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.