They’re weird. Wired. Wonderful. They sound like no one but themselves, and they’re still getting better.

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

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.

Weaves can flick between breezy, cute pop hits to tight-fisted punk snarlers in the blink of an eyeball, and the record's best tracks are a combination of both.

Featuring crunchy guitars, squeals of feedback and masterful melodicism, comparisons to Pinkerton are inevitable, but there's more nuance and maturity at work here.

There’s real heart buried underneath SUMAC’s furious, deafening bleakness; it can just feel like a serious excavation job to locate it.

Like the image its title evokes then, Light Upon The Lake is a transient pleasure--but a vivid one while it lasts.

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

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

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.

Perhaps a wee bit too derivative for some--Tres Warren’s scuzzy washed-up vocals evoke Anton Newcombe. Still, there’s enough here to trigger intrigue should you make the effort.

Short and snappy it may be--its 12 tracks are done and dusted within half an hour--yet the band still manage to cultivate dramatic intent amidst the jangly guitars and posturing hooks.

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

Tegan and Sara colour inside the lines a little too much (Stop Desire and B/W/U are shiny, forgettable filler, and Hang On To The Night is a damp squib closer) for their latest to really zing.

Minor Victories is frequently beautiful, and it’s the subtle application of the abrasive (on tracks such as Out To Sea) where this project really comes into its own; a few listens in, and captivation becomes its own reward.

Blissful, elegant records like this do not come about by chance.

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

So pretty, so welcoming, so ridiculously clever.

From massive, bashy beginnings, Congrats opens out into an album of very real, ripped-rule-book excitement; it’s exhausting and exhilarating and wonderful.

Means is shadowed and dizzying, sour and fleeting. The album captures the essence of an indie sound that's almost universally considered to be jaded, and proves that the genre may be weatherworn, but its framework is ripe for a renovation.

Produced by Bernard Butler, its ten tracks hum with greedy ambition.

Skip A Sinking Stone isn’t an immediate record, and neither is there anything particularly novel in its utilisation of imagery, but that’s picking holes for the sake of it; tracks such as Getting Gone and the titular Skipping Stones balance naturally, the harmonies gentle, the acoustic guitar, piano and strings positioned with grace.

Nadler's work is ultimately less storied than Del Rey's and too under-dramatised to really connect, to really hurt.

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

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

It’s the soundtrack to our most outlandish dreams, perhaps the exit music to the unmade film of our most romantic lives. If you're still to discover Radiohead, listen to this, for it's the perfect way in.

This is an album swimming with inventiveness, quality and variety: it’s good to have her back.

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.