In all, after 18 very long years, Damage and Joy is a near-faultless return to form, even if some of these 'new' songs are actually over a decade old.

Parton’s eclectic tastes remain the beating heart of The Go! Team, but in producing a record genuinely representative of the band’s boisterous live shows, he sounds more revitalised than ever.

Curiously what you have here is an album composed by someone with an obvious love of the big band sound, blatantly wearing its influences on its sleeve but heartfelt as all hell.

By its closing tracks though, the relative lack of shade to balance the bubblegum-coloured light can become a bit cloying, the endearing charm of the sugary nature fading slightly. Nevertheless, Laading and Fitzpatrick have still delivered a debut that suggests they’ll be continuing to craft impossibly catchy off-kilter pop for years to come.

Heavy Like a Headache feels like the natural next step and successor to Infancy and Happy Days! Expanding on both to enhance their playfully experimental and yet confident, brooding sound, it strengthens their status as one of Scotland’s most exciting bands.

The problem is that, elsewhere, the album rarely transcends its position as a soundtrack and, after watching the vivid--at times stunning--film it accompanies, listening to Mister Mellow solo feels decidedly less colourful.

The songs are solid enough, particularly Candlelight (a dead ringer for The Sonics) and Follow Me Home, which has the swagger and punch of Van Morrison's Them. If that whole milieu is to your taste, definitely worth seeking out.

It tries to cover too much ground on its pilgrimage to novelty and ends up lost on its way. Journeys have a spirit and a narrative, and this has nothing of the sort.

The songs have a feel of personal strife, but are so vague that they can fit into just about any explanation you care to apply to them. But these criticisms are unimportant when faced with the simple catchiness of the music.

The spoken-word closer Under the Ice--an eerie tale of wintery metamorphosis, albatrosses and nudity--is a step dangerously close to the edge, but the orchestral backing is cinematic enough to round out this record of overblown emotion and chilling natural phenomena.

Anagrams is not nearly as watery as, say, Vetiver, but it's some distance from the righteous majesty of The Shins.

Girl at the End of the World is, on one level, more of the same: bulging arrangements; hefty half-hooks; Tim Booth's screwy commentary connecting somewhere to the left of immediately comprehensible. But it's also intelligent, accomplished and likeable.

The House is an album of rare balance and beauty, managing to evoke hefty emotions and ideas while still feeling slight and ephemeral, never forgetting that this could all slip through your fingers at any moment.

While Peggy Sue never quite reached the dizzy heights of Mumford and Sons’ stadium-sized tours, their artfully woven narratives are more than double-tap worthy of it.

Age of Indignation is a convincing and credible advance, and September Girls return with their songcraft finely honed.

[Bundick’s] in his element here, embracing the improvisational jazz of The Mattson 2 as together they pry open your third eye and flood your mind with their cosmic apparitions.

Warzone is as much about her individual experiences as it is about the world we all inhabit. The album is not without flaws, the sentimentality of certain songs occasionally threatening to spill into the maudlin, but the overriding sense is one of deep and critical reflection, offering a sensitivity that is needed in our world now as much as ever.

While half of the tracks here would make for decent singles, the hodgepodge of styles ultimately results in an unbalanced and disjointed album.

Letherette manage the notoriously tricky second album by delivering a reworked and revitalised version of the style with which they have made their name.

The band’s third full-length outing Darkness Rains marches onward down their trodden path and it’s a shame that the stance they take at this crossroads of rock isn’t bold enough to establish a demonic bazaar or make significant strides in any given direction.

The charm of Bleached's earlier, scattier records (Ride Your Heart, Welcome to the Worms) are nowhere to be seen, replaced by a glossy pop-rock sound that would have been fashionable a few years ago, but has surely passed its prime.

Access All Areas is an assertively, confidently, confoundingly surface level record that succeeds in presenting their lead singles with various wigs on for 45 minutes and change.

Animal Collective still lay down a challenge. It's the sound of a band refreshed.

While the project makes more sense if you’ve seen the movie, there’s plenty of warmth and intelligence alongside the tits and willies.

Although Cogan delivers engaging and empathetic lyrics on growing up, changing relationships and even environmentalism, the album has a rather homogenous pace. Despite this, it’s hard not to at least be momentarily charmed by Tallies' nostalgic trip.

His vocal runs and melodies at times provide an almost soul feel--everything is smooth with very few edges, however there’s still enough raw elements to sustain your interest.

Ultimately while graves is a perfectly fine EP, it's also a mostly safe one.

Chaos often ensues within oneself following heartbreak, and Maine captures that devastating chaos beautifully on Ricky Music, sometimes too accurately. It’s not always an easy listen, but it’s certainly a very relatable one.

The results are a timeless, genre-smashing work with a psychedelic soul.

Ever the musical misfits, Blood Red Shoes’ righteous spirit remains even if their sound is a shape-shifting entity.

Featuring guest stars such as Joey Santiago, Teri Gender Bender and Anna Waronker, A Walk With Love and Death is like a one-stop shop of everything to love, hate and feel infuriated by about Melvins.

A masterpiece that puts MØ firmly on her own pedestal as an individual artist rather than a recurring feature.

While nothing on Woman is quite as bombastic as when † was first unleashed on an unsuspecting public, there's plenty of intriguing stuff to chew on here with deep cuts such as Chorus and Heavy Metal, resulting in a terrific return from the French duo.

Ok, some of their sillier excesses may jar ever so slightly (unicorns, faeries, witches, wizards and frogs with demon eyes can all be found here, so some strapping yourself in may be required) and fans may well feel the absence of a true pop banger à la Race For The Prize or She Don’t Use Jelly. In every other aspect, however, this is The Flaming Lips on top of their game: refracting the weirdness of the world through a youthful sense of awe and wonder.

It's often said that love is better the second time around; whilst this remains to be seen, Cry is a grower and we look forward to love’s next incarnation.

It’s soft, woozy, melodically loose. Further investigation reveals that this approach seems to have spread to every aspect of Lorde's songwriting. Where Melodrama was razor-sharp in the universally relatable picture it painted of late adolescence, Solar Power drifts to a place altogether more impressionistic.

Interview Music contains a sense of maturity and introspection, infusing the record with a quality that can only come from artists with a defined sense of who they are at their core.

Wavves are no stranger to this smooth-to-rugged combination, and on Hideaway, the mix feels like a familiar cocktail recipe that mostly hits all the right notes.

A soulful and bewitching brew, and a superlative demonstration of how to prod at your aesthetic without selling your soul.

You'll be happy to hear that Xtreme Now, the Brooklyn duo Princa Rama’s latest record, is just as joyously naff as any judgey pre-judger could expect.

Between Two Shores is another Glen Hansard album filled with good songs, gorgeous music and gregarious singing. Is that enough? You decide.

Nosebleed Weekend goes for the gut and mostly hits it dead-on. Occasionally their ideas get the better of them.

It's not perfect (Hugs and Kisses is something of a misfire) but it certainly stands alongside the best of what Rouse has done before.

Whilst the duo blend their styles deftly, there are moments where their individual personalities dominate.

While this isn’t a bad album, it does feel like a safe one (which is perhaps even worse).

Thankfully, on third full-length Something’s Changed Rose seems to have dispensed with an ardent desire to please. She’s embraced her inner Beth Orton, and she’s ploughing her own furrow.

A two-way artistic exchange in which everyone wins, musicians and listeners alike.

These are songs for dark evenings in big cities, dancing through heartbreak. For when you feel small, but anything feels possible.

Hotel Last Resort is a collection of music that is poised and deliberate, provoked and provoking. Not a record to be taken at face value, it begs for a conscious listen, start to finish. It affirms Violent Femmes’ place as one of the greatest contributors to both the punk and the American musical canon.

Overall, there's a real sense that La Roux is on autopilot, resulting in a ‘samey’ sound that struggles to hold the listener’s attention.

A lingering suspicion remains that there’s little that’s new or groundbreaking to the bouncy vigour encountered on tracks such as Severed Estates or A Change in Course; even the blissed-out motorcade of highlight Fugue States fails to have all its sirens sounding.

For all its bodily closeness, Camila Fuchs hold back on scratching and pinching when they should.

Filthy Friends have made a record to remind us all what music can aspire to.

While it's absolutely fine that he's not interested in making punk music anymore (or at least for the time being), hearing him run through the blues and rock repertoire of the 60s and 70s offers absolutely nothing that can't be achieved by just going and listening to all those great, original, records.

As The Tourist continues to unravel, so too do the tracks--captivating in parts, but lacking a unifying urgency.

Most of the songs have the intensity of an opener, diluting their power and impeccable production; by the end, the drops and tonal shifts don’t hit as surprises.

She pirouettes into the upper echelons of her register during Rooting for You, conveying the affection and apprehension contained in the line 'you’re the only thing I’ve ever truly known'. The low scoops on Hell to the Liars are another, as if Reid’s digging in her heels to stand firmly against 'the righteous ones'. But these are rare instances of genuine feeling amongst what otherwise feels like palatable but empty theatrics.

The results flit capriciously and deliciously through tones and genres, with highlights including the mechanical electro of Let’s Relate, the stuttering du jour production of A Sport and A Pastime, and the glam rock/spaghetti western/prog hybrid (aye, another one…) that is Chaos Arpeggiating.

Overt beats don’t appear until the sixth stanza, bass conspicuous by its absence pretty much throughout, yet whilst the themes can occasionally run away with themselves through lack of definite direction or concrete dénouement, 3.5 Degrees remains an accomplished debut.

There are so many layers to get lost in, and over time Stains on Silence reveals itself to be a gorgeously wrought piece of modern post-punk and synth-pop.

Musically, the good ideas are palpable; a shame, then, that the lyrical ones take such banal centre stage.

A compilation of 13 new recordings of past songs and covers, Mayonnaise--and its Hellmann’s inspired cover art--are as buttery smooth as the well-known dressing. The recording is as clear and intimate as a living room concert, which is a treat, as Deer Tick is one group whose touring has made them terrific showmen.

Unable to elicit more than a shrug for most of its runtime, the record is just one more passable pop album in a year that really didn’t need another.

Griff’s debut album is proficient pop, polished and clean – but to the point of sterility. It needs a bit of defilement.

K. Flay is definitely a Marmite artist and her alternative take on electro-pop/rock is likely to appeal to a lot of people, but unfortunately for some it will be quite difficult to stomach.

Within Temptation nourish symphonic metal yet again on Resist. Their music is always cohesive and passionate.

The unashamedly 80s aesthetic--which hallmarked the first Lost Themes--is pleasingly and emphatically recurrent on the second.

There's a real vulnerability to Taylor's voice, too, reminding us of his mastery of light and shade. Rennen is more thought-provoking than its predecessor, but it's still unmistakably SOHN.

Stripped of the band’s famed essence, the agitated pop of yore is foregone in favour of something that sounds formulaic and uninspired. ... The results are something akin to a terrifying amalgamation of Muse and Duran Duran.

While Kalevi can often transport the listener though, there are also a few moments where the illusion is shattered.

For all Season High’s exuberance, the record never pitches too hard. Little Dragon sense when to turn it down just as well as they know when to ramp it up, and tracks like Butterflies and Strobe Lights deal in emerald lights and moody ultraviolet.

While tracks like Woman are meant to be sombre (and ANOHNI is the perfect artist to deliver this), several of the featured artists have attempted to transpose Cherry’s tongue-in-cheek asides into sincere parts of the melody and in doing so have undercut the fun of the songs.

Like a horror flick that looks good but never really scares, The Capsule remains a concept crying out for a narrative.

Menace Beach gain a lot from the distinctive nasal vocal style of former Komakino frontman Ryan Needham, and when he becomes largely absent the record suffers as a result. ... But when they strike gold, they hit it hard.

There’s less of an exploratory bent to the record than there was last time out, on 2014's Too Much Information, and when there is a touch of that ambition, the band often revert to their comfort zone too quickly.

It’s not perfect; a couple of the album’s feature spots from the likes of D.R.A.M. and Stefflon Don feel a little crowbarred-in, there's less of the punchiness that characterised the duo's early work, and the lounge-funk interlude of Right Back Home To You goes on for at least a minute too long. But when the pieces fall into place there aren’t many bands that exude this much ridiculous, filthy, party-starting energy.

It may lack the richness and depth of her solo work, but that is replaced with absolutely towering riffs and Jurassic grooves.

Although this album has some appealing pop melodies, any further examination or appreciation removes their surface-level charm. Elevator music isn't bad, it just fills awkward silences.

This release isn't going to be for everyone (trading a harder sound for radio-rock seems to divide fans more often than not), especially with a band of 40-somethings attempting to make widely accessible rock tunes.

Either way, it’s a slightly boozy, bluesy, badly tuned, occasionally winsome collection of songs that treads a neat path between pseud’s corner and authentic alley.

We understand if the phrase 'breaking the album format' makes you eye-roll, but this collection of un-songs, half-rhythms and sound snapshots really questions the point in breaking a record into individual tracks.

Wuthering Dream all too frequently gets lost in its own subtleties.

Sir is as extroverted as Spooner’s recent experiences, but some occasional, additional restraint may have added extra punch to its more introverted moments.

There’s still too much filler here to warrant an unqualified thumbs up.

Savior seems suffocated by the very strict parameters that have been drawn for her, by herself and others.

The methods have changed but Shadow's unorthodox sense of rhythm remains reassuringly familiar.

It’s just a shame their debut feels muddied, rather than fuelled, by glimpses of their potential.

While there is still plenty to love here, Everything Now feels like Arcade Fire's first non-essential album which is a serious matter given their illustrious back-catalogue.

As a standalone record, End of the Day does not always justify its existence. Some tracks are simply too empty, leaving a noticeable divide between audience and artist. It takes a concerted effort to listen to the album as a single track, and it perhaps would be best enjoyed alongside the film it was first written to accompany.

It's the kind of record that needs to be approached in increments, but the rewards reveal themselves when given the patience and time that Callus deserves.

Their combined creative nous is such that if the two took the time to craft something more elegant and thought out, they could deliver a classic.

Goldblum doesn’t bring nearly enough of his own unique persona to the performance; his band is competent without making any particularly interesting choices, and the only memorable moment comes from Sarah Silverman’s affable guest appearance.

It's not an easy listen and it's hardly surprising that Lawrie has admitted his intention was "always to create a listening experience reaching beyond the realm of natural vision" but as Something In My Brain grabs you by the neck and thrusts you into the void, it's hard not to give into its dark and welcoming charms.

Breakin' Point feels like a pop record designed by a committee.

Slow Air takes time to process as we reflect on the musical journey we've been on, it's an escapist dream which can only offer more to the imagination with every listen.

Despite not offering up anything especially musically complex (not surprising given that it only took four days to put together) it brings a whole lot of attitude along with it.

Bunky Becky Birthday Boy is a return to the immediacy that made Sleigh Bells’ name – but you wonder whether they had to sacrifice quite so much of the nuance of their last couple of albums in the process.

Lyrically and production-wise, Falling, bar a couple of moments, fails to catch the imagination in a crowded field.