Celebration Day is an opportunity to witness the power and the glory of Led Zeppelin, quite possibly for the last time, and they certainly don't disappoint.

If you are looking for a quick musical fix, Art Department may burn too slowly for you. But if nine-minute deep house edits infected by the spirit of Larry Levan, Virgo and Basic Channel are your bag, then you'll not be straying too far from the gaze of the mistress you call house music.

All three players are articulating a ceaseless stream of fresh ideas throughout this electrically energised session.

Ultimately Strange Mercy sounds like her best record still lies ahead, once she feels a little more at ease with balancing her obviously multiple talents.

If there's a case to be made for formulating something serious out of classic pop and old-time hokum, Welch and Rawlings make it as well as anybody. So while just a bit of drums and bass would probably have broadened the record's appeal, we must give thanks for this stubborn duo's independence of mind.

ECM may have its detractors, but they've given us an unexpected gem here and maybe one of the jazz records of the year so far.

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.

[This album] makes one thing absolutely clear: whatever else they were up to, Goldfrapp have always delivered astonishing pop singles.

This music declares war: face-punching, heart-stomping, no-holds-barred conflict for your ears and mind. It's an all-out assault on pop culture and its worldly accessories.

In fact, every track on this superb album is a winner--and, draped in the quiet glamour, fun and stateliness of bygone radio pop-rock, evidence that Ariel has emerged from his bedroom to exact his revenge on Hollywood's Hills.

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.

From album to album, The Bad Plus continue to evolve and improve.

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

It's far ahead enough of that competition, intellectually and inspirationally, to exist on another plane of appreciation altogether.

Despite occasional flashes of brilliance it’s a patchy, derivative work.

the band have still got their peers beat hands down and exhibit enough vision to have you hoping they'll transcend mere re-revivalism yet further with whatever they put out next.

A bewildering but fun bedlam seems to be their default setting, if the first half-dozen or so tracks are anything to go by.

The true tests of an album of compositions such as this are, firstly, that it produces original, stimulating music and, secondly, that it makes one return to the original versions to listen to them anew. On both counts, Bird Songs succeeds admirably.

It's great, don't be mistaken; but trim a little of its fat and it goes from a fantastic listen to an unforgettable one.

It's a real treat, so be sure to commit that title to memory should you be passing an emporium of musical delights anytime soon.

[An] impressive debut album.

On El Camino, mariachi, C&W, gospel, psych rock, blues and soul all mash together into a warm and occasionally dazzling torrent; their appeal is less in fresh sounds as fresh composites of old ones, wrapped around classically dusty tales of errant womenfolk and addiction to love.

While nowhere near as immediate as Johannsson's string-based albums for the 4AD imprint--IBM 1401, A User's Manual and the sublime Fordlandia--The Miners' Hymns is far more complex in its use of dynamics while succeeding totally in its evocation of time, place and message.

It's a mark of the album's strength that there aren't many standouts: there aren't any weak tracks either.

Nevertheless, what the album lacks in depth, it more than makes up for in the length and breadth of Weller's imagination.

Hyro Da Hero has created a fresh and interesting blend of music and clever wordplay which broaches topics of prejudice and respecting the world we live in with notable humour and intelligence.

With Route One or Die they have managed to destroy not only their previous releases, but potentially anything else released in 2011.

It is Coleman's sax, Jonathan Finlayson's trumpet, Tim Albright's trombone and Jen Shyu's voice that make the strongest impact.

The Mosaic Project offers, simply, some of the best jazz around.

This is an ambitious work, and all of its aims have surely been fulfilled.

There are better tapes, better performances--but the strength of this collection is proving that in whatever company, be it President or criminal, Johnny Cash couldn't help but be himself.

The results are expectedly analogue of warmth (exceptions: the 8-bit insistence of No Distance's bleeps; the crackle-and-squelch of Unknown Host), but just as enveloping as the best today's modulator manipulators can produce.

Pop Tune finds the Japanese three-piece in fine form, exhibiting a wide-eyed freshness all the more remarkable when you consider that they have been a going concern since 1981.

Whatever expectations a solo album by a saxophonist conjures up, Saltash Bells is likely to belie them.

Repeated listens of this finely realised album are therefore an enjoyable must.

For those hankering for the lost summer of 2012, solace could well be found in the rays of musical sunlight that burst out of every hook and melody of By Your Side.

Meir is an album that will be regarded with such reverence that it’ll be a marker for other acts’ work to be compared to in the future.

This is dark, feverish garage rock as it's meant to be played.

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

An album wracked with spirit and a ferocious refusal to let anything slide away. Every track's an anthem; every second's precious, each breath as breathless as the last.

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.

Torche have always been a good band and sometimes even a great one, but with Harmonicraft they've found the songs to match their extraordinary sound.

A majestic return and, let us hope, a harbinger of more to come.

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.

Though all are blessed with a wry and dusty charm that's hard to dislike, too many are rolled out in a way that seems more to do with autopilot than passion. Narrow Way and Duquesne Whistle mighty be jaunty toe-tappers but they're also examples of the lightweight fluff that blows around the album.

He still swaggers with the best of them.

Until the Quiet Comes further catapults Ellison into the cosmos and away from all things terrestrial. He's the king of his domain, and there is no runner-up.

Rather than insolently demanding your attention as most rock albums do, Open Your Heart possesses a wonderfully self-indulgent, insular quality.

Truth is, to cook up such joyful nonsense probably takes a helluva lot of effort, but it's the Beasties' gift to make this seem easier than falling off a mountain bike, and an infinite amount more fun.

There's no fault to be found with Skying--truly, every song here hits its mark, and while The Horrors are evidently a band happy to change its spots from record to record (and steal a few licks, too), only the most ungracious of observers could deny that they've now crafted two of the finest British albums of recent years.

Despite the spare instrumentation, there's no sense of repetition or lack of variety, and these emotive, excellent songs stay with you. A late contender for album of the year.

Bluntly, Lisbon is a collation and culmination of their finest work in years. Rather than a selection of scattered snapshots, this time we've got the bigger picture. And it's irresistible.

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

The rest of us will succumb happily to Grinderman's sick skill and wonder why rebel teens don't make dangerous, dastardly rock'n'roll like this anymore.

Barnett's blue-sky dreaming is actually a pretty accurate description of Hidden – heavily beat-driven, almost entirely absent of guitars, and laced with large amounts of elaborately arranged woodwind and brass. Does it work? Largely, yes.

An outstanding album which improves upon the Swedish singer's great debut.

[An] inspired brew of, indeed, both fear and fun.

Infusing--as per usual--squalling, buzzsaw guitars and Mac McCaughan's high-pitched, emotionally-charged vocals with simple yet cerebral lyrics that turn commonplace existence into something sad yet (as the title suggests) splendid, Majesty Shredding--their ninth album--brings their sonic template fully into the 21st century.

The exceptional musicianship and impeccable vocals may not be to everyone's taste, but for 40 very happy minutes, you can revel in SJDK's very discrete world.

The album unfurls at a leisurely pace, the band's characteristic blend of burbling electronica and acoustic instrumentation at its most formidable, and most satisfying, yet.

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.

More of the same from Black Joe Lewis – and this is a good thing.

The results are, almost inevitably, meditative and cinematic, but also, more unusually for music of this so-called 'post-classical' stripe, rich in melody and genuinely haunting, numinous atmosphere.

It's when the outfit really attack their instruments, however, that sparks start to fly from the Wild Flag sound.

There is, unquestionably, a mass of fortitude at work from the creator throughout.

Harlem River Blues, though, sounds like the work of a man who can handle pressure. It more than matches--it far exceeds--what had gone before.

It is, as you'd expect, expertly played – but there's a vividness to Look Around the Corner that reaches some way beyond mere chops. It's an exceptional collaboration that proves there's life in the old soul yet.

After this striking highlight ["Stick to My Side"] Black Noise glides into a slight lull that persists through the Underworld-like fidget of "Satellite Snyper" and the disappointingly anonymous electro house of "Behind the Stars," which shows that when Weber promotes rhythm ahead of melody the effect can be underwhelming. It’s with the album’s final trio that things return to the high standard of the first half.

This is a firecracker of an album, no doubt about that--but its longevity is appropriately limited, its stretch across the hardcore spectrum deliberately hamstrung.

Fourteen years later, this reissue reveals a record so unique and ahead-of-its-time that nothing else has sounded like it since.

It's not merely a rehash of the original, but a cohesive, considered masterpiece in its own right.

It's better to simply view this opus as a beautifully deconstructed blues that's equally effective as a paean to careworn Americana or as a sparsely-drawn exercise in restraint, meditation and composure.

Rocky's managed to keep it trill so far, but now comes the hard bit.

It all depends where you stand on the group's painstakingly retro, sax- and organ-fuelled sound. If you love it and go the distance, these grooves are simply mesmeric.

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

Luck in the Valley finds him totally at home on the ranch, sat in his rocking chair and surrounded by friends gathered around the porch deck. It’s a fitting last hurrah from a true American primitive.

While it won't please those expecting a selection of aggressive dubstep workouts, Severant is a stunning debut that gives up more secrets with every listen.

Black Up is far from a fuzzy, unfocused indie-rap document. Butler's rhymes remain lyrical and tight, musing on desire and motivation, artistic freedom and Afro-American identity, in a way that should appeal to the Talib Kweli fans out there.

Claudia's timbres, eerie and winsome in equal measure, prove its greatest strong point. The combination of clarinet, accordion and vibraphone fashions an electric whistle and whir that squares the circle between 90s indie science frictioners Stereolab and 60s proto-proggers Soft Machine, making it clear that Claudia is a jazz group questioning the divide between genres and points in time.

Their most adventurous, confident and engaging record in years.

The most unmistakeable sound on Teen Dream is that of a band truly finding its own voice. In so doing, they may just have minted the new decade’s first essential album.

The Foundling isn't a lot of fun, but it tells a very sad story with bleak eloquence.

Option Paralysis stretches its makers' imaginations and abilities superbly. Consider it another singular success.

Substance is favoured over production sheen throughout the album, with every element of each track having a definite function and no sonic fat or filler allowed.

Nine Types of Light finds the band firmly in the grip of a middle age that doesn't particularly suit them. So to put it in the popular parlance, it's a Dull Record for Times that are Anything But.

This is the sound of a band hitting their stride and just running with all of their strengths on show--and there can be no complaints about that.

Paisley's at the top of his game – but he's capable of better than this.

Blood simple and bloody minded, their half-hour self-titled debut is a welcome lurch straight for the jugular.

Her worldly-wise tone can still come over a little smug but give her time – she'll grow younger than this yet.

Despite Testament's commendable attempt to spice their sound with something a little different, one can't help feeling that Dark Roots of Earth is one track short of achieving overall excellence.

The results are both reminiscent of preceding emissions from rap’s fringe-mentality movers and shakers, and compellingly unique in their colourful fusions.

It's nice to hear a female artist singing so much from the belly, even, at times, with a stirring kind of anger – as in the rollicking Peace Signs.

This nearly flawless collection is simply the next step in the Baroness saga, and it's a beautiful one.

It's frequently fantastic, weighty, clever and emotionally involving, but strangely polite, and lacking in a sense of overall purpose and direction.

Glass Swords shows just the right amount of restraint to prevent total disarray.

They continue to make music that sounds like it cares how you are.

Sky at Night simply distils and expands all Kloot's lovely strengths, from his taut, elegant tunes to resolutely bittersweet lyrics.

Watson's ability to create whole worlds, entire lifetimes in the listener's imagination, beyond the moment of recording, comes to the fore.