A personal, private fourth LP from the Philadelphia native and select pals.

She's created a sound that's gritty and determined to avoid clichés.

Where special guests don't feature, Vieux Farka shows off his own playing on songs that often follow the same formula: starting with a burst of stuttering guitar work before easing into relaxed, rolling riffs and chanting vocals. His father would have approved.

If there is nothing here as instantly transfixing as some of her past work, Sun comes alive on closer listening, revealing myriad depths and unexpected vocal turns.

Ultimately, God is less in the details, here, and Lonesome Dreams' success lies largely in the irrefutably vaulting sweep of the music and the ineffable air of melancholy-dented redemption which it so effectively conjures.

It suits him well, and he knows it.

Alessi's Ark carries its ideas two-by-two, sails well above the current flood of increasingly desperate folk wannabes, and weaves a modest magic that is hard to pinpoint, yet even harder to resist. If Time Travel isn't quite a classic, it does enough to suggest that this 20-year-old has one in her Davy Jones' Locker.

Free from grandly theatrical flourishes that were threatening to become things of creative captivity, ¡Uno!'s graceful manoeuvres confirm Green Day's status as one of the world's finest rock'n'roll bands.

Strange, hypnotic and utterly transcendental.... Om's teachings have always been less about finding a goal than the overwhelming richness of the journey, and, with Advaitic Songs that journey is more glorious and all-consuming than ever before.

Although Mind Bokeh can be expected to be a wilfully eclectic pick'n'mix affair, what he's actually going to pull out the bag can still surprise.

Electra Heart manages to balance the ironic and the heartfelt, the quirky and the mainstream, the real and the fake with remarkable aplomb.

Cohen is clearly making the music he wants in the way he wants, but Milk Maid are releasing it into a world containing countless similar items old and new. [That have been influenced by 90's American lo-fi]. This needn't necessarily matter, but for many might mean the difference between a diverting record and an essential one.

For all of the fine craft on display, there's little obvious emotion. No matter, though, as there's room for everyone, and this makes for ideal driving music and it should sound sensational in a club.

Predictably but not to its detriment, Signed and Sealed in Blood delivers a mix of rousing rock songs and enough jigs and whistles to get a singsong going at one of their famous St Patrick's Day shows.

Once you strip away all this nonsense, The Chapman Family's music is thunderous and well produced.

Ahmed has pulled together a supporting cast with sufficient cutting edge that it comparatively endangers the razorblade impact of his original compositions.

This might not be the most forward-thinking LP you'll hear this year. But the emotion and honesty on display are qualities that will never go out of style.

As morose meditations on the miseries of fame go, it comes across like a rap version of Woody Allen's Stardust Memories or Deconstructing Harry.

Go Now and Live is a measured and accomplished collection of songs--songs which work together as an album as well as they do individually.

There's plenty of interest here, then, but not enough to satisfy across a whole album.

Big Echo is an immediate, inviting listen. It’s not breaking any boundaries of inspired expression, but for what it is it’s a fine set indeed.

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.

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

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

Hearing these songs in any format is a tremendous pleasure, and Hucknall here does them credit.

Taken as a whole, this release offers enough revelations to suggest the original album is worth revisiting.

Excessive interludes drag the runtime and make the project feel a bit unfocused--but these missteps don't subtract too much from the overall premise.

An impressive document of a band in full Krautrock-psychedelia-horrorprog flow.

On We Don't Even Live Here he brings lyrical grit, tightly leashed rage and a general disregard for genre boundaries.

While the leader has become absorbed by the pack, however, at least I Am the West doesn't go down without a mouthy fight.

Longstanding fans of the band will no doubt be able to immediately fall in line with Giants' odd and unique groove. But for the uninitiated, the overall sound seems crude, even amateurish... Give this album a day or two, though, and its 10 songs begin to slip into context.

Language is a sturdy and well-produced collection which, given the right exposure, sounds like the sort of thing that could be very large indeed.

Soothsayer lyricism atop sinister guitars and eldritch electronics.

Despite the anthems being on a tight leash, repeated listens reveal this to be one of their best albums.

By bypassing the commonplace put-downs of peers and proffering a very British take on pop-flavoured rap, is an accomplished and infectious introduction to some rightly rising talents.

More often than not, these reinventions are successful. They won't usurp the originals, but they're not really supposed to, and some shed new light on the well-known version.

Thanks to her breezy bohemian charms, even its knottier moments start to unravel with repeated listens.

Spectacularly creative pop.

This 10-track ode to the joys of a sad, sweet, mellow but occasionally dark and atmospheric love song is arranged with tender loving care and produced with just enough reverb to remind you of girl-group classics

One mighty fine rock'n'roll record.

He’s come close to his aim of making this album more than a curiosity, but the real impact can surely only come from seeing his orchestrion in action.

By the Horns misses Angus' gruffer harmonies offsetting Julia's wide-open heart.

They may not be sticking their necks out as pioneers now but it's not important --they are never less than themselves, and superficial quibbles aside this is the sound of musicians with nothing to prove and everything to give.

Whether Mazes are a band that to stand the test of time remains to be seen, but this is an enjoyable, exciting and mostly excellent snapshot of their lives as they are right now; and you can't help but want to join them as the days grow longer and the nights lighter.

Meat + Bone operates with the same lean, restless energy JSBX always display in concert: at their best, no band sounds this alive, unable to sit still for a second.

These are personal tales told using a well-established and communal language, and coated with close harmonies as delicious as a homemade carrot cake from a craft stall.

A curious mixture of rage and nostalgia.

This forgiving, tender album still offers a welcome, optimistic twist on the normally bitter genre of break-up albums.

It's hard to tell how serious De Luca is being here, so over the top is everything (there's a song called Fish in the Sky. No, really). It could be misconstrued as a parody of 70s and 80s musical mores, cramming as it does all manner of instrumental bombast and excess into its 50 minutes.

There’s enough ambition here to elevate The Mavericks’ comeback above the perfunctory.

It might not always succeed in its style-swapping, but The United Nations of Sound is certainly as bold a record as Ashcroft's ever made.

With placid, feline production, tight harmonies and breezy beats, much of DNA ambles along the well-trodden path of the temperate demi-ballad. But it's the ventures away from this that prove Little Mix function far better either side of mid-tempo.

By calling their album Rough Carpenters, the Pickers are inevitably alluding to their creations as constructs of old timber, offered up with spontaneity and passion rather than precision. But it’s also a misleading moniker, for what is unquestionably the group’s smoothest ride yet.

This is lush, involving music that takes stated influences and sculpts them into something genuinely there.

Provides a vital, authentic taste of the United States, one steeped in history but simultaneously bang up-to-date.

Things remain pared back, but an ambition nurtured by classical training keeps things interesting.

It’s a fine Suede record, a passionate and seductive creature which reminds us of how distinctive and dynamic this most underestimated band can be.

There's still the chance that this album will finally push them into the stratosphere – you wish Interpol were globally huge, you really do – although it's likely that their future won't be written until after Dengler's tour-replacements have helped broaden the band's palette more.

Easy on the ears they are not, yet it’s hard not to get swept along by Iceage’s droll, disaffected but ultimately joyous punk surge.

Bones is a fiery yet melodious modern rock album made by a band who may come to regret their name should they survive to become old hands.

Considering No Name... is compiled from several years of writing between kinetic hard touring, the coherency on display is impressive, as is the volume pumped out by a mere brace of noisy souls.

Staff Benda Bilili sing songs of strife and redemption. Yet when the mixture of French and various Congolese languages breaks into sing-along "la la la"s on Ne Me Quitte Pas it becomes as pure a life-affirming rush as the best pop music in any language.

Nostalchic has a certain airiness, a focus on floaty atmospherics, that aligns it with the work of other washed-out boudoir crooners such as The Weeknd and How to Dress Well.

An unexpected but endearing valentine to the 1940s and 50s.

Inside the Ships will assuredly grab hold by the second listen, if not the first.

While his customary playfulness in dissecting matters of the heart and cerebellum is a reassuring hallmark of Love From London, the album also proffers a brooding, politicised, sometimes incensed Hitchcock.

It ["Getting Rest"], like much of this fine and not at all "difficult" second album, is undeniably impressive, but it leaves you with the ineffable impression that the best of Wes Gonzalez is yet to come.

Simultaneously taut and lush jazz-funk-pop.

Anyone who has enjoyed the Crowes' live show will find it a veritable trove of delights.

In Case You Didn't Know doesn't surprise, but it certainly fulfils.

This is a fine album that warrants serious investigation from any and every rock circle.

But it’s not float-away, background material; these songs poke and prod while clasping you close, the embrace warm but never completely comfortable.

Looping State of Mind barely outstays its welcome, and its beatific state of mind may prove to be a welcome refuge for many more than for the musical vanguard, like Seefeel, that inspired it.

As a standalone listen this is an interesting development of the stylistic restlessness that's driven Rose's progress so far.

With so much good here, it's foolish to dwell upon a few relative missteps.

Maximum Balloon makes an impressive noise. But it struggles to make one feel anything more than impressed.

Casual Ladysmith fans are unlikely to be won over by these distinctions, although long-term listeners will be pleased to see the group finding fresh water at the bottom of the well.

Too patchy to warrant genuflection just yet, thanks should nevertheless be given for the exquisite moments that Young the Giant serve here.

Though the vocals never reach that peak [on At The Dancehall] again, they're steady and reliable throughout.

Still, despite some odd uses of language on them, tracks like Shut-In Tourist and Everything's Gonna Be Undone will undoubtedly keep fans of this enduring band more than happy.

It's fair to say that for every misstep there's an unexpectedly winning duet, but not enough of Jones' maturity is brought to the fore.

In Sea of Beas there is definitely a voice, and perhaps a songwriter, who still has something stunning to offer.

The only complaint that can be made--that several of the shorter tracks here could have been developed further, rather than left to merely loop and fade--isn't really a complaint at all, but rather anticipation for what this inventive producer will do next.

A cipher for good songs rather than the reasons those songs are good she may be, but there are few that do it better.

It's a collection that feels fresh and clean, uncomplicated by over-thinking.

At its best, album four matches the duo's darkly seductive early material.

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

If there is a fault with this record however, it isn't Faithfull's but her band's, as the playing is perhaps just too polite and polished.

On paper, everything about Timez Are Weird These Days lends itself to an ostentatious dose of elite, Hoxtonite posturing. But there's substance beneath the style, a welcome human quality to withstand the opulent demi-house compositions.

While Labrinth makes the right kind of noise, and provides a window into himself as an artist, at a fleeting 10 tracks Electronic Earth doesn't exactly give away the farm.

Just like its predecessor, Constellations’ unfussy panoramas may initially seem a little too polite, just a tad too restrained for some, but repeated listening will unravel hidden seams of loveliness.

Ferry can only do jaded and glum nowadays – but when it works, he blissfully drags you under with him.

This is a musician with creativity on tap and enough of it to burn through a little filler here while ensuring the prime cuts emerge perfectly.

While it's no Costello classic, this repays patience.

It's difficult to ignore that a significant amount of The Family Sign emits a passing impression that Slug plucked several emotive subjects from a hat, then challenged himself to use them as a writing framework.

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.

If there is an overall mood, imagine a slightly sozzled, mischievous Leonard Cohen on the front porch having discovered the joys of country music.

Ryder-Jones has not only pulled off the unusual feat of writing a soundtrack for a complex and experimental novel, complementing the book's allure handsomely. He's also, with its sentiment and inventiveness, made it worthy of repeated plays.