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

One of the essential debuts of the year so far.

With staggering live versions of Spoon and Mushroom to boot, The Lost Tapes turns out to be even rarer than its contents: a collection almost as vital as Can's official album output.

The result a stunning, profound, moving and soulful record.

The first genuinely exciting, no-filler, pure pop full-length album since The Fame.

Its charms are subtle, its grip soft and easily shrugged by those who choose to pay it only passing attention. Live with it a while, though, and High Violet rewards patience with songs that colour one's waking existence, becoming vivid night-time narratives when curtains are drawn.

Forget the boycotts and controversy, and marvel once again at the magic that Simon conjured up on Graceland.

It's a vast, revealing monument to the genius of Ray Davies and one of the greatest British bands of all time.

With its extra content engineered to appeal to collectors and casual fans alike, this is a justified addition to the many Rumours already making the rounds.

Gojira is one of the finest bands of our generation, and with L'Enfant Sauvage they've created another album to suit such a reputation.

The results are every bit as enthrallingly out of step with the group's "mainstream" catalogue as previous SYR releases, but fashioned into something that's perfectly coherent, and really quite a delightful listen.

It's the most uniquely sublime, meticulous and heroic 40 minutes of 2011.

For the flagrant pop thrill-seeker--judging by this incredible, irrepressible, ecstatic, brilliant record--neither will they ever disappoint. Don't believe the anti-hype: pop album of the year, by at least a dozen choruses.

This is about as good and sustained a riposte to the grubby, grabbing times we live in as any artist has mustered, which makes it essential listening.

If this isn't one of the albums of 2010, then it is certainly the album of their career.

One of 'dance'-in-2012's very best albums.

This is the most exciting and substantial Coleman release of the last few years, rigorously challenging, pumped with insinuating melodies, sleek with propulsive energies and pulsating with a uniquely globular funkiness.

Understated and thoughtful, The Violence is a true folk record that should rightfully see Hayman recognised as the national treasure that he clearly is.

Mellon Collie is no masterpiece, but its ambition is clearer than anything else Corgan has ever been involved with.

The two hours of Exai is something else. This is Autechre operating at their highest level since 1998’s LP5.

She is, by no means, ‘retro’ in her art; it’s just been a long time since anyone sang soul music as passionately, wittily and inventively as she does here.

The result of this is that many songs here, like Elbow's Mirrorball, are fairly modern, and Gabriel rarely dips into the obvious rock canon (Heroes aside). And the sparseness of the arrangements around the singer’s tender vocals makes this a thing of beauty.

Similarly reissued in expanded form it presents proof that, even on sunnier days, Mould still had angst to burn.

What pushes I Learned the Hard Way towards being something truly brilliant as opposed to just very, very good is how well it works as a cohesive, well-rounded whole.

It's a mesmerising album which confirms that Björk can weave dumfounding wonders from Silly String--whatever's placed before her, she can turn to her advantage, taking her audience on a trip the likes of which no other contemporary artist is capable of planning, let alone embarking on. In a word: amazing.

This album is a gift from Vijay Iyer.

Memories are fuzzy, but the music now it's here is pure and gorgeous, the familiar mesh of brotherly voices exquisite as ever.

Kaputt is a genuine classic, unlike anything any other artist will release in 2011.

It's brilliantly realised, thanks to Del Rey's extraordinary delivery, her ability to slip from deep-toned haughtiness to breathless ecstasy to velvety vamping – often in the same gorgeous melody.

The result is louche and intoxicating.

It's a marvellous, spine-tingling journey around some not-so-obvious American songs, and also a stunning tutorial in different American music styles, strung together by LaVette's sensuous singing... Possibly the best set of songs she's ever recorded.

One brilliant rock song follows another, defiantly leaden in construction but stalwart in performance. Rarely does such simple rock sound so satisfying.

It transcends the boundaries and expectations of its genre--even those previously set by the very band that made it.

Dive into their magnificent depths and you might find a record to fall in love with several times over.

That such a progressive, risk-taking LP wasn't celebrated across the board for its gutsy reinventing of a band thought pigeonholed wasn't that surprising, though – this is a difficult album.

It is punchy, vibrant, compelling stuff.

Yeah, Gregory Porter is the real deal.

Driven by Simon's uniquely percussive acoustic guitar, and with his world music leanings embedded naturally rather than overtly, this beguiling album shows him to have lost none of his ability for finding universal truths within the guise of introspection. It's a profound statement from a master of his craft.

Barchords is an enormously likeable set of songs... ranks as one of the most refreshingly direct and enjoyable albums of the year so far.

God bless unique, unfathomable, great Queen Polly.

This treasure trove of well-recorded European broadcasts from ORTF and Swedish Radio represents the first official CD set tracking Miles in transition from acoustic quintet to all-out fusion.

It's not an album for those with short attention spans but, in a world of lightweights, Tabor's a colossus and this is one of her finest hours.

It’s a stunning, genre-transcending record that should appeal as much to fans of the esoteric, fuzzbox-psychedelia unearthed by Andy Votel and the Finders Keepers label as it will those fond of dubstep, the spliff-frazzled paranoia of trip hop, J Dilla’s vision of cerebral, emotionally rich hip hop, the head-in-the-clouds acid folk of Marc Bolan’s Tyrannosaurus Rex and dust-blown, voodoo-tweaked blues.

It's one of the best things you'll hear all year. Bring on the next two.

There's nothing "next" about Ware: she's here, now, and superb.

For metalheads who like their music sharp and executed without recourse to compromise, then this is a contender for genre album of the year.

Intimate, intense and up close with the openly flamboyant Wainwright as he offers up himself with no full band to hide behind. It works, too.

It is one which doesn't so much shine, but glimmer with subtle brilliance all the way through.

With 33 tracks stretching well over two hours, A Reality Tour isn’t exactly suited to single-sitting listening. It’s also far from a genuine greatest hits collection, though it certainly does feature a number of Bowie’s most-loved songs. But it is a great document of one of the world’s most inspirational recording artists.

There isn't the clarity that characterised his lovelorn debut. It's a minor criticism, though, and one that doesn't tarnish an album as equally rich in invention as his first offering.

This is grown-up, frequently gorgeous music that epitomises the very best in neo-soul.

An album of great love and joy, Purpose + Grace confirms that Simpson remains at the top of his game.

John Cale's new five-track EP conceives and executes more great ideas in 21 minutes than most musicians do in 10 years.

There's artful variety; the band may have a particular approach, but they're no purists.

What first seemed like an impenetrable puzzle will prove endlessly engrossing.

Though the additions don't enhance the original album's legend, nor do they diminish it any more than the fact that the band sagged once again into artistic complacency after its release.

Biasonic Hot Sauce is a mesmerising album.

Whereas Editors seem to ape the tortured soul of Joy Division, here it's the real deal.

It's both refreshing and exciting to hear an artist so vividly committed to exploring new frontiers in such a rewarding way.

There is nothing quite as uplifting as those previously mentioned numbers, but Metals remains as wonderfully organic and distinct as its predecessors

As with most things on this record, it's a thoroughly engaging ride.

The fabric of the songs seems imbued with joy, and it's testament to the quality of the songwriting that you don't feel alienated by what are incredibly personal lyrics. It's an all-inclusive love in, basically, and all the better for it.

936 is a delight, a ray of welcomed sunshine as the wintry outside fades into shades of grey.

It is unnervingly delicate, endlessly distracting and ultimately addictively tactile as it sneaks under your skin.

The result is an album that is far less-crowded than previous works and one that, on the whole, feels suitably bucolic.

It sounds as if it's the work of human trial and error, rather than a series of computer-coded phrases and melodies, and it's this fragility that really has it standing out as the work of a band hitting its peak.

If you love synth-pop's romantic attachment to a grand, bleak, European aesthetic, then this is the Best Of for you.

Those who cheered as protestors smashed the original windows of the beautiful building of the Supreme Court in December 2010 will find much to like here. But just as importantly, those who winced at such a sight will not be put off The King Blues by stern and outre sentiments, so long as they come expressed in music that is as poised and as palatable as this.

Beyoncé slips from flirty to fragile to fabulous, and is in terrific voice throughout, reminding us that when she opens up there's no-one else in the game.

The true spirit of Christmas is safe in Tracey Thorn's hands.

Such lofty posturing could have easily ended up sounding like the ill-informed scribblings of a sixth-form politics student, but H-p1 is more about mood, feel and texture than lyrical conceit.

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

The Winter of Mixed Drinks is more polished, more polite than the band’s earlier offerings, but it’s reassuring to note that the band’s scruffy-hearted charm still lies just below the surface.

Phosphorescent's contribution to the new-folk cannon is an impressive and rather lovely addition.

The Soul Sessions Vol 2 is Stone's most focused and rewarding album since Vol 1.

This see-saw, between exquisite gloom and bruised hope, is part of what makes Piramida so powerful.

The strange thing is, for all that it is all over the place, compilations of lost songs and outtakes are not supposed to hang together this well. Or be anywhere near this much fun.

It's another Hukkelberg album to treasure.

This is a great album: smart, thrilling, bouncy, imaginative, sussed, melodic, fiery, punchy, passionate, repetitive, and immersed in the technology of 2010 but the ideology of the 60s and late 70s (and early 90s Olympia, if we’re going to be exact).

By evolving their formula without losing sight of the elements that it’s founded upon, they have delivered their most satisfyingly ferocious set to date.

Their most coherent, alive and plain best album yet.

It's full of the kind of heavy textures and atmospheric nuances that explain exactly why Johnson is also a movie soundtrack composer of increasing repute.

This is one mainstream marshmallow with an acidic coating worth a lick.

Good Shoes have home-produced a record worthy of similar plaudits; there’s both hope and future here in abundance.

For those Manics fans whose bearing on the band is centred by a Britpop firmament, rather than The Holy Bible, this record will prove a joy. It's jolly, but jolly good.

Vintage touches and modern twists combine on an irrepressible soul record.

These gifted siblings have come of age. You’ll want what they’re having.

You wouldn't expect soul from a Glen Campbell record, but it takes many forms. A veteran who needs help to express his memories of a life less ordinary, but ironically sounds on the top of his game, is clearly one of them.

Latin, the band's third album, is something of a side-step from its predecessors, Holy Fuck (2004) and LP (2007). It's less brawny and statelier, perhaps in part due to its producers Paul Epworth (Florence, The Rapture) and Dave Sardy (Black Mountain, LCD). But it might well be the closest the band has got to sounding as visceral and as rich on record as they do live.

Time will tell, but this opening salvo will certainly leave you pumped up for further Foster kicks.

"Powerful" is perhaps the most fitting word, and though the strength of certain arrangements can feel all-engulfing, there are too many moments of near-inexpressible, extravagant brilliance on The Silicone Veil to deny Sundfør's overall accomplishment.

At an economic 38 minutes and free of anything in the slightest bit terrible, you should welcome Head First like the first sun of spring, know it inside out by the time the band are slaying festival crowds mid-summer and possibly buying copies to give to close friends and family at Christmas.

Ontario's Junior Boys have been charming us with their soulful brand of electro-pop for a good few years now, but they've never sounded as much fun as they do on new album It's All True.

It's tight, concise and thrillingly sharp--what makes High on Fire's fifth album such a success is its intricacy and balance that allows it to appeal to more than your friendly neighbourhood metalhead.

It's not sonically unique. Yet there's a charm here.

Vultures isn't an album we'll be talking about 20 years from now, but for thrills, spills and hair-raising heaviness, it gets the job done in style.

If you peer hard enough, there are. Subtly, slow-burningly, Zero 7's wispy, placid emissions reveal charm and interest value; even the occasional surprise.

It's camp, but it's shadowy. It's epic, but it's introvert. It's highly peculiar, yet hugely commercial. It's one big, beautiful oxymoron.