When a lunar time capsule next needs a musical artefact of almost indeterminable age, Kode9 & The Spaceape are your men.

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

The Golden Age of Apocalypse seems specially made for a long, hot, daydream-filled summer. Here's hoping.

It is instead, pure-and-simple party music, make-out music and get-down-and-shake-it music, harbouring the sort of simple riffs and hooks that easily hop across the decades.

This beat is where everything begins, with an essential simplicity that puts you in mind of Washington go-go, leaving enough space for delicate fill-ins and strong enough to support intricate arrangements.

Not absolutely everything works, but so much of it does that Reason to Believe performs a neat trick: it makes the listener want to discover exactly where these songs came from and why Hardin wasn’t more appreciated in his lifetime.

It's not perfect... Overall, though, this is a long overdue, welcome comeback.

With material of a standard to match his fantastic pipes, here Callaway has crafted his finest Cee-Lo long-player yet.

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.

Within Spoon's astute use of sunny structure, a brooding heart of murky frustration lurks. A deceptive, addictive album, revelling in hidden depths.

These sharply-targeted psychedelic guitar eruptions are well-contained, and always tantalisingly brief.

It's the group's most ambitious offering yet, a collection that bites harder than anything they've previously issued but which is equally eager to kiss everything better.

Expectedly, the lacklustre delivery of the vocals throughout this album is its only slight shortcoming. The power of its songwriting and compelling twists and turns are more than enough to carry it though, and it warrants listen after listen after listen.

At times it is so minimal and skeletal, the songs are in need of intensive care. Yet it is unafraid to rock (Trick Pony, Dandelion) or be resolutely commercial.

For many listeners, Foxygen's influences will sound tired. But as they plunder the past, they're enjoying themselves, and the enthusiasm on this messy collection of songs is infectious.

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.

With Are the Roaring Night they delve deeper into the glittering soundscapes that have become synonymous with their sound; sacrificing something of the warmth that marked their previous work, they nonetheless emerge with a thoroughly impressive, coherent whole.

These are sleek soothing balms sombrely and meticulously crafted to usher the listener in.

Produced by ECM proprietor Manfred Eicher, Snakeoil sounds as good as any album from Berne, without conforming to stereotypes of "the ECM sound".

Smart but not showy, clever but never at the expense of a catchy hook, this is 'indie' par excellence.

In a world overflowing with female singer-songwriters, Anna Calvi's exceptional guitar playing and raw, elemental style certainly mark her out as different from the herd.

A very unusual blues record that's also a very unusual Kid Koala record, putting aside his typical playfulness and reminding us that he can truly move us with his turntablism, as well as amuse.

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

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

This engrossing union of pianist Matthew Shipp and alto saxophonist Darius Jones is an important addition to the aforementioned and fascinates for its emotional and conceptual richness.

Honest lyrics backed by off-kilter and unexpected production from Kwes, Micachu and Joe Goddard of Hot Chip give this album this album a rough, unique edge. An impressive statement of a debut, Gob is just as good as the moment we first witnessed the fitness.

They now sound more like a band that has really found its own voice. Recording live in the studio in as few takes as possible also seems to have given them a new edge.

Combined with playing that soars so majestically from this band's fingers, the end result is a set that is both unusual yet immediate. If you only buy one album this month, in the opinion of these ears, this should be it.

Referring to Quakers as a collective is a touch disingenuous.... But, fresh and subtle spins on hip hop are sufficiently widespread throughout this set that it's just about the only complaint worth making.

Mehldau's method is so dominant that everything gravitates towards the trio's signature sound, lending cohesion to a variegated crop.

[Silver Age is] a man doing what he does best.

This is the most balanced album of Mason's career, or certainly the least precipitous. There is still a yawning void beneath him, but for once it doesn't sound as if he's about to fall into it, and you can't help but share his relief.

It meets expectations, and while surpassing them is something achieved only occasionally, this is a record that well complements a no-work state of mind.

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.

A wonderful grab-bag of anomalous sounds that pilfers magpie-like from genre after genre as it charts its 41-minute course.

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.

A fans-pleasing eighth album from Britain's most consistently brilliant band.

The band either demonstrates a glorious and steadfast refusal to grow up, or become possessed by yelps that no amount of Auto-Tune could ever fix.

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

Angry and socially conscious he remains, though. Monkey Minds in the Devil’s Time, a sprawling, beautiful, brain-belch of an album, is an hour-long testament to this.

The spacious production lends The Wonder Show… an appealing as-live feeling, an intimacy that Oldham has often turned to his advantage in the past and does so again here.

The Montreal-based artist has again delivered some fascinating and healthily progressive music on Visions, her third album.

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

That voice, with its hint of Gene Pitney, is a piercing, precise tool which lifts him above the laddish milieu. Ubiquity may beckon.

Produced by Wilco's Jeff Tweedy, The Invisible Way is warm and organic, melodic and fragile. Twenty years into their career, and Low have created one of their best albums yet.

The familiar nature of this material takes nothing away from Trilogy. This is a great commercially available introduction to a young RnB talent who's following Frank Ocean into the mainstream.

At times it can settle too readily into a kind of country chug, and one begins to feel stuck for too long in a dusty, last-breath pick-up on some interminable road trip. But when it is good, it is very, very good.

This is a fully realised tribute to early 80s pop-RnB music, filled with candy-sweet keyboard sounds and beats that could be the work of a battered old Casio drum machine.

When the trio clicks it is utterly magnificent.

Swanlights succeeds exactly where you might not expect it to: Hegarty sounds content, revitalised. This is a record that revels in a sense of joy.

Now, it seems, her time has finally come.

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.

As tasters go, it’s exciting fare: the appetite for more isn’t so much whetted as left in a state of delightful fervent.

Ten is incredible. It's up there with Gold, Substance and Discography in terms of greatest-hits sets.

The Sea and Cake's music is more about mood than narrative, as with the largely acoustic Harbor Bridges' gorgeous evocation of summer's end.

With a signature sound established at the first time of asking, The xx's challenge was to both expand their palette and satisfy the demands of a huge audience. And through refinement rather than reinvention, they've succeeded in singular style.

From the disapproving father in Willie o Winsbury to the courageous, justice-seeking wife and mother in Geordie, the ballads’ centuries-old characters--and their dilemmas--are beautifully drawn.

It's lengthy, but the sensitivity of every guitar tickle and percussive touch, as well as main man Christopher Owens' spellbinding voice, means that it is rarely boring.

Throughout, the lyrical clarity and emotional honesty of the band shine through, creating an album that is as much uplifting as it is in parts bleak.

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

While White Denim have a tendency to enthusiastically overcook things, ultimately it's their sheer audacity--allied to some strong tunes--that makes D hard to resist.

Aesop Rock shows an accomplished ability to join the unflinchingly candid with the unfalteringly compelling.

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.

Oregon rock alchemists create soundworlds that one can be effortlessly immersed in.

It may not be a Tindersticks classic, in the same vein as 1997's sublime Curtains, but The Something Rain is a record full of mystery and intrigue that will keep you listening--and discovering new things each time--for a good while.

Don Was produced this. He must have loved it as much as the musicians did, and he obviously got it as nothing in the production interferes with the songs.

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.

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.

You Stand Uncertain isn't quite legendary, but it is exceptional in today's hurried dance scene.

Hebden is right to think that presenting a distinct musical vision is more valuable than getting the listener from start to finish with as few bumps as possible. It's a decision that pretty much pays off, the result more a collage than a traditional mix.

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.

He Is #1 has a refreshingly unencumbered sound, a lack of technological interference allowing the honesty and authenticity of the music to shine through.

What remains is a nocturnal set of refined resonance.

Downtown Church is full of astonishing songs.

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

A shimmering, lovely thing, this debut is also full of adventurous spirit.

This gem of a long-player – both sleepy and steely, mystical yet rooted in very real and universal themes – deserves all the plaudits that will hopefully meet its release.

The Wild Hunt is a heady and enthralling work, its impressionistic nature bolstered by levels of charm and confidence found all too rarely in these modern times.

These 12 tracks have an irrepressible energy that is all Collins' own, reflecting his twin loves of punk and northern soul; while his lyrics, always wryly self-regarding, have an urgency and bluntness that would make them seem inconsequential were there not so much at stake.

There are songs here that comprise bite-size fragments of multifarious melodies, drawing on myriad influences. But there are also tracks that sustain one tune and tempo over the duration, where previously only three or four would do.

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.

Tribal contains 16 deeply detailed, fidgety tracks--but it's never hard work. It's a warm, gently funny album.

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.

That the album is a minor triumph is testament to both the durability of the songs, and the astonishing gifts of the singers.

Credit to this fine record that, when you actually listen to it, the need for explanation feels like the last thing on your mind.

Louisville/Seattle trio has delivered an album that every fan of extreme music should own. Bravo.

It's a consistently intriguing album and, in the long run, may even prove more enduring than its predecessor.

There is gospel organ (Be That Easy) and a mid-tempo reggae-ish gait on Babyfather, but mostly Soldier of Love is as mournfully one-paced as previous Sade albums, with the same attention to texture and surface lustre but, alas, not to melody or moving autobiography.

Roll the Dice are processing the work of their predecessors into something recognisably new. And at its best, In Dust sounds neither antique nor cutting edge, but timeless.

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.

On the whole, I Will Be invites you to be whisked along by the sheer energy burst: the pots’n’pans clatter of the drums, the crackle and fizz from the amps and the bitter take on romance from Dee Dee herself.

On the whole this is a marvellous snapshot of a supreme talent deserving of more respect than he's been afforded in recent years.

This is a strong record, there's no doubting that--but it still feels like the best is yet to come from Danilova.

Perhaps inevitably, the overall tone is reverent, verging on precious--everyone adheres faithfully to Williams' template of rugged three-chord structures, twanging guitars, weeping violins and keening pedal steel.

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.

Musselwhite's dialogue with Harper's soulful tenor and punchy guitar is pure Astaire and Rogers.

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.

Where that album [2008’s Supreme Balloon] over-extended a limited palette, this set bridles with impish imagination.