On pretty much every track, the instrumentation is formulaic and predictable.

These twelve bitter-sweet tracks are packed with bright pop hooks and jubilant melodies, just about sellotaped together with fuzz and rendered endearingly on the verge of constant collapse.

Whether Poison Season is approached as an exhibition of those many individual pieces, or as an ensemble affair weaved subconsciously together, that conflicted point of view leads the listener to treat the whole LP as an exploration.

Depression Cherry is a beautiful record about darker times being a point in a journey, not the final destination. It shows its creators have a level of wisdom beyond their years.

Yet although it lasts barely half an hour, it feels as if the album doesn't quite cohere into a convincing whole, and that the first half's captivating energy is lost amidst one too many hazy, half-formed slow jams later on. Even so, a hugely promising debut.

And The Wave Has Two Sides may be severely front-loaded, but it sees ON AN ON offer up a handful of songs that appear to be a genuine attempt to take a stride towards some sort of commercial success. Currently however, the misses outnumber the hits.

Mercer has allowed his lyrics to become more expansive and less cohesive. For this reason, they need room to resonate, to sink in.

[The EP] follows the lead of last year’s return to form The Take Off and Landing of Everything in its sonic subtlety.

While not a step forward, What Went Down is a consolidation and refinement of Foals’ artistic strengths and explorations over their previous trio of albums.

This is a soul record that sounds pristine and yet feels raw--whatever else might’ve happened in the last couple of years, Beal’s voice--both literally and creatively--has not been withered.

Contradictions is certainly a step in the right direction and sees Paul on the rise once again. This album is a dark horse, a grower, and one that current fans and newcomers to his music will appreciate alike.

With this raw collection of songs, Royal Headache have bared themselves to the world, and it's enthralling.

It’s a very brave record where Deradoorian eschews the traditional language of pop music to create her own pictures and conversations and turn them into brilliantly beautiful songs.

The album slowly loses its sanity: Edging over that transgressive line, like all good punk bands do.

All Around Us can’t seem to feel anything other than transitional. Having evolved some semblance of a skeleton from her previous work, given its flashes of excellence, one can’t help but hope it ultimately morphs into a fully moving, breathing being next time out.

E.MO.TION has all the tenets of a successful pop record, but feels more cultivated than previous work.

Hermits On Holiday is that rarest of treats, a side-project that could be its writers’ day job. Bristling with brio and invention, it sounds as much fun to listen to as its creators evidently had making it.

All irony aside, this bold debut is something to be admired--a creative and eclectic gem to be cherished and nurtured.

On Moth Boys Spector learn from the shortcomings of their debut and comfortably eclipse its quality.

The only possible complaint is that some cuts flow by a bit too smoothly; another dose of the urgency and turbulence "Älgen" and "NFB" wouldn't have gone amiss on this otherwise flawless record.

On balance, Music For Dogs kind of ends up resembling a bag of chocolate misshapes: weird-looking and questionable, but still somehow oddly loveable.

Like all great Country records, Romano’s is cathartic--your heart aches for him and with him--and it is this emotive sway that makes the record a success.

At times it makes the album feel like a compilation of great lost No Wave acts, but when it all clicks together like on the blistering, agit-hardcore blast "They Know", Deaf Wish are a mighty force.

All in all, Imaginary Man is a bit like an early afternoon festival set: a perfectly pleasant, though ultimately forgettable, prelude to something better best enjoyed while lubricating for the headliners with beer.

Any record containing tracks of this quality, as well as 24 others of a similarly high standard, is always worth releasing, whether or not it feels academically or artistically necessary.

If you like this sort of thing, then you’ll like it; if you’re indifferent toward it, then you’ll easily move on unaffected; if this isn’t your bag, it still won’t be.

One never gets the impression that she's battling against or drowning within her riptides; instead the vocals and guitars assume a kind of subservient relationship, the voice somehow calling, from out of the void, the raging whorl.

The Chronic and 2001 were simply collections of great songs and the order didn't matter much; Compton, conversely, is one giant song presented as a specifically sequenced album. While it succeeds as such--a lush, expensive-sounding art rap song-cycle--it fits the Doctor about as well as a baggy t-shirt. Dre makes great songs, not great albums.