There has never been anything wrong with the oddities that emerge from Bob’s brain, and Blazing Gentlemen simply sees the man operating in as relentlessly fine form as ever.

The melodies are coated in finely woven layers which aren’t as straight-forward as they seem to be. And with dense lines to dismantle in addition to the materials they’re carefully wrapped in, prepare to invest time in this true love of a band.

It’s an aimless, winding record that occasionally stumbles upon greatness, but with the amount of mediocrity, you can’t help feel that the high points are mere accidents.

This is a conventional theme LP rather than a document providing a great deal of insight into Bright Eyes’ musical development.

Although more than half of the songs on Cellar Door also appear on Massey Hall, there are plenty of fresh-sounding goodies here for the casual listener, let alone the Young buff.

Minor gripes aside 8385 is a fascinating glimpse at what artists in the 80’s thought the future would sound like; this is the point where post punk electronica such as New York’s Suicide ends, and proto industrial-goth artists such of Ministry and Nitzer Ebb begin.

The difficulties seem to arise when melody and vocals are expected to step up and carry a track for them. They don’t, much more often than they do, which ends up leaving the listener (or this listener, at least) vaguely dissatisfied.

As a collection of music, There’s A Dream I’ve Been Saving is excellent, but as a story it is a true revelation.

Harlem River sees Morby’s melancholic discomforts through a refreshingly soft lens.

The album is so much more than a set of rough drafts of more considered compositions. These 1998 offerings succeed in their own right.

By being both coherent and pleasingly unhinged, bEEdEEgEE more than fills the role of cosmic dance music vacated by Gang Gang Dance.

There is undeniable beauty lying in each of these ten offerings, but when listened to in one sitting, they lose their individual draw.

Those who like their Bad Seeds really bad may be disappointed with the tracklisting, but what stands true with this release is that Cave can be at his most powerful when at his most soulful.

Even if its emotional distance pushes it a bit too close to an intellectual exercise for comfort, Stealth of Days remains a fascinating and rewarding listen, whether or not you’re an R&B nostalgist.

This is a record that repays multiple listens, and may prove to be The Deep Dark Woods’ most enduring album yet.

Whilst Bowler Hat Soup does come across as a little mashed-up at times, that’s its charm.

This EP is more for fans of Robinson than Vile, though those picking it up just for name recognition won’t be disappointed as long as they don’t ask for more than what’s on offer--an absorbing but brief ambient interlude.

For if you don’t get distracted by the constant temptations of modern contrivances and social connectivity, and buy into these simple but striking songs that Lewis is selling on Electric Slave, then he’s got the cure for the modern ills and then some.

Surrender to the Fantasy is a timely reminder that Elisa Ambrogio and Peter Nolan are a truly talented pair of musicians, making some of the best noise-rock you’re likely to find in either the US or on these shores.

Aftershock may not have come from the same dark hole that spawned those bad boys [Overkill, Ace Of Spades, 1916 and Bastards], but as a statement of intent, it’s right up there with them.

None of the tracks surpass the original (except probably Coldplay), but it doesn’t feel like the intention to ‘one-up’ other bands here. It’s an intimate, nostalgic affair for a small minority. For others, it’ll be less vital.

San Fermin is a classical album, fitted with an accompanying tale of love and heartache. San Fermin is also a folk-pop album, set in a world of brilliantly beautiful classical instrumentation and composition. It sits perfectly in both of these guises, and for this, Ellis Ludwig-Leone deserves all of the praise in the world.

It might be a little light on lyrical substance, but it’s gorgeously melodic and irresistibly mellow; they don’t make pop records like this any more.

It’s a big world out there is certainly enjoyable, but I’d have been happy to do without the stuff we’ve heard before.

It might not be enough to breathe new life into DJ-KiCKS but he’s created a new blueprint for every other curator to follow. This is brilliant, and mix number 47 has got some way to go to match it.

Her latest offering, however, lacks the key component that made the bizarre spectacles that accompanied her other albums slightly less irritating--consistently good pop songs.

There is a vitality and clarity of spirit present here that is at once immediate, intimate and irresistible.

Though not quite as compositionally adventurous as Shields, these demos and bonus tracks are equally emotionally resonant--it’s an insight into what Shields could have been--and what we might have to look forward to in the future.

Tin Star doesn’t play around with the formula, but it’s much better off rollicking through a hot-blooded, swinging set than it is attempting to be some kind of self-conscious alt-indie crossover.

There is a somewhat disconcerting beauty to some of Pre-Human Ideas’ songs.

Liberated, no doubt, from the pressures that accompany the devising of a worthy and relevant successor to You’re A Woman, I’m A Machine, Grainger has been able to conjure what is a fairly rich noise pop record.

Hynes’ decision to collaborate broadly on Blood Orange proves a masterstroke in terms of the record’s diversity.

While Tres Cabrones churns with the urgency and fire of a much younger band, the collection ultimately reveals more about the group’s raw early years and the gnarled musical roots that got them here, than providing any hints as to where in the hell the Melvins might possibly be going in the future.

It’s still clear, though, that she has too many ideas not to be able to take them somewhere interesting once settled into a new life. File under ‘transitional’.

The grit has returned, but new shimmer introduced on that album has not, and the result is a much more rounded and energetic sound.

Tellier’s Confection is an experimental anthology. It’s not entirely what you might expect, and there’s no doubt it won’t be to everyone’s taste.

Her child-like rhymes may seem like she’s only toying with playground politics but she knows exactly where her strengths are; Matangi is a tribute to those talents and it’s an unmitigated thrill. Dissident, deviant, “mili-tent”; Cookie cutter pop star she is not, but a true great she absolutely is.

Ultimately, it’s a hypnotic and intermittently enjoyable experience, which whilst a little overextended and at times as shallow as the music it pastiches, marks a convincing enough return for Cut Copy.

There are at least a half-dozen verses in this album alone that stand amongst his best ever. ... Problem is, saying a whole lotta nothing for 70-plus minutes doesn’t exactly make for a compelling rap record.

It was too easy for Weiss and Presant to make a record like this: they’ve not challenged themselves, and they’ve certainly not challenged the listener.

Back to Land, then: business as usual, but the business remains good.

There’s a huge amount of solace to be found in this album--one that, amidst the chaos, taps you gently on the shoulder, and takes you away somewhere nicer.

This is everything a punk record should be; abrasive, aggressive, occasionally a little gauche, but with an emotional core that’s unmistakeable, and that elevates Surfing Strange from a enjoyable album to a genuinely gripping one.

It’s uplifting, motivating and unashamedly simple (which, frankly, is it’s major charm).

It’s hard to judge if the album has simply missed its mark or, as I suspect, he appears to have lost the enthusiasm and imagination with which he approached his first, vastly superior effort.

Black Radio 2 just falls short of being anything more than generic sounding pop, produced by a jazz trio tinted by success.

If their previous albums were the sound of cataclysmic blasts--of unhewn matter rebounding through the cosmos trying to manifest--then Corsicana Lemonade is the sound of their universe finally taking shape.

As a whole, Inventions plays nicely as the backdrop of your psychedelic dreams. In pieces, it fares much better and commands more attention.

If Midlake seemed to have lost their sense of fun on The Courage of Others, though, they’ve certainly rediscovered it on Antiphon. Even in its flatter moments, at least the band themselves sound like they’re enjoying it.

Where things get truly interesting, though, is watching Joey’s flow adapt to the song.

This is a record that moves and moves.

We see a spritz of various weapons in her arsenal, and though they may be brief snippets, they ensure that we’re not fatigued by her noise. Instead, we’d actually quite like more. A lot more.

Thrilling and unexpected, Somewhere Beautiful is triumphant at retrofitting and perpetuating the best of The Chills, while the unreleased material marks promise for their forthcoming full-length.

It’s a great ending to a great record, one that musically takes Bulat a bit further from the folk comfort zone, but not so far as to lose the essential character of what she is about.

In giving his compositions a little more leeway to spin and pirouette with maximum emotional force, Son Lux has made his best album to date and proven the wisdom of waving goodbye to restraint once in a while.

Uncomplicated, doing precisely what it says on the tin, Retrash might not be an album of the year contender or a game-changer; but for pure unadulterated fun Oozing Wound are pretty hard to beat.

It is true then, that Russian Circles are no longer pushing back the walls of post-rock acceptability, and also true that their albums don’t bite down as hard as they used to, but it is still definitely true that they wield the ability to compose the most beautiful, thought-provoking pieces of music.

While she’ll have to work even harder to find an angle for record number two her debut delivers everything you could have hoped for from a pop star in 2013.

Plainly speaking, this is psychedelic music, and it’s music that’s both moving and a pleasure to move to.

Like the image which adorns the cover, sometimes it’s good to just take in the wonder of the simple things, and the modest but pensive charm of this album is well worth getting lost in.

These songs, and others such as “UFO” are pretty much straight indie tracks, but it’s when they utilise electronics that Stars Are Our Home really comes alive.

These more polished but less straight-forward songs makes for their least instantly gratifying collection, but leaves a strong feeling that in the long-term it might become the most rewarding yet.

Prism shows a more mature side to the singer, an ability to really connect with her experiences whilst still producing absolute pop smashes. It’s a combination that suits her very, very well.

Reflektor acts as a vehicle through which the band’s established flair can be refracted into a new polarising, pulverising shape.

Blur the Line is nothing like perfect, but it’s a record scored through with an impressively quick progression; not only have Those Darlins matured musically over the past couple of years, they’ve found something they’d sorely lacked to this point--bite.

There’s rarely a moment over the past 25 years where Dean Wareham’s failed to deliver an album that’s at least three-quarters brilliant, and Emancipated Hearts doesn’t change that record.

New probably won’t reverse the malaise that his public profile is slowly suffering in Britain, but it’s enjoyable fare all the same.

Authenticity and honesty are the hallmarks here of a painful and unsettled rock record. It’s not hard to figure out why his own name was the ideal stage to sing from.

It’s a very well-rounded EP--every box is ticked--and we’re left clamouring for more when the dust has settled.

This does feel like an album of transition--about the journey rather than the destination and its more sophisticated moments point towards the idea that The Wave Pictures are a band which are only going to get finer with age.

Donna deserves more than this--don’t remember her this way.

While this album may not be the all-encompassing assault that was the signature of The Plot Against Common Sense this is a record that shows a willingness to change, adapt, try out exciting new things that simply retreading that formula would not have done. Outstanding.

Outside sounds exactly like the repetitive spinning wheels on a bus (going ’round and ’round) and causes you to become restless and slightly angry of its lack of forward movement.

Shulamith provides exactly what you want from a second Poliça album; it’s incredibly fresh and exciting, but still a reminder of what you loved so much the first time round.

Rest assured, this isn’t a record built to break completely free of any trademark parochial charms.

Quarters is a reference to Berlin and a statement of intent then, and like the city Seams is likely to be on plenty of cool-hunters’ lists from now on.

His voice, tremulous, always searching, always yearning, makes everything he plays sound like the aftershocks of a broken heart, his teasing humour assuring you that despite everything it’d probably be ok.

While psych may offer an altered experience, a shifted perception, a rarified reality, Dead Meadow’s take on it this time around is an occasionally wonderful, momentarily beautiful, but largely confused and confusing experience.

Fanfare deserves a round of applause for taking a fearsomely retro concept (album as a mega-budget, widescreen statement) and, rather than sinking waist-deep into pointless pastiche or a rehash of vintage mistakes, ending up with a piece of work that would have been remarkable had it been released during the era it emulates, and which sounds remarkably ‘now’ today.

While it’s a shame Radiohead and Bowie in the flesh couldn’t make it to the sessions, Gabriel’s concept fulfills its original intention: to show everyone a little appreciation and respect, even if the end result comes out a butcher shop’s tribute to a man whose melodic craftsmanship is beyond approximation.

Wild Light as a whole represents the band’s most ambitious work to date; it’s a meticulously crafted and admirably complex record from a band that are constantly thrilling in their unpredictability.

This isn’t a terrible album, but it’s not much more than a re-run of what Pelican have been doing for a decade before.

Cults is a pop band--albeit a very distinctive one--and Static only works when the band delivers on the melodies that made its debut so compelling.

Somehow intimate yet vast, Summer Through My Mind is a record that you may not like or even “get”, but you can lose yourself in the familiar sense of disorientation and confusion of life that is revealed by a divine understanding within the songs themselves.

Much like a Full English and a strong cup of tea, Luke Temple wipes away the hangover from what you might otherwise call pop’s misguided choices (including the bubble perm and Kylie-and-Jason collabs), leaving only the happy memories of dancing to ’80s classics like it’s 1999.

All in all, Glacier appears to constitute a bid to be taken seriously.

Taken as a ‘new’ complete album it could do with stretching out a little and lighting the occasional fire under the occasionally maintained for a touch too long strolling pace, but it works absolutely fine as a way of shining new light on often overlooked but clearly internally beloved outposts of their two decade career of rainy nights and velvet-lined plush bars at last orders.

It’s ambitious, even expansive, in scope, despite the introspection his lyrics communicate, and even if it wasn’t the intention, he provides an incredible snapshot of urban life through the lens of love and brittle electro-soul.

Campfire Songs admirably continues along their new musical direction and beckons you to head to Vermont wearing a wooly jumper, with all ingredients needed for S’mores in tow.

Let’s Be Still is wholesome and sincere, in the way those words were intended, and without any pretense or airs and graces.

In My Name Is My Name, Pusha T has produced one of the most diverse and constantly rewarding hip-hop records of the year; twelve tracks tied together by a man at the top of his form and who, quite soon, may yet reach the highest summits.

It’s hardly a surprise that Big Wheel and Others is at its best when McCombs just keeps it simple with himself and his acoustic guitar, while the moments where he overreaches are the longer pieces without the focus found elsewhere.

The layers of noise, which at first may seem intimidating, are so harmonically rich they immerse the listener as the sounds interact creating new and unexpectedly mellifluous sounds.

Pay no attention to the lyrics (pretend you’re foreign or something), concentrate on the music, and you might just enjoy yourself after all.

While the second release may not live up to the first, it’s hard not to hope for a third.

Beautiful and with a hint of danger, Heritage is approachable and voguish, a slice of neon noir as atmospheric as it is sleek, and a testament to Grellier’s formidable world-scoring talents.

Sure, there are flashes of brilliance where studio trickery elicits intriguing headphone moments but these are by-and-large in the minority.

The stronger songs sound intentionally raw and impulsive; the weaker songs like demos waiting to be fleshed out.