Rage Against the Machine’s Zack de la Rocha, Travis Barker, Diane Coffee, the filthy-mouthed Gangsta Boo...they all contribute to the depth of RTJ2 but never outshine the stars of Render and Meline, despite all giving the best performances of their careers in some time.

Almost inevitably, the result is something that makes most commercial music look like a palid, indistinct, homogenous mass.

There are certainly traces of the band's past traits, except this time they err more on the side of being endearing quirks than being the slightly off-putting extras they once were.

There's evolution with purpose in every fibre of 1989, and far from jettisoning her integrity in this drastic lunge, she's proved in her bold, risky decision that she's got courage in her convictions to pull it off and faith in her fans to accept the new direction.

It’s not just that all seven albums are of serious musical worth; together, as the Sleater-Kinney back catalogue, they feel like they have some genuine historical value, too.

It stands as both a fascinating new direction, and a heartbreaking memoir of a period now sinking into the past.

It's not a perfect album by any means, but it is a worthy cover of a nigh-on perfect album, capturing the joie de vivre of the original and dousing it in some serious lunacy for good measure. And that's no mean feat.

Although by no means an instant classic, Nobody Wants to Be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave shows an integrity to The Twilight Sad which cements their position as one of the more creatively important bands operating today.

Despite the interminably silly nature of Black Moon Spell, there are moments when these retro-rockers get it right.

Had it been released by a lesser pair, this album would doubtless by hailed as full or potential, the first LP from a vital new force in alternative hip-hop; however, as it has been released by these two, it falls jarringly flat when one considers what they’re capable of.

Even though everything that Ultimate Painting have to offer has been heard before, the richness of their chosen source material- so utterly packed with hooks- puts them onto a winner.

The popsmith has never seemed to win over hearts in a big way, for whatever reason. It's A Pleasure is unlikely to change that, sadly. However, those that have stumbled across his ma-a-assive talent will fall deeper in love.

It at least proves that Trail of Dead are by no means a spent creative force, but they’re going to have to try harder to recapture the genuinely visceral energy of their classic records if they’re ever going to reach beyond their own fanbase again.

It’s a shame then that much of Wait ’til Night lacks the depth of narrative that made the imposing tales of urban romance on Playin’ Me so engrossing.... There’s still much to embrace here though.

Tyranny is a fantastically interesting idea, which doesn’t always work as an album, but could make one hell of an installation

Playland then is an enjoyable rock record with occasional dips into complacency that are sometimes matched by its moments of bravado and energy.

This is Sunn O))) at their most playful, and Scott at his most enjoyable.

The Best Day doesn’t offer much in the way of compelling us to venture forth; that is, even if we were inclined to in the first place.

Something On High could definitely do with just a pinch more of life at times.... But regardless of this, it is still an incredibly powerful debut from Sivu.

Carry On The Grudge could so easily buckle under the weight of expectation. As it is, it feels like the most natural of follow-ups.

Add a tad more polish--if they so choose--and it’s surely only a matter of time before they’re razing the main stages to the ground.

Charged with Warren Ellis’s plaintive violin, the cracked world-weariness of Marianne Faithfull’s voice imbues the song with real life and contemporary meaning and affirms that Give My Love To London is the album with which she is able to finally reconcile her past and present.

Death is inevitable and we don’t know what’s on the other side, so while we’re here just put everything into it. Bestial Burden is the sound of Pharmakon doing exactly that.

As the album plays, even now, it’s clear why so many people got involved, it may not be something you head towards when putting a record on these days but as a long player, like all the best albums, it plays like a greatest hits collection.

Bazaar achieves what it goes out to do well, but could do with a few more of the mind-benders they are fully capable of achieving.

He's had a reputation for being guarded in the past, but on Trick, we see him wear his heart on his sleeve.

Rips is that album; there’s nary an ounce of artiness or innovation here, and it sounds almost hopelessly out of time in 2014, yet you can’t help but grin and love it just the same.

Whilst with Sakura they haven’t quite achieved that elusive balance between the raw emotion and intimacy that made Big Deal so enticing in the first place and the intensity and power of a full band, all the signs suggest they will soon.

Across a mere 20 tracks, In the Orbit of Ra acts as a receptacle for everything that was exciting about Sun Ra whilst somehow managing to be neither wilfully impenetrable nor disingenuously accessible.

There still feels like the same ratio of hit and miss that you might find in a twenty track White release. But when there's half as many tracks at twice an instrumental's length, it means those tracks you don't get on with rather overstay their welcome.

Iceage are therefore seemingly unafraid of experimentation and to play with sounds and instrumentation they discover in the process of creation. And Plowing Into The Field Of Love, acts as an extraordinary documentation of this process, where influence and intuition have come together in perfect union, allowing Iceage to expand without losing their core. In turn, they have matured to find catharsis in texture, dynamics and control rather than fast-paced adolescent aggression.

The beauty of this record lies primarily in its poise and composure; that it sounds fantastic, at times, just feels like an added bonus.

It’s a tried and tested formula, but no one really does it in a manner as unfailingly, beautifully hilarious as The Vaselines.

It's an emphatic 42 minutes of contentment, of genuine happiness that is so rare within music.

There are plenty of great ideas here, and if you really listen, they’re not particularly hard to find. But it would be nice to be able to let an album like this simply wash over you, rather than be forced to pan for gold in its still, murky waters.

As the concluding part of that elongated trilogy, Heartleap is the most magnificent and worthy of valedictions.

If Cosmogramma signalled Stephen Ellison's ambition to be more than a beatmaker, then this record is the accomplishment of that ambition. You're Dead! might be the most immortal Flying Lotus album to date.

Way Out Weather mixes various musical styles--folk, classic rock, psychedelia, space rock, dub hues, West African grooves, open-tuned raga drones--to arrive at a genre-defying, expansive sound that's simultaneously tight and totally, winningly loose, sparsely uncluttered yet richly textured in a way that rewards repeated spins.

It’s that sense of balance--the epic and the intimate, the light and the shade, the coldness and the warmth--that puts Taiga in contention with Stridulum II as Zola Jesus’ best work, the purest distillation of an ever-searching soul.

Overall this record feels like a pocket in time and the breeze of nostalgia is welcome in parts but is wholly unsatisfying.

Electric Wizard are arguably the most revered band of the doom metal genre since Black Sabbath themselves, and on Time To Die, they remind us why.

The LP is constructed, played and sung with acute skill, but all done without a hint of pizzazz, little colour, vibrancy or peculiarities--it's all a lackadaisical tumble of synth and guitar.

Ultimately, the Growlers’ sunny disposition and incredibly natural, economical style of songcraft carries them through Chinese Fountain, an album which manages the impressive feat of leaving the listener both utterly satisfied and hungry for more.

Innerworld is a bit of a mixed bag, but one that's absolutely worth dipping into--every now and then you'll pull out some real gems.

The Rural Alberta Advantage bring enough intelligence and thoughtfulness to their music to ensure that it’ll appeal to listeners who wouldn’t normally like to admit to listening to soaring, emotionally open indie rock.

It's not often you heard a near seven minute pop song that leaves you wanting more, but Mr. Twin Sister manage to pull it off several times over in just under half an hour.

Something Shines is a continuation of that frustration: so many wonderful moments let down by times where it sounds like Laetitia Sadier just isn’t completely focused, meaning it’s a record that’s okay, but one that could have been great.

It’s hugely to Owens’ credit that he’s turned his hand at a slew of different styles in assured fashion to date, but neither this album nor Lysandre really hold the universal pop appeal of Girls’ output, either.

At their best, when not wandering along in a gilded fog--much of This Is All Yours is akin to meandering in a pretty, if tiring, gloam.

An experience that's exhilarating, frenetic and gratifying.

Richard D. James is back, and he’s still absolutely untouchable.

It’s thirty five years of dance music history wrapped up in a glorious fifty minutes and with Whang at the helm, it’s encased with an icy sheen, impossible to resist.

Sukierae’s the kind of a record where almost every listen provides different favourite moments. That has to be a very good indicator of its overall merits.

Hadreas finally appears to have found a sound palette as provocative, forward-thinking and confrontational as his vehement, brave lyrical style.

It’s going to be hard for Albini, Weston and Trainer to ever top what we find on Dude Incredible. Worthy of filing alongside and above At Action Park and 1000 Hurts, it’s the sound of one of the great bands at the height of their powers.

What we hear is a man playing conductor, curator, ringmaster, director--a brilliant facilitator, yet one never quite able to hold his own on the stage of his making.

It’s not all as instantly catchy as its opening track, but you can bet it’s a grower, post-break-up or not.

Worship The Sun definitely won’t disappoint fans of their self-titled debut, and the extra production values only adds to their refreshingly carefree style. A perfect album to hang onto the last remnants of long, hazy summer days.

Encyclopedia might not be a record to soundtrack cheery bank holiday getaways, but it provides enough counter-attack to its own bleakness that it's not an inherently malicious listen (although it does have its moments).

The record works perfectly as a coda to what sounded like an unusually comfortable period in Spencer’s life. It’s not quite as unadorned, not quite as intimate, as Julia--opener “The Fog” has its title represented by jarring clouds of synths which break through the eight note motif that underpins the entire song--but you can still tell that all fifteen of Piano Man Spencer’s songs came from the same place.

This is an album both challenging and gorgeous-sounding. If occasionally over-ambitious, it is always attention-grabbing, and very often risk-taking in the most positive sense.

Her world beats obvious veneer while her crack at electronica too half-baked to portray as much more than Pro Tools tinkering, even with her ballyhooed use of Clams Casino behind the board.

An adventurous artistic growth is surely on the horizon for this blossoming young band, but on The Dew Lasts An Hour, Ballet School quickly found out what technique works for them and where their creative strengths lie.

Do What You Want To, It’s What You Should Do--isn’t really revelatory in any sense, though it’s an irrefutably gorgeous document.

It’s refreshing that the most appealing parts of Whorl are when the duo abandon exactly the musical nuances they’re known for. At the very least they should be applauded for exploring new territory, even if the overall record is not entirely satisfying.

Twin Peaks somehow manage to translate the last ten years of American guitar music into a 40 minute package that will help you remember why you fell in love with all of the bands which ‘changed your life’ in the first place.

Lost in Alphaville is sometimes a little too adrift in its own world and its own thoughts of sound to make sense today.

If you want audio gastronomy, go elsewhere. If, however, you just want some good ol’ dirty pop, pull up a chair and get stuck in.

Sure, the eccentricities of other solo efforts like Eye or I Often Dream of Trains are missing, but to complain about that would be asking for a lack of honesty that The Man Upstairs simply refuses to provide.

This is a riveting, first-rate record from a man who has made quite a few of them.

Throughout, the refreshed use of light and dark is notable and works. There is contrast and there is colour.

This is a wonderfully assured comeback record, but it’s also precisely more of the same.

Tricky’s struck gold once again with this.

Strong as the songs are, it’s the rich musical settings that really hit hard.

It’s personal--perhaps too much so--in that it can be inaccessible and/or devoid of meaning outside of the immediacy of her heart. But then it doesn’t feel like a self-indulgent collection; there’s a sincerity to her endeavours that endear you to the album despite it’s abundance of misgivings.

This is properly heavy fare, a sound utterly bereft of light yet still richly, intensely, rewardingly musical that makes the evil posturing of the extreme metal posse seem even more daft.

In all, Overyjoyed sees Half Japanese play it considerably safer than they used to, and there’s bundles of pop-rock glory to enjoy, but it’s still more than enough for loyal fans to breathe a sigh of relief.

While there’s nothing in anyway groundbreaking here, what makes it so interesting is the fact that TOPS don’t just recycle familiar pop tropes, but somehow manage to re-articulate the musical landscape of one decade and revitalise sounds that feel all too familiar. And that makes it an album worth talking about.

Where past ventures could tend to exude a mannered self-consciousness, Adams acquits himself here with an easy and infectious sincerity.

This is a Pere Ubu album. It is exactly what you expect and exactly what you don’t. The variety and subtlety and diversity and ferocity of this collection defies belief, much like their last, fantastic record.

The overall effect is still unpretentious and upbeat, albeit with a few more melancholic undertones.

This record is a masterpiece of aural and visual pandemonium.

Banks has a universal appeal that’ll see her soar to the tops of charts, into high-profile festival spots, and slide into awards season like she’s covered in butter.

This particular realm of music expands, and you need to expand with it, or remain interesting enough to survive as you are; Courteeners have unfortunately done neither.

Wicked Nature is certainly the start of a renaissance, if not quite the all-conquering return it could have been

Barragán‘s casual atmosphere sees Blonde Redhead at their most laid back.

Where some tracks edge towards lounge territory, on the most part, this is a an album that surely won’t sink.

Blood serves as evidence that the band’s decision to take their time has paid serious dividends; there’s real intelligence in the restraint that they’ve shown on the likes of “Medium Rare”, and by the time you reach closer “Golden Monument”, you realise that the entire album’s been planned with that level of conscientiousness.

No, the record doesn’t represent a quantum leap in progression between 2011 and today. Yes, it’s another lovely listen.

Dry The River have here proven that they hold their own distinct niche in our record collections, and are settling in to it nicely.

It’s to [Kevin Martin's] credit, then, that Angels & Devils does such a stellar job of blending the old and the new, and has the stones to shove Martin’s sinuous new ideas to the forefront. It’s that courage and singularity of vision that makes The Bug stand triumphantly apart.

There are certainly high points to be found here, but the feeling that vital cogs in the Rustie machinery are missing never quite subsides.

Royal Blood’s debut is an easily digestible, unfortunately thin-sounding, slightly disappointing rock record and an exciting, fresh, invigorating pop record both at the same time.

Everywhere the listener turns on this album there is something else to be found, another subtle motif, another dab or colour. When combined with the inescapably affecting vocal and accomplished songwriting style of Spx, this creates a record that manages to reveal its treasures over multiple listens without ever sacrificing immediate appeal.

Cymbals Eat Guitars certainly have done right with LOSE; it’s an impeccably beaten, teary-eyed but smiling document to a frighteningly exhilarating time of one’s life and beacon to march onward--momentous to anyone in their 20s, and even us still neurotic old guys.

Ably assisted by his Coastguard players, subtly fleshing out his songs with pedal steel, brass, strings and piano, Distance might well be Dan Michaelson’s finest collection of songs to date.

It sometimes feels as though the sun has risen and those attempting to keep the party alive are fighting a losing battle. And a carnival with fighting of any kind is surely missing the point.

Although this debut LP might have its weaknesses, it might also be a sign of greater things to come.