Gracious Tide, Take Me Home is a luminous, lilting, lovely debut album, and a perfect mood piece as the nights begin to draw in.

Warm and confident throughout her second album, Hilson is becoming hard to ignore.

This is a terrific and subtly clever album, a(nother) spirited and worthwhile challenge by Paisley to the prejudices of both sides of country's enduring schism.

Occasionally augmented by beautifully restrained strings, there’s a kind of heat-haze shimmer evident, of a kind that gave Bobbie Gentry’s sound some of its mystery and magic.

The pair can knock out enormous, memorable hooks from limited resources, the instrumental make-up stripped-bare in the extreme, just drums and guitar. But scarcity of equipment never once hinders their considerable ambition and inventiveness.

There was always the hope amongst their fanbase that the band might give up on their commercial dreams, instead ploughing the oddness that always set them apart from the pack. Album number four delivers on that hope.

The Hunter, with its monstrous choruses, powerful percussion and jaw-on-the-floor fret-work, is sure to connect with anyone who's previously rocked out to their wares just as easily as it will absolute beginners.

This is an album that delivers more and more with every listen, showcasing an artist maturing with grace and poise.

A significant step onwards from their acoustic debut, Acrobats finds the trio developing a taste for the electric, which adds miles to their creative horizons.

It's actually on the brighter, bolder, faster numbers that Take Care comes alive.

On Further, The Chemical Brothers show no signs of fatigue, and the absence of any star names matters not a jot. It's better to continuously explode than fade away, or something.

Mainly, though, if Caitlin Rose is the future of Nashville and American country music, then it would seem that its future is in safe, appealing and mellifluous hands.

As with any festive release, the magic of A Christmas Cornucopia is best captured before the actual event itself, as come December 27 it will be as welcome as yet more turkey. But such is its quality that this collection could find itself becoming as much a part of the holiday season as arguments with loved ones, keeping receipts and watching the tree lights blur as you slowly drink yourself merry.

Stick with this 10-tracker, please, as while its first number isn’t the most arresting of curtain-ups, what comes afterwards is entirely captivating.

Algiers is a refined, consistent and beautifully textured set of songs.

When To Dust takes flight, you don't have to squint your ears too far to imagine Alice Russell as a worthy successor to that notional throne [of British soul].

The band have taken Bruce Springsteen's influence, twisted and distorted it and made a quite remarkable album that lives up both to its rebellious, riotous ambition and its rich musical heritage.

Here Come the Bombs is a rewarding and substantial offering.

There was a time when it seemed anything emanating from a Chicago zip code was essential. That time may have passed, but if you're in any way interested in atmospheric, exploratory music that creates worlds as it progresses, seek Boca Negra out.

A genuine great leap forward, Defamation is a cracker.

Just to Feel Anything doesn't disappoint, although those eager for meditative meanderings might feel detached from its propulsive, purposeful tangents.

Not surprisingly, this is a more demanding program than that of the trio disc, and although Shipp is not adverse to the occasional rhythmic groove, the solo music is often closer to modern classical than to jazz.

So while Hardcore... is a shift of speed, downwards, it's only a gear change rather than a signal that the whole journey's coming to an end.

While the technical prowess on display throughout this set is truly awe-inspiring--Mastodon might turn everything up to 11, but they never compromise the finer facets of their sound, and everything's captured here in crystal-clear clarity.

1977 may be a blip for this artist in regard to its genesis, but for anyone other than his ex-wife (and perhaps himself) it's an utter pleasure.

Seemingly, emo is no longer a moody sub-culture, as one can't help but smile when a record is this brilliantly bombastic.

High Places have moved on, positioning themselves on the fringes of the ongoing chillwave explosion with enough invention to outlast most of its central protagonists.

There are moments where Total does come close to a Daft Punk pastiche. But these are few and far between, and there's plenty enough of Sebastian's own character on show to make this one of the most enjoyable dance albums of 2011 so far.