001 is at its best when collecting material made just before Strummer's death, including a duet with Johnny Cash on Bob Marley's Redemption Song and the heartbreaking folk rag of Silver & Gold.

None of this group of songs are as good as those from her concise solo album, which only sprawled out with the ambient abstractness of its instrumental companion, something new and unheard for her. Here, listless listening is interrupted by the dangerous, mystical Simulation Swarm, saving the record’s back half. Big Thief are at their most beguiling when giving in to weird experiments.

Dorji remains a superb judge of when to introduce melody into the haze, but for a lot of its runtime you can’t help but wish for more.

While Reflection of Youth doesn’t always capture the more brutal side of growing up sonically, Bruland does give off the sense that she’s come out of the other side, older and wiser.

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.

Grapefruit is both excruciating and luxurious in its patchiness.

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.

Glossy and calculating, Careless People rarely pulls back.

The Life Of Pablo is bursting at the seams with ideas and talking points, from his mental health and destructive ego to the very fact that this album defines how useless the format is. As with every one of his records, you feel like this is only the tip of the iceberg.

Blunt colloquialisms can detract from philosophical musings, and sunny chords sometimes overshadow introspective lyrics.

All That Was East Is West of Me Now, begins as a noisy yet meditative record with crunching guitars and snapping snares, before settling into a more reflective pattern to suit the resigned sighs and stuttering sounds his tunes twist taut upon.

All in all a gracious record, and one that grows on the listener.

These musical twists and turns can occasionally detract from Christinzio’s lyrics, which veer between gallows humour and vulnerability. When the latter half of the album gives his words more room to breathe, their impact becomes even greater.

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.

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.

Blast Off Through The Wicker doesn’t always reach stratospheric heights, but some of its psychedelic freak-outs suggest that Art Feynman is still on an intriguing musical course.

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.

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.

cannibal world’s breakbeats, a not unfamiliar sound for Nothing, brings them into the lineage of the bands – TAGABOW, forever ☆ – doing this well (better, even) now. However, the record cocoons into the kind of soft strummed ballads that a young Neil Halstead would write about pain and heartbreak in a Welsh cottage.

[Redemption Love's] use of repetition is borderline annoying, the instrumental is completely uninteresting, making this track feel like just another piece of filler on an album that otherwise features some truly captivating songwriting. The title track, for example, is the Joan Armatrading we know and love, and then some: contemplative, wise and deliciously groovy.

All three are considerable technicians and practice refreshing restraint; both in their playing (intricate but not showy) and their sound (sharp and dry, with few effects). The result, however, can feel like a bit of an academic exercise at times – music to be admired rather than really inhabited.

The record ultimately feels like something of a minor work in James’s already imposing output, but remains a pointer to both her and Eastman’s sparkling talents.

A grab-bag of experiments, as the now-trio try on a variety of stylistic hats while they figure out what the future of WWPJ sounds like.

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.

Her career to date might have been bolstered by a stellar string of friends but there’s one thing that the multi-instrumentalist is more than capable of handling herself – the artful knack for sincere songwriting.

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

Messes is the kind of album you feel rather than interpret, where what’s being said is less important than how it’s delivered. And when it comes to vocals, Chura’s delivery is certainly distinctive.

From voices in prayer to the jaunty organ and guitar pedal abuse of Congratulations, this is a record that rarely falls short of a creative arrangement but ultimately the gospel of Morby is one for the devotees not the unbelievers.