Where You Stand picks up where you last left them--no matter where that was along the way.

Overall though, this is a special album, and a real accomplishment. To make a record largely of solo violin music with songs played as impeccably as this, but have the performance itself not be the focus, is remarkable.

It’s pretty hard to deny that No Age make a damn good off-kilter rock record, and that’s a pretty good idea in itself.

Like her previous works, Loud City Song requires time and patience, but once you grasp its intent the investment will feel wholly worthwhile.

There’s heaps of incendiary six-stringers, throttling beats and barbed tongues; it’s a potent brew that they peddle, but one that suits them just fine.

Coherent though it is, songs have a habit of blending into one another, and all too often end up sounding like that noise when you’re constantly on hold.

A successful experiment, a great record in its own right, and (hopefully) a great primer for a subtly evolved next effort.

Nepenthe is a very special album, one which doesn’t sound like anything else around but which also sounds like music you have unwittingly known your whole life; the quiet hum of life itself, re-appropriated and expertly sculpted into a shape where all of it’s complexity and simplicity feels a just that little bit sweeter.

There is a little filler to strip, and Little Green Cars are still a work in progress--but they have already honed a seasoned sound, paying homage to peers beyond their years.

This is a creative and varied set of songs that spiral high and swoop low, sometimes both at once--and there isn’t a weak link amongst them. Mesmeric.

It’s incredibly immersive, and at times it can be emotionally overwhelming.

While it doesn’t rank as an essential live album concert disc by any stretch of the imagination, and even though it’s plagued by a slow start, New Order’s Live at Bestival 2012 will probably stand as their most solid live recording, celebrating their storied career with their best songs from 3 decades of albums.

Agree with them, or write them off as abstracted lunatics, The Shadow of Heaven is an incredible persuasive push for thoughtful guitar music, in an often vacuous mainstream.

It’s intended to breathe life into everyday objects we take for granted. You made need a dash of imagination to bring those items into consciousness, but Silver helps the process along.

Crimes of Passion is a stellar fourth effort and may prove to be the defining record in what surely will be a long career ahead for the Crocodiles.

At the very least, it’s an admirable first step into something far more profound.

Yes, they are working with a previously-explored aesthetic, but they are molding it into a beautifully-original product, per a vision that refuses to forget music’s former greatness.

The Nextwave Sessions is five tracks from a band who’ve etched their mark on the UK music scene, stretching their sound whilst still occasionally snapping back to what made them so appealing eight years ago.

Despite all of its 33 minutes being recorded in a home built studio that also doubles as a brewery, there’s little to suggest anything particularly wacky rubbed off on the sound.

The Blind Hole is nothing utterly mind-blowing or game-changing in the grindcore world, but it’s also not trying to be. Instead, much like a kick to the balls, it’ll remind you of what it’s like to be alive and feel primitive emotion, and sometimes that’s enough.

By the end of some heavy listening, you understand that they’ve found something more beautiful still, all the more so because it is hard won, but just as they’ve had to work to find it, so must we.

Pokey will invite you to step away from the modern, more complex times and immerse yourself in a period of music from the mid western USA which formed the heart and soul of the country. It is a trip well worth it.

In other words, Moderat have stepped up to the plate and then some.

Hobo Rocket may not be the band’s best album to date, especially in light of their super-tight standout Beard, Wives, Denim--but, if the question is whether its rough, shambolic sound makes you think it’d be completely off-the-chart in a live setting... absolutely yes it does, and that’s really the aim of it.

Most reformed bands are creatively barren, hawking around twenty five year old songs, so for Medicine to break this cliché is a great, great thing--it’s just a shame that some of the interesting sounds they create here couldn’t have incubated for a bit longer.

Uncanny Valley is unfortunately too insignificant to escape the looming shadows all around.

Samaris’s songs are just so cleverly composed and gracefully balanced, that it’s sometimes hard to pick them apart.

Sleep of Reason then is a ponderous rolling through complexly changing scenery, no one drive-through ever seeming the same, more than a roller-coaster ride that promises the same loops each time.

While not quite continuing with the bombast of its beginnings the The Savage Heart and Jim Jones Revue--a live band at best and perhaps one of the most visceral around--leave a lot to the imagination on this record which will certainly allow them to maintain the surprise and hype live.

There’s simply not a wasted second on the record; all fourteen songs are simple and direct, immediately recorded in inglorious mono with nothing--save the cheap Casio autochord presets on ‘Blues in Dallas’--but voice, guitar and the album’s secret third instrument--the insistent hum of an increasingly-broken boombox.... The main draw of this reissue for hardened Mountain Goats fans, an obsessive breed at the best of times, are Darnielle’s new liner notes and a selection of seven bonus tracks from the same era.

Her ability to craft songs that are both delicate and incredibly powerful, along with her stunning, effortless voice prevent the honesty from being alienating.

It’s a record certainly fine enough to ensure the pairing will have no issues sprinting to the upper echelons of pop aristocracy.

While this might not be among the (minimum) of three absolute masterpieces he’s created over the last two decades (pick your own), it deserves your full attention, indulgence and sick laughter all the very same.

While The Inheritors isn’t the pinnacle avant-garde electronic music it’s hailed as, it’s a damn fine collection of songs.

There’s decidedly no fall from grace here for Grant Hart on The Argument, his most ambitious and accomplished album in years.

There is as much tenderness as there is explosiveness on Pure Vida Conspiracy and the band once again demonstrate their depth, breadth and potential for excellent showmanship.

Here, finally, is some of the ebb and flow, some of the emotion that’s been lacking on the album up to this point. What a shame that it comes so close to Slow Focus’ end.

From the song structure to the vocal delivery, everything’s fairly laid-back and far from groundbreaking, but such is its lo-fi garage aesthetic.

Although at times Embracism feels like a meandering listen or musical stream of consciousness, Callinan’s songwriting skills have allowed him to find cohesion throughout its ten songs, a consistency that a less engaging personality certainly wouldn’t have struck upon.

Randolph has come home and he’s never sounded better.

There are few albums that will make you experience so many emotions concurrently, and even fewer that will still give you chills hours later. Even though it may be tough to swallow some of the brutish feeling, it’s an exceptional record.

Despite it being a visionary work from an artist seldom seen nowadays, The Big Dream is more cohesive, more coherent but all the less fearless because of it.

A surprising and moving step forwards in the restless career of a master melodian.

Cardamone’s crew are at their peak when moving between the simmering heat and the fireball, and these drawn-out song structures give them more space than ever to explore the tension between nervy build-up and cathartic release.

It’s very hard to understand where the identity of the band will finally settle when it alters its mask so numerously and swiftly across these ten disparate tracks.

Equal parts Nuggets era-psych as it is The Cure and The Smiths, it is certainly an interesting avenue of songwriting they’ve chosen to explore. As with most exploration, however, there are missteps and wrong directions.

Electric is a work of renewed purpose, whose short time-frame and scant tracklist (no PSB album has ever clocked in shy of ten songs) belie the gems that lie within.

Unreal is a labyrinthine effort you’ll find almost impossible to not get lost in.

Where The Heaven Are We ably showcases their innate knack for massive hooks--it’s a rock-solid debut with something for everyone.

With Afraid of Heights, a record that, for the most part, is the sound of a band treading water. It’s perfectly lovely water, all the same; there’s a slew of songs more than worthy of the record’s predecessor.

To put not too fine a point on it, Vicissitude is bland.

It may not always live up to its title, but it’s certainly an interesting branch of what will hopefully continue to be a long and fruitful partnership.

Immerse yourself, revisit, peel back the layers and thoroughly dissect Thundercat’s artistry before reconstructing it again--you’ll find one of the year’s finest experimental pop albu

The bizarre juxtaposition of Jay-Z on hit and miss form and a borderline-perfectly produced record makes it a trying listen.

It’s somewhat beyond comprehension that their unique remedy to feeling down in the dumps hasn’t broken in the UK yet, but believe us when we say that this is an album, and a band, that deserves your full attention.

For a debut album that finds her moving away from her comfort zone as much as revelling in it, Maya Jane Coles has delivered something very fine indeed.

While their sound might indicate that the Icky Blossoms walk the streets at night in search of fresh blood, the overall affect is quite a bit less dramatic.

Run the Jewels not only surmounts Charybdis, but does so head held high, able to be considered--and enjoyed--upon its own merits.

Ceremony is not going to be to everyone’s taste, but this doesn’t take away from the fact that it is a stunning piece of work, which--with the time and attention it deserves--proves to be a thoroughly rewarding listen.

The album’s cohesiveness and its lush sonic range are clearly among the benefits of improved production, and Gibson has made good use of his new toys. Nevertheless, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that few of the album’s highlights quite match up to the strange magic captured by All Hell’s finest moments.

Waverly is just that: a study of tension, mysticism and some natural elements thrown in for good measure.

One of Cerulean Salt’s great triumphs is that we believe in these people, the album’s intimacy heightens its sense of realism, its characters feel living.

It’s impossible to listen to Sticky Wickets without amusement, but on occasion the procession of guests and parade of pastiches threaten to encroach into “novelty” territory.

Constantly waiting for that ever-impending explosion of mind-expanding neo-psychedelic glory, Comfort dissipates feeling hackneyed and burdened by lacklustre platitudes despite the rare flicker of hesitant brilliance.

The band’s audible aspiration towards greatness on this album is the most welcome aspect about it. You can hear the effort that was put into making it as galactic and sprawling as it is.

It’s a solid start from this supergroup, but the tug of old strings still dominates proceedings a little too much to mark this out as anything wholly unique in itself. But for some, that’ll be just fine.

His self-titled effort amounts to little more than the sound of him treading water; it’s every bit as fun and energetic as GB City, and the chaotic live shows aren’t likely to see a change of pace any time soon, but there’s practically nothing in the way of progression here, either.

While there are certainly times on Without Your Love where Greenspan’s over-application of eerie temperaments and lofty layers of sampling can start to drag--the found sound, musique concrète of ‘Misunderstood’ or ‘Crossed Wires’’ uninteresting non-sequitur coming immediately to mind--these rarely detract from what is, at its core, a fascinating, contemplative and forward-thinking collection.

Like any farce, the Kenny Dennis LP is something of an acquired taste, and if the recent existential contemplating all engaged with rap music have done upon being presented with, by the likes of Das Racist, Kitty Pryde, and Riff Raff, a mirror within which to see themselves is any indication, Serengeti’s masterful card will polarize as much as amuse.

Lightning Dust’s giving close attention to details of composition, resisting the temptation to stretch material or ideas too thinly, has brought about an album of ambition and maturity, of subtle shades of darkness and light, of promise fulfilled.

They’ve given the folk-drenched musical world of the last few years a well timed kick in the balls.

There are plenty of small discoveries to be found within each of With Love‘s intricate sound trips, but there is enough mystery and intrigue injected into each textured layer to keep you wanting to find new ways to get lost.

Their tracks are short and sharp bursts for the most part, rarely cracking three minutes and crammed with ideas (sometimes to the point of disorientation) but it does mean nothing stagnates and keeping up with the stylistic shifts is an exhilarating task.

The first five tracks are thrillingly and relentlessly inventive, but then comes a handful of weaker numbers which don’t deviate all that much from the Kanye blueprint (at least as much as you could trace such a thing through 808s and Twisted Fantasy).

Strange Pleasures can indeed take you anywhere if you let it, with a journey of discovery awaiting you anytime you cue it up.

In fact, far from feeling like a tired riff on an established formula, Turbines might just be the most definitive Tunng record yet.

On Gold Panda‘s sophomore full length, moments of predictability are rare.

This certainly won’t be the most original album you’ll hear this year, but it will be one of the most charming, and the rate at which Jones is managing to churn out quality pop songs bodes well for the future, and means you can forgive him Sob Story‘s occasional misstep.

The album is full of high-energy, highly-infectious dance numbers--in a way that demands frequently radio play, big-budget festival spots, distasteful Kesha collaborations, and another five year break between this and album #3.

Our Nature is a seriously accomplished pop record, and a perfect progression.

For all its faults, the heart and maturity at the centre of Soft Will feels more vital and important than their showy genre tourism ever did.

In Personal Record, Eleanor Friedberger has delivered on every promise she’s ever made with her music, and come up with an ever-unfolding, fully-realised gem.

Kveikur is a record you play for the sheer catharsis of it--a work of art to plug into when grey buildings and greyer skies tower too densely around you, and you wish for nothing more than to close your eyes and feel the terrible greatness of nature swallow you up.

The difference on Trouble Will Find Me is that everything feels clarified through a decade of wisdom, with volatility frequently superseded by sensibility.

It’s designed for the outdoors, for huge crowds and for losing your mind to. There are few artists that have perfected the kind of engrossing and engaging dance delights that Jono and Gabriel are demonstrating here.

While it isn’t pretty, cute, comfortable or enlightening music, Field of Reeds is important, resonant, serious and very very clever.

There is something intangibly magnetic about In Love, and it feels like a wonderful, igniting record--when so many other “indie” records fail to stir any emotion other than indifference.

The tunes are there, they’re tsunami big and surfer cool--the lyrics are there, bold, bleak and biting--but there’s been an oversight when it comes to stamping on the pedals, letting rip and allowing Surfer Blood to tear this material a new hole.

They’ve used the time to come to terms with the loss of Cintra and create a sonic identity beyond his input, and it turns out that they didn’t really need him, and, just maybe, he was stalling their progress.

Desire Lines is another gorgeously-crafted pop record from a band that make them look easy; melody, harmony and sophistication are all present in abundance.

Though very few of the songs themselves outstay their welcome, Tomorrow’s Harvest as a whole can feel overly long, and it’s the short songs that are the problem--they feel like unnecessary padding in a record whose triumphs should have been allowed to stand tall and proud by themselves.

By having faith that his songwriting ability would stand up to being thrust into unchartered musical territory, he’s overseen the making of a tight album that has a cohesiveness that belies how open it is to new--and genuinely exciting--ideas.

Settle is a soulful, accomplished and versatile record.

June Gloom marks another confident step forward in the band’s quest to live up to their name in the indie-rock landscape.

Tedious genre classification aside, it’s a fascinating record that begs softly for closer inspection and possibly even adoration.

The record is an absolute trip: a movable feast pressed to 12 inches of microgroove.

It’s the haunting, beat-driven atmospherics that ultimately make the songs memorable (or not), and throughout this new record the textured dynamics of these songs pulse with a clean, modern inventiveness, while also echoing the moody tones of his best work.

They’ve poured so much time and effort into Cave Rave--but you may never get a chance to appreciate that aspect of the album, because for all their intrinsic talent and informed attention to detail, their passion for pure pop is overpowering.