The eleven tracks show little shift in the sisters’ sound, which remains as beguiling--or as infuriating--as ever.

At a time when dance and electronic becomes increasingly homogenised by the mainstream, Mount Kimbie have released an album that still refuses to court the mundane.

Though it has been sixteen years since their last studio album, not much is technically new here except a further tendency towards the mellow and ongoing hopeless romanticism.

With Saltwater but as a difficult second album goes, this is a total breeze rather than a mainsail-battering ocean storm.

They’ve struck a perfect balance between pushing boundaries and making people dance.

Dungeonesse have brazenly managed to distill the best parts of modern and classic pop radio down to a sweet, everlasting core while creating their own sparkling, sugary sound in the process.

Marling has delivered Once I Was an Eagle with a charisma lacking in most of her peers, and the poise of a far older hand.

What he does well here, and has always done well, is to embody traditional music; its harmony, its lyrical themes, and at the same time imbue the music with a vitality that never feels forced or disrespectful of its roots.

There’s no denying the technical ability and songcraft is there, and unpicking the layers is the most enjoyable part of listening, but it’s emotional tugging ultimately strikes as hollow, not through insincerity but in being too obfuscated or overbearing for me to really love these songs.

It’s a little difficult to get a handle on his subject matter, although there’s an engaging quality to his delivery that makes him worth sticking with. The rest of the band work more cohesively, applying mob shouts and sunny pop ‘oohs’ to the ADD-riddled backing.

Despite the level of fastidiousness that’s standard to Daft Punk, Random Access Memories still sounds loose. The album doesn’t feel synthetic or disingenuous, as it perhaps should. So perhaps these two are cooler than anyone you know.

Charlie Boyer & The Voyeurs have crafted a solid debut.

There’s too much telling and not enough showing across More Light‘s 70 minutes.

It’s an unsettling, incomparable racket of The Fall at their wonderful, frightening best.

By plunging impassively into their own hearts of darkness, Mark Lanegan and Duke Garwood have demonstrated that there’s still plenty of life lurking in the muddy waters of the blues.

Imbibing such personal performances with a universally relatable humanity is the greatest strength to a record that makes fragility sound pretty devastating.

Drifters/Love Is The Devil isn’t always an unqualified success, but more often than not it displays Dirty Beaches as a project increasingly adept at the scattershot of styles, imprinted with Hungtai’s own recognisable mark.

Dark elements permeate the menacing corners of Crawling Up The Stairs, and while it may have been a long, grueling journey to get through, it seems that by the end of this bumpy road, Pure X have reached a positive creative terrain that suggests their long climb up the from the bottom was worth all the effort and pain it took to get there.

Songs Cycles certainly doesn’t represent all that Van Dyke Parks has to say about the state of the modern world, but the album does manage to assuredly illuminate Parks’ singular artistic vision and his enduring impact on the music of our times.

He’s created an incredibly ambitious, soulful avant-garde debut.

Silver Wilkinson is a solid return to (mostly) familiar, territory.

There is more than enough genuine, heartfelt emotion and originality coursing through Four (Acts Of Love), with Mick Harvey proving himself yet again to have a tender touch when it comes to the delicate business of affairs of the heart.

Its mood is all over the place, but that suits it.

That lack of wildness makes Modern Vampires of The City, while always thoughtful and often beautiful, the least captivating of their three albums.

It is a good record, brimming with lavish, romantic nostalgipop that will rekindle your love for Grease, neckerchiefs and pomade.

Savages own a gravitas, a brooding confidence and effortless cool, that no matter how cynical or wary of pretentiousness you are, will be suck you in.

The London four-piece mix and match ingredients to create sounds that, whilst respectful of what has gone before, are unmistakably rooted in the here and now. The results are frequently mesmerising.

It’s a foot-tappingly bundle of disco-pop that is not ashamed of its influences and refuses to bore for even the shortest of moments.

This is a pleasant plateau he’s found himself on, and it’s a perfect launching platform for further, more avante-garde endeavours.

Like so much of their previous output, it’s an incredibly bittersweet listen, but this time it’s less about Lewis’ wistful reflections and more to do with rueing what might have been if they’d continued; those first four cuts hint at a genuinely superb record having been in the works pre-split.

While not remotely original--the unabashed attempt to salvage the last remains of anthemic indie-rock music is admirable in itself.

Some will appreciate the record for the bursts of soul-infused pop, others will take time to grasp the tiny details and appreciate the deeper layers of Sing To The Moon.

Bigfoot is bittersweet; cheerful and charming in small doses, and--as that’s all you get--it’s time well spent.

For fans of expertly crafted summer toe-tappers, its gifts are ample enough for a summer fling, although perhaps few will be looking for more.

THR!!!LER is a significantly more organic record, one where picturing the band having the time of their lives bashing it out in a practice space requires no effort at all.

What William Tyler does is reach back into the past with complete honesty, and by doing so he’s able to create new and exciting sounds from the social, political and geographical changes of a particular period.

While Praxis Makes Perfect does boast some terrific, shimmering, moments, it simultaneously puts hurdles in the way of an easy listen, especially towards the end where it all gets a bit... well, dull.

The line between progression and self-indulgence in music is largely a flimsy one. However, The Phoenix Foundation walk it beautifully.

Themes and aims aside, Sub Verses is simply an example of Akron/Family’s continued good run of form, and undoubted confidence.

Johnston has made and most importantly shared a very good record here, one that stands as a reminder of his immense talent, of his longevity, of his kindness in spreading the benefit of his skill among younger, adoring fan-bands and yes, if you must, his power to overcome those much discussed mental problems.

It’s a far more eccentric record than their first effort, stretching past the obvious influences that led to their pigeonholing as a shoegaze band, but loses a little of the unbroken, hypnotic atmosphere as a result.

This compilation, of tracks from 2003-2013, captures what’s utterly brilliant about the A&C roster by mixing the hits with rarer tracks, giving perhaps the definitive overview of the Canadian music scene of the past ten years.

'We Make Pop Music’ adds another to their storied catalogue of press-aware music about music and similarly sounds like the band as they stand in a nutshell. Then there’s the second disc of B-sides, the original versions of the first two singles, more reined-in versions of songs from It’s A Bit Complicated left over from an aborted session with Pulp‘s Russell Senior, covers (the Beatles, the Cure, We Are Scientists) and assorted offcuts, none of which are essential but which add more layers to Argos’ wracked character.

This time around, however, the influences are mashed together more thoroughly, creating a uniquely rich stew where country, soul, rock ‘n’ roll, gospel, folk and more exotic influences mingle freely.

While there is nothing astounding or extraordinary about The Still Life, what it does is indicate that Alessi Laurent-Marke is a songwriter and musician who already shows a real promise of creating something very special later on in her career.

This is lightless, horrifically bleak electronic music, but it still sounds human despite its lack of words, melodies or analog instrumentation; there’s a tangible personality to it that’s all its own.

They’ve not quite mustered the courage to take the plunge yet, and instead what we have with FM Sushi is a band teetering on the cusp of greatness.

Desperate Ground is another great demonstration of what makes this band one of America’s worst kept secrets.

Is it worth the time, passion and investment of the listener? To those unfamiliar with XCX, or who only know her in passing, the answer is irrevocably yes; for others, it depends upon the value they place on a well-crafted retrospective.

Light Up Gold isn’t total hedonism, but as riotous, guitar-led escapes from the drudgery of the day to day go, it’s more than enough fun to convince you to go along for the ride.

With the experiments being so hit and miss you’re left looking for familiar thrills, but even when delivering these, the band sound so much like there are motions to be gone through that you just aren’t inclined to feel engaged.

In 1996, The Fugees set the whole urban blues thing in motion with The Score. With a work of such stark emotional beauty, Blake has picked up the torch once again with Overgrown.

That the new stuff doesn’t make you pine for the comforting certainties of early solo classics à la ‘Naked as We Came’ at all is a sign of just what a successful evolution Ghost on Ghost is.

Wolf is both a departure and a refinement for Tyler, combining his best traits in such a way as to nearly eliminate his weaknesses.

It’s an album that washes over, vying for attention, but never quite succeeds in grabbing it, and never quite living up to what Cold War Kids could be.

While it is a shame that some of these ideas don’t feel more fully fleshed out, there are still plenty of moments that set characterise White Fence as some of the most interesting ’60s-tinged music being released.

Electric English is not groundbreaking nor really anything that competes with the band’s back catalogue, but overall it’s a good listen that will happily satisfy OMD’s fans.

It’s an admirable pool of ideas, thrilling noises, rare, unpredictable melodies and a huge amount of imagination but to be brutally frank, it doesn’t encourage repeat listens.

It may take a little longer to get in to, but it’s entirely possible that once you’re immersed in Wakin’ On A Pretty Daze, you might be happy never to surface.

Alone Aboard the Ark is an album that moves The Leisure Society forwards, outwards, and upwards, as a band that continues to grow into their story.

Victim of Love may only be Charles Bradley’s second album but it marks another remarkable footstep in the life of its creator.

In other words, they haven’t lost a step as a band.

Learning the lessons of its predecessor, then, album number 5 is an intelligent distillation of everything that people cherish about British Sea Power and what makes them a truly Great British rock band.

Dormarion is a record that fits the Telekinesis mould whilst taking major strides towards breaking it; it’s uneven, sure, but it’s also pretty exciting.

This album doesn’t pack enough punches to provoke or demand a rebuttal, and given the length of VietNam’s hibernation after their debut, they may head straight back there if there’s no impetus to keep them in the spotlight.

Drawing on powerpop, new wave and girl group harmonies, this record is full of engaging tunes, doe-eyed dedications and wry witticisms.

The fact that a band thirteen albums in to their career can still make music that scares their audience is one thing. But the most amazing thing about The Terror is that it sounds like they still have the capacity to scare themselves.

The Strokes have shamefully settled for average, and have failed even at that.

The album itself doesn’t quite reach the sharp, perfect coherence that Timberlake was clearly aiming for.

This record represents a bold, imaginative first step for a young band that seems poised to take their sound anywhere.

Bloodsports is such an assured return, as welcome as it is unforeseen, that Suede have succeeded in rewriting what might be deemed acceptable for a band preparing to enter middle age.

The Golden Age is undoubtably the work of a mature consciousness.

Ultimately, Delta Machine is a record full of terrific moments, reminding you of why you fell in love with Depeche Mode in the first place.

The best moments of the album work by adding a more considered approach to material that, in the wrong hands, could sound slapdash. However, the albums least remarkable moments are plodding at best and mawkish at worst.

Life After Defo is a truly captivating debut, with a poignancy that lasts far beyond the first listen.

It is a cohesive collection, each ballad given similar treatment, steadied and prettied to similar effect, and the exercise is sadly brief.

The album certainly finds the fiery BRMC of old rekindled, with the band wisely applying the lessons they’ve learned over the years to fortify their bold but familiar sound that, while not approaching a reinvention by any means, at least represents a definite rebirth.

Pop-radio metamorphosis hasn’t been fully achieved, and there are plenty of moments where pure beauty shines through.

All Hail Bright Futures sees And So I Watch You From Afar fulfilling the promise that both their debut and follow up teased.

This atmospheric, rewarding gem that, despite its decidedly downbeat subject material, hops effortlessly over various woe-is-me traps is certainly worth the trouble its author’s had to go through to produce it.

On The Invisible Way Sparhawk has managed the rare trick of rendering that language not only intelligible but lustrous and attractive to even the staunchest naysayer while simultaneously steering his band around a fresh and perhaps uncharted musical turn.

The record is an amazing first stride for Amateur Best, one that’s both full of pop sensibilities and avant-garde experimenting.

With Krieg und Frieden (Music for Theatre), Apparat has created yet another awesome dimension to his diverse catalogue of releases.

The album isn’t easy going: it’s hard to completely love a record as bleak as this.... but Henson has a poet’s way with words and an expressive voice that you’d never tire of listening to.

A darker, rougher beast than either of its predecessors, it’s a highly expansive piece of work.

It’s a pretty relentlessly upbeat, pacey affair that could do with stripping things back (as it does a little, to great success, on ‘East Side Glory’) a tad more often--but not many.

Wondrous Bughouse is a delicious collage: provocative, allusive and consistently engaging.

If You Leave is staggeringly beautiful from beginning to close, a catharsis that’s both bracing and woozily amniotic.

This is an album that, as elegant and refined as it is, will be forgotten about soon enough. That’s not to say it doesn’t deserve to be extolled for the hard work alone.

If you’re able to look past the campy facade and accept that this is purely a record of glimmering pop, it’ll be something you’ll cherish.

It is flawed--a few too many diversions and distractions, and one or two experiments that don’t really work--but the best thing about Monkey Mind In The Devil’s Mind is the simple way it frequently reminds you how good a songwriter Mason is.

Herein lies the central problem with Devendra Banhart’s latest record; there are moments to savour, but for each of these there’s at least one frustrating or disappointing moment to counteract it.

It’s not one for EDM purists or those who like their lyrics with any degree of ambiguity, but if you’re the kind of person who finds the very idea of John Grant interesting, you can revel in the fact that he just got a whole lot more complicated.

Sometimes something comes along that seems to revel in nonchalant noisemaking; gives in to the din and just is. Effortlessly, thrillingly, brilliantly, Go Easy does that in spades.

It doesn’t quite all come together here as a whole album, veering between low-key dreamy ambience and more up-tempo indie pop.

New Moon is at times quite captivating and as rowdy as you need it to be, but its weaker moments consistently outshine its brighter ones, leaving the listener with an album half-full of both indelible sonic fury and equally forgettable missteps.

Pearl Mystic is a promising debut from Hookworms, but whether it’s universally appealing is impugnable--there’s a suspicion that accessibility is not exactly on the top of Hookworms’ priorities; instead making interesting, immersive music to get lost in clearly is.

Exai operates within a comfort zone--one that’s dazzling, but given the sheer length of this thing, also far from easy to stomach as a whole.