pop songs, and a timely, revelatory album for a lot of people to live vicariously through.

It might not be a styling anyone was demanding for, but once it's in your focus, you won't find a band that do it better.

There are no tricks on show here, the sound is refreshingly clean, the ethos is admirably simple, embracing the DIY punk spirit and spitting out a beautiful record that will also fill that Sonic Youth-shaped hole in your life.

La Di Da Di however limits the potential for “free-thinking” with a series of stagnant, self-conscious ideas and motifs. Unfortunately, Battles have not mastered the art of repetition on La Di Da Di.

An outstanding (dare I say ‘perfect’) debut.

Till It’s All Forgotten is a fine debut, showcasing an artist of remarkable invention and instrumental talent.

When he’s crooning swoon-heavy gut-punches, he’s unstoppable. When he guns for swaggering electro-pop or soul-infused dance bangers, there’s almost nothing than can get in the way--this is the best pop music in the U.K. right now.

Musically incredible and conceptually spot on.

Its slight downfall is a lack of lyrical dexterity, recycling phrases as a crutch, perhaps. The overriding feeling, however, is that this record indicates no end to the creativity of a commercially undervalued act whose longevity was never prophesised.

Musically, Good Sad Happy Bad is both challenging and engrossing.

A muddled record that thrills and distresses, equally, in short bursts.

His truly great albums tend to freshen things up by rearranging and adding to the toolkit whereas, by trekking back to earlier, unadorned works, this one maybe feels a bit too familiar. That said, it's still easily impressive enough for visitors to Sheffield to want to check out Hollow Meadows, too.

Brace the Wave, then, picks up some of that slack, and is a much more tonally consistent record.

Ultimately, those adamant that the mid-Noughties garage-rock revival was the most important thing that's ever happened to music might find something to enjoy from The Making Of, but for the rest of us The Bohicas have produced remarkably unremarkable first effort.

Anthems never quite lets itself be business as usual; the sound is cleaner, but not polished to a sheen. The anger is still there, but it’s tempered a bit--only a couple of tracks (including the aptly named "Fury of Chonburi") really pick up the pace to a recognisably Libertine degree. Lyrically, though, every facet of the band’s existence is dissected.

It’s a record that celebrates the wonder of sound, with deceptively intricately songs under a balmy haze of reverb that gets better with each listen.

This is the same old monotonous Weeknd melancholy, only distilled through a huge pop filter. Which certainly makes it listenable, and a little bit nicer, but far from the innovative mainstream breakthrough album we were promised.

Overall All Yours proves that taking a little time out to breathe can work, and this airy record captures that feeling.

Invite The Light stays true to the hallmarks of Dam Funk's sound; winning formulas never need much adjustment.

Kagoule have captured the energy, thrills, uncertainties and anxieties of being a teenager and bundled it all up in an exciting debut album that thrills from beginning to end. More importantly they've done it on their own terms.

Love Is Free sits strangely in the canon of Robyn. It’s euphoric, and like every great Robyn anthem, there’s a cry-while-you-party type sound on the mini-LP that’s intensely emotional but wields an undeniable kinetic streak.

By taking a sharp turn into the light, the shades of grey of her older material have been splattered by blasts of glorious technicolour, a move resulting in her best album to date.

Despite the writing on several songs being undercooked, coupled with production that’s overbaked, Yours Dreamily has its charms, but the onus is on the listener to find them and given the clutter in the styles and songs here, that’s not an easy thing to do.

On pretty much every track, the instrumentation is formulaic and predictable.

These twelve bitter-sweet tracks are packed with bright pop hooks and jubilant melodies, just about sellotaped together with fuzz and rendered endearingly on the verge of constant collapse.

Whether Poison Season is approached as an exhibition of those many individual pieces, or as an ensemble affair weaved subconsciously together, that conflicted point of view leads the listener to treat the whole LP as an exploration.

Depression Cherry is a beautiful record about darker times being a point in a journey, not the final destination. It shows its creators have a level of wisdom beyond their years.

Yet although it lasts barely half an hour, it feels as if the album doesn't quite cohere into a convincing whole, and that the first half's captivating energy is lost amidst one too many hazy, half-formed slow jams later on. Even so, a hugely promising debut.

And The Wave Has Two Sides may be severely front-loaded, but it sees ON AN ON offer up a handful of songs that appear to be a genuine attempt to take a stride towards some sort of commercial success. Currently however, the misses outnumber the hits.

Mercer has allowed his lyrics to become more expansive and less cohesive. For this reason, they need room to resonate, to sink in.

[The EP] follows the lead of last year’s return to form The Take Off and Landing of Everything in its sonic subtlety.

While not a step forward, What Went Down is a consolidation and refinement of Foals’ artistic strengths and explorations over their previous trio of albums.

This is a soul record that sounds pristine and yet feels raw--whatever else might’ve happened in the last couple of years, Beal’s voice--both literally and creatively--has not been withered.

Contradictions is certainly a step in the right direction and sees Paul on the rise once again. This album is a dark horse, a grower, and one that current fans and newcomers to his music will appreciate alike.

With this raw collection of songs, Royal Headache have bared themselves to the world, and it's enthralling.

It’s a very brave record where Deradoorian eschews the traditional language of pop music to create her own pictures and conversations and turn them into brilliantly beautiful songs.

The album slowly loses its sanity: Edging over that transgressive line, like all good punk bands do.

All Around Us can’t seem to feel anything other than transitional. Having evolved some semblance of a skeleton from her previous work, given its flashes of excellence, one can’t help but hope it ultimately morphs into a fully moving, breathing being next time out.