II is nothing short of a modern classic; the sound of a band fusing elements of electronic music with raw psych-rock to devastating effect--something more lauded bands have failed to do.

There’s an ancient sense of purity to this music which seems a cut above any similar projects.

If this is her last record then she hasn’t gone out on her finest note, but that’s certainly not to undermine the album. Maya Arulpragasam’s body of work remains an important reminder of the exciting prospects of cultural exchange and the immigrant experience. Taken in that light, AIM is a fitting addition to her oeuvre.

If anything, this album is better than his first, as he settles confidently on his recognisable but versatile sound.

The Childhood of a Leader opens up further notions on the increasing use of mise en scene within Scott's music as well as positioning himself as a modern composer utilising cinematic techniques within narrative frameworks. It is an unexpectedly urgent addition to a master's late period canon.

Neurosis have not reinvented extreme metal on Fires Within Fires, and at this point it seems unlikely they’ll ever again record anything as gamechanging as Enemy... or 1996’s Through Silver In Blood. These albums and others give them ample credit in the bank to merely – merely! – bust out a new record every few years, tweak their various formulae, play by their own rules and timescales, and keep on delivering the goods in punishing, end-time-preacher fashion.

Ultimately, Requiem is something of a mixed bag and you can’t blame a band as idiosyncratic as Goat for trying to break out. But Goat seem to be too consciously searching around for a new route forward rather than going with their instincts.

As Flock Of Dimes, Wasner refuses to waste a second. Most tracks are pop hits waiting to happen in some daring universe, with verses as charming as the shimmering choruses, each a perfectly formed little jewel, Wasner's voice lush and warm.

In and of itself, EUSA is a beautiful piece of work that acts as an aural snapshot of one man’s vision of security and peace.

On Physicalist, Forma, mind-bogglingly skilled with their synthesizers, push themselves further and further into new territory--almost literally--as they pare back, slow down, spread out, dig into the (American) soil beneath their feet.

Musically, Blood Bitch plays a lot with drone, feedback and white noise, while simultaneously handing huge portions of songs over to the most melodic and annoyingly catchy work Hval has ever made.

With Furfour the duo has altogether eschewed contemporary psychedelia’s hackneyed reliance on drones and heaviosity, and in doing so have made a powerful case for catchy tunes as a vehicle for mind-expanding music.

Going, Going... is a little overlong, but it’s also bursting with some tremendous songs and a vitality that belies over 30 years in the game.

While it’s a formula they work to, it never sounds formulaic.

It is the sound of a musician coming to terms with the excruciation of making art and exposing himself without armour.

Pixies have played it straight and stayed in their lane, their once vital weirdness cast into the laundry basket like a vampire costume post Halloween. Head Carrier is 80% classic Pixies. But it turns out the missing 20% is as fundamental as oxygen is to air.

The fractured fairy tales of their full-length debut Lady Parts will assuredly satisfy both those old Prefuse 73 fans and newer listeners who enjoy a sensible amount of weirdness in their mixes.

Wrangler sounds neither like a Mallinder solo project (which of course they don't want to be) nor like your average electronic jam band (which they are pretending to not want to be either). If White Glue is a dance album, it only succeeds half of the time. If it is something else, it is not clear what exactly.

Inevitably there’s nothing here to rival the dark majesty of Van der Graaf Generator’s classic 1970s work, and newcomers should start with Still Life, Godbluff or Pawn Hearts. But Do Not Disturb is a worthy addition to the group’s canon and--if this is indeed their last album--a fitting end to an illustrious career.

This project with 1-800 DINOSAUR is--for the most part--genuinely refreshing.

If only perhaps, the allusions were more developed: the sound doesn’t quite manage to create or replicate the enveloping atmosphere of its influences, perhaps because the mood shifts between melancholia and languidly upbeat between tracks, and is overall driven by melodies that feel ordinary and familiar. It makes for nice listening, but by no stretch is it challenging itself, the genre or the audience.

The only way to respond to the sourpusses is to ensure the music is very, very good, something that KoKoro can more than justifiably claim.

La Femme’s second album Mystère continues where Psycho Tropical Berlin left off, though it is a more sophisticated affair, and perhaps more subdued too (though that’s no bad thing). There’s still room for the surf rock antics of the impossible catchy ‘Où va le monde’, but on tracks like ‘Septembre’, there’s a definite sense of foreboding as summer ends and the season changes.

Through electro beats, samples and soaring choruses, Lynch's voice is consistent, strong and always beautiful.

Blade of Love is a piece that takes the ideas and challenges of their debut even further without losing any of their focus or animal thump.

It’s an album that needs the thick-skin its title connotes to listen--you won’t emerge from it feeling joyous, but you will emerge seeing a truth that will deeply unsettle.

This is an utterly spellbinding record that shows with maturity that the band only grows and improves. If this is their last, it is an exit at their peak, proving their relevance and importance more than ever.

Astronaut Meets Appleman might very well be King Creosote’s masterpiece. It is at once ethereal and contemplative, grounded and matter-of-fact.