The evocative lyrics sometimes suffer from overly mannered or just overdone phraseology.... But these are ultimately prices worth paying for the pleasingly poetic, adventurous and occasionally florid use of words that mark Villagers out as one of the more interesting, literate and imaginative storytellers of recent years.

Each track is certainly jam-packed with ideas, but they are woven tight and worked to perfection with the help of producer and mixer Ben Allen (Animal Collective, Gnarls Barkley) who has clearly done a sterling job of making sense of Hynes’ ridiculously overactive imagination.

In some ways, this is one of their most beautiful releases in a career that has never been short of elegance.

All told, this is arguably The Advisory Circle's most fully-realised set to date (accompanied by a typically eye-catching sleeve by Ghost Box's in-house designer, Julian House), exhibiting a stronger sense of (dis)place(ment) than before and, as such, constitutes the perfect entry point for anyone looking for a way into Brooks' enchanting, wistful realm.

This two-CD set is now a welcome addition to what eventually became Reid's late-period re-emergence following decades of hip multi-genre collaborations amid a veil of semi-obscurity.

There are better tapes, better performances--but the strength of this collection is proving that in whatever company, be it President or criminal, Johnny Cash couldn't help but be himself.

Whatever the inspiration, everything adds up to 29 minutes that pack in more truth and melodies than many records twice as long. Terrific stuff from a songwriter of any age.

Throughout this is an album of sufficient character, quality, daring and charm to ensure that its creator's unlikely march to the mainstream continues without interruption.

Heritage has some strong predecessors to live up to. But it will surely be seen as one of their most accomplished works in years to come.

The British producer’s fifth full-length is a worthy successor to his celebrated 2010 set Black Sands.

This is the sound of a band hitting their stride and just running with all of their strengths on show--and there can be no complaints about that.

Somewhere Else certainly reveals itself slowly, but persist and there's real beauty to be found here.

Bootsy sets about waking up a new generation to funk's heritage.

They successfully hit many of rock's sweet spots on this debut LP.

Dear God… is as engagingly weird as anything before, but flows so much better by incorporating the customary sonic terrorism into verse-chorus-verse songs, rather than breaking off for performance poetry about living in the shadow of suicide, or (say) war as legitimate barbarism for jocks.

Fight Softly is, while not a game-changer, certainly a level-raiser. It glistens with pop immediacy, rollicks with breathtaking percussive interpositions, and clatters to a beat entirely of its own construct.

Brimful of air guitar moments and other guilty pleasures, Brothers is pleasingly diverse and diverting, with barely a duff track.

Rather than insolently demanding your attention as most rock albums do, Open Your Heart possesses a wonderfully self-indulgent, insular quality.

This one bristles with a sense of hope and possibility.

The real revelation about Fade is that it is the most settled album they've recorded in years.

True, it is debatable that we need more mixes with Cockney Thug on in late 2010. But Blow Your Head proves the two tribes can still intermingle, and both are still making winning records

Whatever expectations a solo album by a saxophonist conjures up, Saltash Bells is likely to belie them.

It's an album of perfect modern psychedelia, pristine in content but ramshackle in style.

A record that doesn't deviate from what the listener might have already expected from an artist might not sound like an engaging one, but Fields most certainly is.

It's exciting, not self-indulgent; real, not affected. Far from being removed or pretentious, these are songs that pierce the centre of the hearts that they've sprung from.

It's this ability to pare back extraneous matter and to stare unflinchingly into the very soul of a song that makes Last such a spellbinding, if at times unsettling, experience.

With this collection of erratic egos, who knows; but the ebullient, daring Progress sounds more like a fresh start than a final destination.

The conclusion, then, is clear: both as a standalone record and part of …Trail of Dead's considerable canon, Tao of the Dead will be remembered as a high point.

The band’s phlegm-clotted bark and crisp four-chord surges remain intact throughout, whilst at the same time appearing more refined and steadily more adventurous.

His second EP after a Young Turks-released four-tracker of 2010, does a lot with little: three tracks contain vocals, but each hits a sweet spot with incredible accuracy, doing in a few minutes what some bands take an album to deliver.

As much as it's fascinating to hear Bush the Elder look back at Bush the Younger, is the tinkering worth a full album? Yes, because it's a sign Bush the Artist is still alive (she's working on new songs too) and Director's Cut (a less prosaic title would have been nice) is a gorgeous body of work.

In Our Heads is a record for all occasions, an album that balances sentiment and soul with an ever-evolving talent for constructing infectious pop hooks.

Be Strong, in short, is superb: a joyous amalgam of disco textures and dancefloor stylings which never fail to bring a big grin to your face.

Simply stuffed with rollicking tunes.

Jokes are fairly hard to come by on a record chocked with sleepy, lilting stomp-alongs like these, but fortunately the gaps are filled by warmth, quality and not a little fiddle-playing.

It's better to simply view this opus as a beautifully deconstructed blues that's equally effective as a paean to careworn Americana or as a sparsely-drawn exercise in restraint, meditation and composure.

Adventures in Your Own Backyard is a frankly exquisite, elegantly crafted gem.

FFAF have produced another pop-punk special with Welcome Home Armageddon--and, thankfully, they don't look like stopping any time soon.

The new sound features a dense, Dave Fridmann-like production: pumping, parping, squelching sounds familiar to those from The Flaming Lips, or MGMT, but rarely coupled to such strong hooks, or vocal performances, by either.

This latest record also goes some way to proving that, while he may be an old dog with a pickled onion for a head, Mark E. Smith and The Fall are still capable of learning the odd new trick.

The biggest criticism that can be labelled at White Crosses is that its best two songs are its first two â?? a politely rousing title-track that sheds its skin at the first chorus, followed by lead-off single I Was a Teenage Anarchist. The latter handily epitomises everything that people liked about Against Me! in the first place â?? a brightly intelligent polemic, only this time itâ??s trained on the close-minded futility of scenester punks.

A fine place to sample much of Smith's considerable oeuvre.

Kelis's honey-husky voice slips easily into the hypnotic repetitions of dance music vocalisation; she uses the classic language of love songs and the soaring declarations of generalized euphoria particular to house music.

More than a holding operation while Thomson tours with Ian F. Svenonius as two-man funk caravan Publicist, this is travelling music for swinging around asteroids or hurtling down a ravine.

Option Paralysis stretches its makers' imaginations and abilities superbly. Consider it another singular success.

So don’t come to this thinking you’ll get the inside scoop on a celebrity divorce, but as a soundtrack to rampancy in general, it’s hard to beat.

Tinariwen continue to shift perceptions of what 'world' music can be.

His relaxed intonation shows a talent that doesn't need to be stretched to the limit to produce its best work.

The suite's key strength, and one of the advantages of brevity, is its focus.

It's a union that just keeps on giving, with the steelier, more focused Hawk the best they've given yet.

It's frequently fantastic, weighty, clever and emotionally involving, but strangely polite, and lacking in a sense of overall purpose and direction.

Truth is, to cook up such joyful nonsense probably takes a helluva lot of effort, but it's the Beasties' gift to make this seem easier than falling off a mountain bike, and an infinite amount more fun.

Although Stronger with Each Tear may not be one of her greatest works, it ensures that Blige remains as relevant as any of her more recent contemporaries.

Taken together, Frisell's run of Nonesuch albums has been one of the most consistently excellent bodies of work in recent decades. Now, Beautiful Dreamers extends it further. The future looks bright for this trio.

The Gate is an impeccably stylish album that coaxes jazz from unusual sources.

It might sound like a cavalcade of cliches on paper, but with punchy couplets and shimmering production, Trey Songz here furthers his reputation an artist head and shoulders above many a lover-man peer.

It's great, don't be mistaken; but trim a little of its fat and it goes from a fantastic listen to an unforgettable one.

In short, then: another fantastically enjoyable album from an artist whose modus operandi, above anything else, seems to be ensuring his audience is having the best possible time. Many a self-absorbed peer should take note.

In order to get that these three people from Bordeaux and a drummer from Berlin are the genuine maverick article, one just has to grab a listen. And be confused. And delighted. And frustrated. And appalled. And strangely aroused. And then listen to track two.

There's little coherence... but the best moments are breathtaking.

It certainly meets every expectation, albeit without stretching far beyond anticipated designs.

Bad Blood is a really gratifying debut that feels like a solution.

Perhaps glossier and a touch more refined, Circles nevertheless stands up very well on its own terms, and complements its predecessor not in spite, but precisely because of their similarities.

This is their best album for years.

Far from a cynical money-maker, this is the unwieldy outfit that unanimously improves those essential runners: harder work to start with, but providing great rewards at the finish line.

They've also striven to make their soiree as all-are-welcome as possible. If the latest serving of salad days for indie has to start somewhere, it could do a whole lot worse than here.

It's a delight.

Both as performers and songwriters, these guys have upped their game, and Head Down puts them well ahead of the pack.

It is, simply, a thing of beauty, its hook quotient the highest of The Decemberists' discography.

This band's gradual edging over the precipice of mainstream acceptance has been richly deserved; now, everyone should hear this dragon roar.

A worth-the-wait second LP a decade after the New Yorkers' celebrated debut.

It assures us all that Meshuggah can still bury their copyists while leading the way when it comes to intelligent, thoughtful and undeniably brutal heavy metal.

An extraordinary and stylish album.

Heaven is a record with the power to grab your heart, like an ex-lover you just can't shake off--no matter how many years you've been without them.

Love & Danger takes on verbal Picasso forms with the reliable regularity that has made him a cult figure.

Profoundly thoughtful music that's moved on from drone metal beginnings.

The state of the art recording ensures that this is another unmissable feast of song from an artist seemingly unstoppable in her continuing quest to present something new to her worldwide audience.

Overall, The Orbserver… is lots of fun for late-period Perry fans, and will appeal to Orbologists, too.

His evocative, heartfelt, pin-sharp lines hit compelling grooves, all twists and turns, grin-inducing couplets and weirdness.

This isn't a conventional album by the ordinary standards of today, but it's fantastic. Crazy Horse are the perfect band for this sort of wistful noise, carrying both Young's simple melodies and his love of stretching out with equal ease.

This is a perfect, 30-minute, 10-song album that demands to be treated as one long symphonic pop masterpiece.

The clutch of songs performed by make-believe bands are complemented well by a supporting cast including Blood Red Shoes, The Rolling Stones, T. Rex and The Bluetones.

The creepy, icy elements of Black Heart's music here underpin the warmer atmospherics of Pinback's electronic indie aesthetic, meeting in the middle to create an album that constantly shifts--or even merges--seasons yet which is, at the same time, entirely cohesive.

On one hand, it's raw and stripped down, but on the other it's expertly crafted.

But heavy as the rhythms are, Mala's deftness of touch means the Cuban contributions are never entirely overwhelmed, and when he pulls more elements into the mix the results are often stunning.

Twins is a pile-driving yet playful record that loudly proclaims is influences.

It's not the album that will define Deer Tick as a force in their own right, or McCauley as a songwriter on a par with his heroes, but The Black Dirt Sessions is the best set yet from this still-rising quintet.

Fujiya & Miyagi are an invigorating mix of the cerebral and the visceral. In a just world, they'd be the new lords of the dancefloor.

Nineteen years later the band are in robust health, and Skins makes for an impressive, graceful addition to their catalogue.

Wilson specialises in vintage gear, and Gentle Spirit sounds like the product of such equipment--warm, wistful and golden-hued, coated in creamed harmonies--but also, crucially, alive.

The real joy of this record is that, behind the sulking and swearing, the clips of sampled speech and toying yelps, are 12 gloriously penned pieces of unadulterated pop.

As an album, it is huge, sometimes overwhelming-- but such is the strength and individuality of Newsom’s vision, it seems almost inconceivable she could produce anything unremarkable.

RIITIIR is a complex, schizophrenic work, verging on the overly sensorial at points, leaving the listener feeling as if they've been repeatedly bashed over the head with a really clever hammer.

Ultimately it's The Avett Brothers' innate ability to deliver killer tunes and present them in an engaging fashion that connects them to a vintage pedigree of classic Americana artists, from Crosby, Stills & Nash and Neil Young onwards, that seduces you from track one.

She's shining bright and crying out to be taken on as Britain's new favourite pop star – and if this album is anything to go by, it looks like the stage is set.

This worthwhile venture serves as a fine complementary package, not exactly pushing at the edges of its makers' own creative envelope but exploring known ground extremely well.

Like Arnalds and Johannsson, Richter is capable of eliciting profound emotions from the barest of foundations, and it's perhaps this that makes their music of such interest to alternative music fans.

Recorded in a week in Reykjavik, this is music inevitably imbued with Iceland's stark grandeur and glacial eeriness; even if Wallentin's strident but wounded vocals retain a distinctive bluesy quality (albeit a blues closer to the funereal ceremonials of Diamanda Galas than Muddy Waters).