At least half of Chaosmosis matches its vitality; the only real stinker is opener Trippin' On Your Love, a happy-clappy rave generation anthem even The Shamen might have passed on. But the highlights here are as good as anything Bobby Gillespie and co-writer Andrew Innes have fashioned since 2000's touchstone XTRMNTR.

While his words do occasionally come to the fore, such as on the emotional Wren, the questions Shields raises surrounding religion and ceremony, the elemental and the domestic, can feel secondary to the atmosphere. Passover captures the spectre of death, but its existential meditations can be obscured.

There is nothing necessarily new offered here in the way of direction or sound, however Zeppelin Over China adds a suitable chapter to the story of Robert Pollard, who recently celebrated releasing a mind-blowing 100 albums over the course of his career in various projects.

Rush! perfectly captures the sense of spontaneous authenticity that makes for a one-of-a-kind show. Måneskin continuously prove that outcasts deserve a good time, and they are here to give it to us.

Ulltimately, Oh Inhuman Spectacle relies on its construction and craft at the expense of killer tunes, but it's never less than likeable.

Too often the feeling remains that the joke isn't funny enough to sustain a whole record, especially one that follows a masterpiece.

Too often for a 30-minute record do you find ponderous filler (Notes in a Bottle, Now or Never, Properties of Perception), in which even the ever-earnest Murray doesn’t seem to believe the lyrics he’s opining.

Overall, Shiny And Oh So Bright, Vol. 1 / LP: No Past. No Future. No Sun. is a pleasantly nostalgic, brief album--half of which is sensational and the other is painstakingly poor.

For any listener beholden to folk-aligned contemplation behind the rest of the similarly-monikered canon, Summer of ’13 is an anomalous curio, bringing to mind an ‘80s hit not mentioned here: Eddy Grant’s I Don’t Wanna Dance.

Even when the songwriting falters, Lissie’s incredible voice elevates Castles.

The queen of Dollywood has more than earned her place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with this stupidly fun and over-the-top love letter to the genre.

The album’s nitid production weighs down heavily, so much so it induces a fair few flinching moments.

For a record so brief, its ability to evoke scale--while still carrying the distinctive sound of the band that surprised us all with An Awesome Wave back in 2012--is testament to Alt-J’s demonstrable talents as artists.

Kid Kruschev sees Sleigh Bells strike a delicate balance, branching into new creative waters whilst staying true to the musical formula which first garnered them attention.

Oxygene 3 is a minimalist--and exquisitely melancholy--wonder.

While there are moments on this album where Benjamin Francis Leftwich's positivity is genuinely very nice to hear, all in all Gratitude is musically beige and lyrically clichéd. Leftwich would be better to stick to what he does best: playing his acoustic guitar and singing about 1904.

Instant Halo is a reminder that the band's deepest roots are not in the snappy guitars of post-punk, nor the industrial-electro beats that inspired the likes of Trent Reznor, but a dub foundation that ensures the The Pop Group remain as danceable as they are confrontational.

The Modern Age is craftily frontloaded, rattling impatiently through the most immediate tracks and building up a steam of goodwill before slowing the tempo with the gentle experimentation of the title track.

Sure, Graham’s voice is powerful; not Levi Stubbs powerful, perhaps, but muscular and versatile nonetheless. It’s a shame, though, that even its most melismatic hints of adventure feel carefully rehearsed; slickly produced beyond any sense of risk or catharsis.

Phantogram's fix and mend methods, and above average song craft, are admirable and compelling. An unexpected treat.

Some tracks do repeat the same tricks or perhaps linger a little too long, yet Myself in the Way, while not one to excite fans of the old Turnover, builds upon the simplicity of Altogether to produce an alt-disco record full of intrigue.

There are occasional missteps (the sweeping strings and Fleetwood Mac-leaning vibe of Nicky Buckingham are overshadowed by interfering effects, while the slow tempo of Heaven Knows What jars with the buoyancy of the rest of the album), but as a whole Work is a heady exploration of dance-pop’s spectrum.

The Cutter and Rescue both build on their VU-esque original templates, and as always Will Sergeant plays an understated blinder when asked, but it's hard to see many fans going back to these recordings instead of the originals after a curious first listen.

There’s not enough adventure to make this truly feel like Pixies; it lacks the sense that the wheels might come off any minute. Lenchantin, for her part, holds her own, especially on All I Think About Now, but her new colleagues need to rediscover the urgency and ambition that defined their best work if they’re ever going to match it.

Even in Arcadia offers a window into the band’s psyche, while keeping audiences at arm’s length while inviting them to lose themselves in its emotional depths.

As a whole the experience lacks the nuance and multiple textures required to make such guitar-centric endeavours a real delight.

Lunice wisely gives ample room to his collaborators. As impressive as the beats are in their complexity, a special mention is necessary for the MCs who deftly weave words in between Lunice’s polyrhythms.

There are plenty of pleasant enough moments on the band's seventh record as there are on all of them, but one wonders if they'll ever recapture that magic that briefly made them feel a bit special.

The sugared melodies of Bitter Pill also go down smoothly, as does the lucently beautiful Intrusive Thoughts, and though a distracting feeling of déjà vu eventually takes root, the well-pruned runtime helps keep Flowers more or less in full bloom.

An enigmatic listen, crying out for your own reading.

The beats are the only thing going anywhere on Stranger, while the vocals seem as drunk and rambling as ever, devoid of memorable similes or even coherent subject matter.

Geowulf have all the potential to be able to put together a decent pop album, with Kendrick’s blissful vocals and Banjanin’s chilled-out melodies, but unfortunately on Great Big Blue, they just fall a bit short.

The eight-track album features themes on the new age norms of class, gender, race and power that shape the world today. Beyond the sweet melodies and striking instrumentals, New Age Norms 1 is a project with a message.

DZ Deathrays are pretty consistent in that way. Yes, there are fun moments to their latest record, and there certainly are songs you can imagine sounding great while crammed in a small, sweaty basement nightclub, but beyond that, there isn't really a lot else to this, especially, when as mentioned, there's a whole slew of acts like this already.

If you already enjoy the band's sound, whether in fervent adoration or in a passing fondness, Keep On Smiling won’t turn you off. It might not be a game changer, but if you already like the game, thats not a problem.

It wouldn't be a recommended entry point for Beach Slang, but the chances are you'd find one or two songs here palatable enough to seek out more. If you're a Replacements fan you'll either think this fills the Westerberg-shaped hole in your life or you'll tear your hair out and curse at just how audaciously similar some of these songs are. Still, whatever side of the fence you might sit on, it's probably worth a listen to find out.

Tense synth riffs drive [the track Animals] forward and give it an energy absent from the rest of the album. It is that energy, that immedicacy that made Fuck Buttons such an exhilarating listen, which is so sorely missed on this album.

Although not completely original or life changing, this collection of songs provides a fresh angle on the early days of Friendly Fires and Tame Impala; with such a talent for refreshing the past, who knows what will come next.

An album with a few moments of sweetness, but which ultimately feels like a pleasant collection of background music.

Say Yes is an assertive, cathartic shout of independence. An understandably grittier attitude drives even the most understated of tracks, but blows full force on Avalanche.

Despite the obvious Tame Impala similarities, sir Was manages to carve out his own brand of psychedelic pop on Digging A Tunnel, leaning more towards funk, soul and hip-hop than classic psych-rock. Plus, you’ve got to hand it to him for trying to make bagpipes happen.

Syrian Plains will get heads banging, while John is more likely to lead the dancing--and is the most joyful track on this generally bleak, occasionally repetitive album.

Despite some over-zealous Top 40 attempts, High Expectations is a well-rounded pop record.

While Power is sonically different to the rest of the band’s outings, and a solid release that keeps their ever-consistent discography ticking over, it’s perhaps not as vibrant as previous efforts.

While not every moment works as seamlessly as others and some track lengths can feel slightly daunting, the triumphs far outway the tribulations on this enthralling, emotional trilogy conclusion.

It’s a bold, considered whole; it's rich in theatrical texture and ambient psychedelia, but it’s not an easy listen. Often deliberately discordant, it won’t be to everyone’s tastes, certainly not to fans of Palmer’s poppier work.

Morrissey can alienate fans with outlandish outbursts or with decidedly average new music, but both at the same time is surely too much for even the most forgiving fan.

If anything, it’s a shame the album takes this long to really flourish. Indie super-producer John Congleton is welcome on the boards, but he arguably provides a little too much polish, compared to his recent worthy efforts for Priests.

Let’s Go Sunshine is a triumph for a band unafraid of pushing their sound, fusing together a variety of influences and flying the indie-pop flag high and proud for all to admire.

While it's an improvement from their lowest ebbs, it will equally never match their highest peaks.

As they’ve progressed through their career, that quality undoubtedly still remains, but their sound has morphed into something much grander and ambitious than a previous dose of radio rock.

With Red Pill Blues Levine and co have managed to produce an album that is uninteresting and unexciting; at best this is background music, to be listened to on very, very low volume, or even better, not at all.

Its fuzzy, dream-like patterns and navel-gazing can be hard to interpret, but there is a certain honesty and integrity that underpins the album.

Alter Ego should make meteoric impact. Instead, it lands with a dull thud. The album doesn’t feel like an artistic statement so much as lab-assembled and A&R-curated; sterile and unwilling to take risks.

While Altogether is a pleasantly enough constructed record, it suffers a similar problem to Nothing's Dancing On the Blacktop from last year – it's just not particularly enthralling for older fans.

Deaf Havana have moved with the times but it isn’t all sugar-coated and there’s still enough emotion to drive us towards their music.

Occasionally he lands on a flourish that expresses something specific, like the jarring MIDI-ish guitar tone on 24 which, in its anxious jaggedness, is an apt counterpart to the lyrics 'Please don’t let it be a heart attack'. More often though, he’s happy to settle for novelty alone. And while that’s no crime, it’s unlikely to set your world on fire either.

Songs in the Key of Animals begins sounding like the Bojack Horseman concept album nobody asked for.

There won’t be many other mainstream pop albums this year that ricochet quite as boldly between styles or pool inspiration from as wide a range of sources. ... But we can’t go any further before we make one thing clear: Sacred Hearts Club contains some of the worst music we’ve heard all year.

For an indie record, Open Book does what it does well, and with charm, but there’s an unshakeable sense of wasted potential here.

An indelible soundtrack of intelligent and bittersweet beauty.

In what should have been a return to form for Lupe Fiasco, Drogas Light falls short, instead feeling too rushed and confused to make for any kind of anticipation for the rest of the trilogy that is still to come.

Some tracks, like Pretty Good WiFi, fail to hit the spot leaving the singer somewhat exposed at times. Still, with his parent band said to be writing album number four, it won’t hurt to add another string to the bow.

Hard-partying techno heads will love the anxiety-inducing tone of Operator; others may see this as a missed opportunity, after a regenerative five-year hiatus, for MSTRKRFT to explore creative nuance over noise.

JT’s smug family life is the single thread uniting this 16-track jumble of songs that swing between batshit and bland, and romance comes in two forms: soppy odes, or sloppy humblebrags about shagging.

The best tracks here are those which delve into the power ballads that we know Lavigne can produce so effectively. But other than the album's self-titled lead single and It Was In Me, with soaring orchestrals and subtle keys paving the way for her lung-bursting croons, it feels much like a lost Lavigne seeking a sound that’ll just keep her afloat.

Lead track The Love Within opens the record and remains a bizarre mess; Kele Okereke's distinct vocal parting for a mostly one-note synth line that causes a genuine flinch. All is perhaps not lost: Fortress is a somewhat pretty, minimal electro ballad while Different Drugs speaks for the entire record; flirting with a series of ideas before simply fading out of sight and mind. We expected so much more.