It’s a big, angry, pile-driving, end-times heavy rock workout with frontman Eddie Vedder alternately spewing fury and despair at the state of the world.

QOTSA now know what is expected of them after a decade of commercial appeal: rock ‘n’ roll that’s not too heavy, lyrics that aren’t too vicious. Then they decide to stick their middle fingers up and make what they want regardless.

Sometimes [the strings'] swell threatens to overwhelm the quirkiness, but in the best things, such as Skies are Rare, they work perfectly together.

[Houghton's] first album of idiosyncratic banjo pop has been worth the wait.

He brings his expressive voice and interesting lyric-writing to traditional-minded Irish ballads.... Class.

Chromatica offers Gaga at her most energetic and forceful, and that is something to behold.

Epic and intimate, serious and playful, Okkervil River's third album is genuinely awe inspiring, growing with each replaying.

When Fall Out Boy are in top gear, they’re timeless: if only this whole album had cut some of the filler, it could have been a stellar return to form.

There’s plenty of life in the old dog yet.

It's surprisingly accessible, hypnotic and beautiful if you give it time and concentration.

The way their voices swoop and bend together is a delight.

Ugly Season may seem just that to those who prefer Hadreas’s smoother side. Yet the most compelling elements of his work remain, and the album is a culmination of one of the most consistent and emotionally generous artists today. Without the focus of the dance performance, the onus is on the listener to concentrate – but the rewards are as rich as ever.

By the time Roderick closes out with a fully orchestrated baroque dismissal of a former associate (“I’d like nothing more than you darken my doorstep nevermore,” Vanian politely croons), there can be no doubt that Darkadelia lives up to its foreboding title. It also represents one of Britain’s most idiosyncratic and enduringly excellent rock bands, in thrilling form.

This began life as an art project at Somerset House, with Harvey composing and recording in a makeshift studio before a viewing public. Such pressurised circumstances might explain the absence of any sense of real pleasure in the finished work. I don’t hesitate to hail it as impressive but it does feel more civic project than classic album.

Coexist may not sound as dramatically original as their debut but it is every bit as other-worldly, like eavesdropping on intimate conversations between forlorn lovers on a space station orbiting around a distant planet.

Hoodies All Summer is the album that grime has been crying out for, an audacious state-of-the-nation address from one of its most articulate lyricists.

This is a set of absolute bangers including a barrel-house Crocodile Rock romp through Little Richard’s Bible, the twisty Americana-flavoured fantasia of Riverman and a moving Elton solo finale on When This Old World Is Done Me. On such evidence, we’re not done with him yet, nor he with us.

With more restrained tempos and a broader, gentler soundscape, the focus shifts to Flowers’s thoughtful lyrics, lovely melodies and grave yet pliant vocals for the most nuanced and heartfelt set of songs that he (with various co-writers and band members) has ever conjured up.

Self Made Man is a further confirmation that these are women of substance.

There’s not an ounce of fat on these eight, energised tracks. Everything is sharpened by the awareness of mortality and there is alchemy’s in Pop’s ability to infuse such resignation with real electricity.

While still manic in its tempo-changing lunacy, Hellfire is more approachable and organised, as the production by sometime Björk engineer Marta Salogni asserts a certain order amid the vari-speed chaos.

The 17-track record is as hyperactive, heartfelt and honest as we’ve come to expect from the group.

The confidence of this Texan trio's last effort (2009's Fits) is lacking on their first major-label release.

The results may be a bit odd and unfashionable, but one of the great pleasures of Walking Like We Do is that it simply could not have been made by anyone other than The Big Moon.

In guitarist-singer James Dean Bradfield and drummer and multi-instrumentalist Sean Moore, they boast two incredibly gifted musicians whose dense arrangements glitter with intricate interplay.

Upon the first few listens, it’s a confusing album: there’s plenty of their usual sing-song melodies and musings on modern dissatisfaction, such as on When We Were Very Young. ... But it’s the synth-laden, poptastic I Don’t Know What You See In Me that seems glaringly out of place.

Sharper production focuses the singer's woozier tendencies, revealing a succession of hooks to adorn his take on Neil Young's grooving folk-rock and Blur's twisted indie.

Scintillating and confident. ... This is music to bop to on the streets, to listen to in church with a big congregation, or to soak up alone in a room.