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.

This lo-fi, devil-may-care air translates well to record, with A Season in Hull capturing and accentuating the band’s characteristic camaraderie and casual, Jonathan Richman-esque charm.... Admittedly, the stripped-down setup has drawbacks too, leaving the material with nowhere to hide and exposing an uncharacteristic patchiness.

Uplifting and electric, Love Yes is a blast.

Jesu’s crunching, industrial guitar, subtle drum machines and harmonies compliment Kozelek’s meandering, caustic tales differently to past collaborators such as The Album Leaf and Desertshore, but it works just as well, helped by star turns from the likes of Low and Will Oldham.

At times (Pay Attention To Me, Rot In Hell), their chief inspiration point seems to be Nirvana’s seething grind through Devo’s Turnaround, but their gleeful dedication to deafening scree also calls to mind both No Age and TAD’s 8-Way Santa.

A late night journey of the highest order.

These songs are strong enough to be recorded with minimal accompaniment and that instantly recognisible, hushed voice--but the best moments are when his love of electronica shines through.

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.

Bulat performs with passion and authority. Ten songs and not a hint of filler.

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

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

With original Stereolab drummer Joe Dilworth also involved, there’s the feel of an avant-noise supergroup when DeerHunter’s Bradford Cox and Spacemen 3’s Sonic Boom lend some typically out-there contributions. Deeply sublime.

Thought Rock Fish Scale arrives wholesome and homely rather than exciting or challenging, as if missing the lights of the big city.

Perhaps it isn't quite a fully realised picture, but Life of Pause still paints a very pretty sonic landscape.

It’s an album of shattered dreams and primary colours--“Where’s your sense of humour?” decries Blunderland--and more than once it isn’t obvious if the band are laughing with us or (in the nicest possible way) at us.

A poignant but punchy triumph then, perfectly timed for mid-winter maladies.

Over 14 tracks, repetitive funk riffs and chatty, conversationalist lyrics start to wear a little thin, and a lack of diversity makes for such comfortable listening that you risk all-too-comfortably tuning out.

Repeat visits are sure to unearth more of the band’s thought process, but there's a lingering sense that less could've been so much more.

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

Both vivid and dreamlike, each narrative swims in and out of focus without ever being forced; the type of record to return to, again and again.

Ornate, sometimes grand and shot through with their distinct brand of colloquial folk rock, Weem is beguiling from the first listen and only gets better the more you cosy on up with it.

Williams’ songwriting approach, while accomplished and still urgent, occasionally loses some of its ferocity and connection to the theme by playing to his game a bit too much; relying on that trademark electro-rock production instead of mutating contemporary trap and noise feels like a slight misstep.

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

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.

Blackstar is an absorbing (if consciously arty and perhaps a shade self-indulgent) listen.

Suicide Songs sees the trio perfect what they started to build on their debut.

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.

Apart from a few tonal blips (Taken By The Tide may well be a smuggled-in Band of Horses track, and 1985’s piano ballad proves an idling mid-point), Curve... is a remarkably slick experience.