A timeless, anachronistic record, Barton Hollow could be from 30 years ago, or it could be from 30 years hence.

Braxton's sixth album Pulse--some five years in the making--is certainly a release shrouded with anticipation, but instead of sticking to her strength in ballads it feels more a trend-chasing American Idol semi-finalist's debut offering.

It’s all quite understated and beautifully played, and any shortcomings in the material are more than made up for by Drever’s peerless singing.

Prepare to be smitten all over again, as the NYC outfit release a brilliant fourth album.

These are warm, appealing tunes with no false bluster or crass anthemism, light years ahead of the bombastic drivel certain peers have offered up this year. The Charlatans are old fashioned, maybe even a little antiquated. But are they past it as songwriters? No way.

One Second of Love is arresting from the outset, Gonzalez's airily velveteen vocals cascading in with a similar invitingly icy inflection to St Vincent on Surgeon while luscious, Eyes Without a Face-esque keyboard washes burble by on their way to a skippily abrupt, if recoverable, meltdown.

It seems that the band still have plenty to say, and the means to say it well.

Unlike, say, Memory Tapes though, Bundick doesn’t burn straight for a memorable hook, the pop elements of Causers of This trickling slowly from a frame that’s shaped primarily upon forms usually spied and assimilated by artists operating in more dance-savvy circles.

Please enjoy someone actually putting a bit of effort and imagination back into pop, and keep the sneering and lazy comparisons in check. Not that they can take anything away from what is, simply, a marvellous record.

Taken as a whole, this is another surprisingly enjoyable album from a pop singer who has managed to broaden her approach without losing her USP.

This is an odd thing to say, given the dumbness of so many contemporary rap songs--is that Kweli tries to cram too much awareness into his lines at the expense of rhymes and flow. But trying a little too hard to find enlightenment can be forgiven when it comes from within a genre that often tips bravado ahead of insight.

A genuinely enjoyable find.

There are more ideas here than many bands manage in their entire career, but in inimitable Maiden style, it's woven together beautifully.

Mirror Mirror is not obvious instant success. But given time, as with the best records, it reveals a wonderfully stark energy; all sinewy shadowplay, stripped-back space and a compelling sexuality.

Ozanne has here delivered one of the most perfect after-party collections in recent memory.

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.

End Times plays to Everett’s strengths, offering enough intrigue and wonder to keep happy listeners new and old.

This debut offering is strong, addictive and enthralling, the perfect accompaniment to any mood, any moment, anywhere.

This self-titled album is never less than pleasant, but only rarely is it truly memorable.

That warmth you're feeling come its close, try to hold onto it. It's a contentment few albums leave you with.

Despite the odd patch of fluffier filler, it's still filled with enough dark delights to send tingles up and down your spine.

At its best Zoo prowls menacingly and intensely, shrouded in sheets of steely guitar and fogs of squall and distortion... [But] this mood-heavy mix doesn't always work.

From a palette of familiar reference points, they've created a fresh, vital sound that could prove to be the basis of an impressive career.

"I Was Never Gonna Turn Out Too Good" the lone standout on an otherwise turgid record, but that's only by virtue of its sheer oddness.

It's not groundbreaking, and it's not that interesting.

On an album of depth and scale, Lytle is aiming to move mountains. It's big.

The OF Tape Vol 2 is an excellent addition to the group's canon.

Glimmer operates in a more reflective register [than Jacaszek's previous album, Pentral], albeit one that's finally no less draining than assaultive noise.

So, despite promising little, Turn Ons proves to be quite the diverting delight, albeit one you're unlikely to return to once a new Supergrass album arrives.

Spencer should be vaulting over these songs in an attempt to make them connect more directly, but she seems content for them to be merely pretty for the time being.

There's much substance with the employment of piano, organ, synthesiser, guitar and horn solos, but the actual song structures and vocal performances don't share this same level of achievement.

Another Country is an album that radiates warmth. Not just the warmth of southern seas and skies, but the human warmth that beams directly out of Ms. Wilson's heaving heart.

Produced by The Bronx's Joby J Ford--who has also worked with Californian hardcore punks Trash Talk, whose MO is much the same as Cerebral Ballzy's--this eponymous set does a good job of transporting the band's ferocious live show into one's living room.

Wray and Walker’s transatlantic pairing is beautifully natural.

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

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

Like much of Together, it aims for The Beatles, hits ELO, and sounds like the people responsible mightn't have thought that was a bad thing.

Essentially, jj have offered a more rounded, somewhat slicker version of what came before, and to the vast majority of listeners the comforting embrace it offers will be welcomed.

Big Troubles seem happy to drift along in a melancholic haze or a sun-drenched lackadaisical dream and let their well-produced but ultimately forgettable songs dissipate around them.

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.

Bossalinis & Fooliyones, while not exactly what you'd call a mainstream rap album, is consistently accessible, and in thrall to a tangle of overground production styles.

Appreciating this album does admittedly require time and effort, which occasionally isn't repaid... But once you've settled into it, Yeasayer's Fragrant World is a wonderful place to explore.

Reboots Scott Walker and the androgynous end of 90s Britpop into distinctive darkwave.

Thompson's fifth album is a winningly charming affair, showcasing his rich voice.

On the evidence of this impressive debut album, [Howard] is a gifted and immediately involving singer-songwriter.

Ultimately this sounds like a side project, which can only be so disappointing when that's precisely what it is.

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.

A few surprisingly wishy-washy string-synths aside, it is, as always, hugely impressive but disappointingly cold and forbidding.

God Forgives' best moments... are fine examples of how big-budget rap can skilfully avoid crass clichés, and even convey no little emotion.

Here Come the Bombs is a rewarding and substantial offering.

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.

If anyone asks how Heroes differs from the 65 Willie Nelson studio albums that preceded it, the happy answer is: not much. The expressive, intimate tenor, the matchless musical instinct and Willie's distinctive ringing guitar lines are just as compelling, and just as delightful, as ever.

This swift follow-up, which portrays a band still with shoulder-shrugging faux-teenage inarticulacy high on their agenda, amidst a delivery of doped-out Ramones-y monomania which can make this album's 36 minutes feel like an hour.

So does the oddly titled Not Music hold any surprises? Yes and no: Stereolab's signature sound is very much present and correct, but this record doesn't sound like the last gasp of a long-lived and generally much-loved band.

A curious collection of techno covers from the Detroit garage-rockers.

Even when tracks pass without too much of an impression left, the listener is never without a smile on their face--there's simply that much fun on show.

Boys Don't Cry works superbly as a companion piece to Seasons.

The array of musical styles on show across The 2nd Law means that, like many of this band's past albums, it doesn't entirely coalesce into a seamless collection of songs... But when this album works, it works well.

The sessions don't sound patchy or cobbled together. There's a unity in terms of performing equality, coupled with an unbeatable repertoire.

Some will call it noise, others a beautifully complicated symphony. In the end, you're not quite sure where you've landed, but you're glad you took the trip.

It's at once a work of larger ambition and greater focus than its predecessor, beginning brilliantly and continuing in the same manner for its entire length.

Ester is a collection best suited to after-hours reflection, a glass of red in hand and the TV playing only static.

Counting cash – and stacks of it – seemingly continues to prove this rapper's primary concern, rather than a desire to significantly stretch the artform.

Sea of Cowards works hard to dispel those not-unjustified notions of The Dead Weather being Jack White’s third-best band. What’s even stranger is that they appear to have succeeded, in spite of the fact 80% of the record proceeds from a fairly lumpen blues template which at first glance would seem to suggest a continued dearth of inspiration.

King Animal undeniably draws its strength from the band's accessible Superunknown era, but also takes Soundgarden somewhere fresh.

Immaculately-placed jibes that slice to the bone and highlight a sharp, intellectual take on rock music that continues to prove you don;t have to dumb things down while letting your pop sensibilities win out.

These 11 tracks wisely elect not to outstay their welcome, ensuring that repeat experiences are enjoyable, if not markedly memorable.

Fear Factory’s slices of digital dystopia no longer sound futuristic or groundbreaking, but Mechanize is a powerful statement from a revitalized and still-relevant band.

The lack of challenge and the absence at so many points of any thrust, melodic or otherwise, doesn't do justice to the ability of the creator, and that's a terrible shame considering the quality of the highlights.

The result, invariably, is that they hold the attention like a movie that keeps tantalising you with strands of plot then flashing back and switching the viewpoint. Some may find it irritating, but many more, you suspect, intoxicating.

It's a harrowing but beautiful end to an immense, intense album.

A polished fourth solo studio LP aimed at mainstream reggae audiences.

Across these varied tracks we hear Wretch 32 in all of his lyrical glory, making good on the promise he's shown since day one.

This album's a string-driven thing swinging between bravado and bleakness, and always beautiful.

Keaton Henson isn't a show off, but with talent like this, he has every right to be.

It's appealing, generally engaging and all shot through with the confidence of a man who must feel he's got the hit parade Midas touch

Lynne doesn't try to break any moulds here, but respectfully doffs a cap at those that shaped him.

It's good to hear a new album that brims both with strong opinions and great pop songs, often at the same time.

This is an album worth living and breathing to at least attempt to become acquainted with its wealth of emotional nuances and playful eccentricities.

Whatever the case, those years out of the spotlight have served TPF well: every second of Buffalo is wrought and layered with artisan care, and if ever you were looking for a record to banish the winter, this could be it.

On the first few listens, the album is less immediate than the debut, but patience reveals it to be richer, more eclectic and far more satisfying.

Spoonfuls of sugar might help Murderbot's version of juke to go down, but Women's Studies still contains more than enough dirt to drive Mary Poppins insane.

While Blood Red Shoes displayed a more erratic style back in 2010 on second album Fire Like This, this third feels formulaic – highly thought-out and polished.

This is a raw, unfussy rock record that forsakes gloss or studio tricks for instinct and urgency.

He may just have produced his best album.

La Voyage Dans La Lune is the 'most Air' thing this duo may ever craft, a perfect set with which to remind audiences of their continuing excellence.

The Computers deliver a wholly satisfying sound that won't go stale any time soon. Mainly because there's so little substance to it, but in this case that's no bad thing whatsoever.

A batty, compelling, smart and unusual soundtrack.

La La Land is so warm and easy to like, it triumphs over any misgivings.

As it happens, most of these songs are rockers, and even the ballads possess a toughened core of energy.

As a whole, The Deep Field nails it. True, the songs are long, it is almost ceaselessly rich, and you're going to want to skip its first 30 seconds every time.

Although at times the tunes and excitement commonly associated with a debut album can become lost in painful pursuit of authenticity, this is a surefooted and uncompromising collection.

The so-called purity of the sweet-voiced piano and violin are continually subverted by carefully applied extraneous sounds.

There must be worse fates than ending up as a classic pop jukebox, and there's excitement as well as devotion in all this archaeology.

There's nothing bad to be said for Soul 2, and with Horn on production everything shines brightly like the first snowflakes of a new winter.

Sneering like the New York Dolls transplanted to a nighthawk-populated diner after exchanging their shiny skin-tight trousers for leather jackets and Elvis LPs, this is a rock'n'roll record and no mistake....fantastique in anyone's language.

The unshrouded nature of these compositions reveals interesting and insightful aspects of the creator and his practice.

While the album's polished and pristine, it also feels dated and somewhat lacklustre, any true inspiration placed on hold. This is Elton Ron.