His vivid, scattershot rhymes are clever without being cryptic, and his techno-tinged beats never veer off into tuneless arhythmia.

The album’s dark title belies its artful balancing of psych pop’s sweetness with head-down, rock riffing and the emotional power of the blues.

Even by her own unsettling standards, however, her seventh album is disturbing, a collection of smudged and spectral laments that appear to have been written before the invention of penicillin.

As fun and full-on as it gets right now.

The best thing about Garden Ruin is the way they look beyond country borders to engage with the wider world, both culturally and musically.

An ambitious, filler-free, modernist-sounding beast which laughs in the face of underachievement.

Sensuous, subtle but emotionally overwhelming dreamscapes, whose luminous beauty makes pigeonholing nigh on impossible.

Meek Warrior’s seven tracks form a sprawling tapestry where every guitar pluck, clarinet wail or joyous shout seems part of some euphoric cosmic plan.

At their best, on Yankee Go Home and Five Easy Pieces, their sound becomes less indie rock than ecstatic chanting.

An ultra-sensuous experience.

The influences may be antediluvian but the spirit is timeless.

There are off-centre, post-hardcore workouts and plenty of edgy but polished, pop fusion pieces, which suggest The Futureheads transplanted to 70s West Coast America.

Preposterous, touching and brilliant.

Don't let the seductively pleasant drift of the tunes fool you: this is sharp, dark stuff.

Overall, The Sun feels like three men taking things at their own leisurely pace but without wasting a second.

Possibly their best and certainly most joyously eclectic album yet.

The Eraser’s sound lies somewhere between the roiling beat soup of Amnesiac and a poppier sensibility.

The translations offer many witty surprises.

Klaxons serve up Day-Glo pagan ritual and pop silliness on toast, and kids get sick on it.

Waterloo To Anywhere is more pro and muscular than former endeavours, chiming more with labelmates Razorlight’s ambitious professionalism.

Not all of Dangerfield's maverick ideas work - he should steer clear of under-accompanied singing for a start - but when they do take off, Guillemots really soar.

There’s gold here but you need to dig deep.

The confessional micro-detail of Darnielle’s minimal indie-folk songs – and haunted whine of a voice – remains stoically unchanged.

While still lush in its own grimy way, Ruff Draft represents the harsher, more experimental end of Dilla’s palette.

Their sophomore album is surprisingly world-weary, but brims with an almost brutal rawness and betrays the pair’s striking talent for storytelling.

Five albums in, The Coup have just made their best since their debut.

A cannily considered, thoroughly de nos jours mix of punk, skiffle and music hall-bred power pop which fizzes with energy and affects a brash charm, but adds little to Barat’s and Doherty’s original blueprint.

Godin and Dunkel are peerless at conjuring a mood, and sonically this is typically impressive, but it needs more foreground, more focus.