Williamson is so quick and witty with his references that it's not until two or three plays that you actually spot the humour in what he's expressing. It's got a way of making each track funnier, and more prescient, with every spin.

With Distractions, Sauna Youth showcase their ability to infuse a classic punk aesthetic with skilful artistry.

There are a few duds in there where the dynamism and the delicacy clash ineffectively, but they are outnumbered by the surprising number of triumphs.

the New York duo have shown that they indeed own that genre because well, it’s their own genre. Thankfully, the same feelings are still mustered with new offering Magnifique--and then some.

Communion is brimming with razor-sharp summer pop anthems that succeed in bringing a smile to your face time and time again.

Glider is an album for all seasons, from star-gazing on a humid summer’s night to blanketed winter evenings beside the fire. And, come the short days and long nights later this year, we’ll look back on it as one of 2015’s best.

Tied To The Moon is a beautiful record, so full of intricacies that it continues to reward with every listen, allowing you to lose yourself in its stories.

An album clearly made by a mercurial talent, but who still sounds at his best quietly knocking out unassuming dancefloor gold.

Twelve Reasons to Die II suggests that breaking new ground might be a futile undertaking if there's this much juice left in the good old tricks.

Despite Furman’s own insecurities and wanderlust, Perpetual Motion People sounds like home.

The variety of genres synthesised to generate this finished record show that they have absorbed life's lessons and reconstituted them to suit a unique outlook. The effect is a strangely familiar, yet singularly arranged thread of consciousness.

It’s beautifully crafted, and you’ve really not heard anything like it before.

verall it feels like a real thrift shop of curiosities with a few gems to be found if you go looking. And if you do, be prepared for a fair amount of sifting.

It’s clear that Morning/Evening has been inspired by, and tailored for, its respective times of day and this works well. But it feels like the majority of Hebden’s attention has gone into the first side resulting in an enjoyable, if front-loaded album.

Miguel writes nothing but memorable melodies and his songwriting is the engine that makes Wildheart all work, that takes his affinity for funk, psychedelia and Prince, and turns them an album that feels totally of the moment.

The cocksure quality of My Love Is Cool represents some majority of its charm.

Rather than rushing into something, Inji is a complex compilation of his finest material.

On The Sovereign Self, they combine to remarkable effect. This is not an easy record, but it needs to be heard. Again and again.

Despite these downbeat descriptions, the beauty is evident from start to finish.

This is not a terrible record, just a bland and misguided one.

There’s plenty to suggest that she is still developing and searching for her true self, but there's more evidence that Flo is a captivating and striking new voice.

The Monsanto Years is another inessential and underpowered Neil Young album to file alongside the likes of 2003's ecological garage rock opera Greendale: good ideas and inspiring ideals grounded by half-baked presentation and paucity of substantial songcraft.

Good things do come with time, and this LP is no doubt a stopping point on Active Child's journey to uncharted, challenging places.

They’re sounds we’ve all heard before but done spectacularly.

This is pop music with complex narratives, and if the masses are willing to listen, they could be the band that recharges the UK charts with genuinely meaningful music.

Expecting Moroder to reach the heights of "I Feel Love" is, of course, futile, and yes, after a few repeated plays you may find the odd track or two that stand out from the rest, but there’s little you’ll love to love here.

Even if seems a touch outdated at points, though, there’s not likely to be another punk album this year that unleashes its ire with such precision--and it’s proof again, too, that Oberst remains a master of switching through the gears.

Bones is a remarkable, chameleonic entity.