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.

If Rubin managed to find the core of Groban, it's a sad fact that what remains after the layers have been removed is an incredible vocalist and a one-note songwriter.

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 an imbalanced record, and one that leaves you frustrated rather than elated. But despite the blips, they have dished up at least two cerebral bangers here.

That it's the track here [Ice cream] that most closely resembles Battles with Braxton in the fold is evidence enough that this band is missing a vital organ. Sadly, it would appear to be the heart.

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.

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

Both as performers and songwriters, these guys have upped their game, and Head Down puts them well ahead of the pack.

It's an exhilarating taster of things to come.

Across its many and varied pieces, this collection proves that Field Music truly are a gem of a band.

There's little denying the sincerity of No Color as both tribute and experiment, but the duo's previous work was just a shade more likely to make everyone fall in love with them.

Thompson’s classic folk rock formula is revived once more, and his frequent guitar solos are as sour as his lyrical wit.

The duo has followed through admirably with Invariable Heartache, a record that seeps with clear-eyed hope, regret and wisdom.

The suite's key strength, and one of the advantages of brevity, is its focus.

Astro Coast sounds so prescient that Surfer Blood will be riding a wave of popularity for a good few months yet.

Lawrence Arabia's narrator persona, with one foot sternly in the past and the other staggering, trying desperately to get away, loiters before it settles. This makes Chant Darling a charming listen whose dolorous sentiment recurs like a welcome motif, each song taking time to reveal its full charm.

At just 28 minutes long, Cat's Eyes certainly doesn't outstay its welcome. Hopefully this is the start of a very glimmeringly troubled yet wonderfully disturbed relationship. Amazing.

The first four tracks of new album The Big To-Do are a solid continuation of the Truckers’ recent winning streak....But just as it seems clear we’ve got another rough-edged diamond on our hands, the album begins to wander at its mid-point.

She's not displaying much in the way of stylistic evolution, but it's not exactly certain whether this is a negative factor. As ever, raging raw emotion shouts out of Niblett's gullet, whilst sludge-chords resound from her low-hung axe, following the Nirvana (and thence PJ Harvey) school of quiet-then-loud, loud-then-quiet, but nevertheless imposing her own unpredictabilities on this dynamic.

[Blue Moon] could be classified as a highly advanced form of lounge music.

"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.

For the most part, this is a fine debut and speaks of even finer things to come.

Throughout there is an attention to detail, to little tics and tricks in the mix, that make this a treat for listeners who still wear headphones. But mostly it's music for defunct--or, rather, Defunkt--nightclubs.

It's actually on the brighter, bolder, faster numbers that Take Care comes alive.

Really, though, this is nothing more than business as usual: some killer, some filler.

There's more to digest, and WALLS' personality becomes more evident.

While there are standouts, the whole is greater than its parts.

Antibalas is musical democracy in action, and an inspiring example of a band practicing what they preach.

It's easier to forgive the tracks that meander, ponder and lament. In fact, for better or worse, that's sort of the point.

These 13 songs are a bold leap forward for Zygadlo, and feel like a personal, intimate success.

Hardly revelatory then, but Nelson delivers hardy material like traditional Satan Your Kingdom Must Come Down and I Am a Pilgrim with such wizened assurance, it's impossible not to feel the love.

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.

The accessible groove of Flower and party-time refrain of ...Candyhands make for just two more standout moments on this terrific album that appears to achieve the impossible: making a breakup sound like just the most fun you could possibly have.

While The Haunted Man is an impressive record, one heavy with earnestness and polished sophistication, it's more like The Tin Man: somehow it lacks a heart.

A frustratingly slow-burning listen.

This is probably Foxx’s most superior post-Ultravox! LP to date, and definitely his best in a very long time.

Always is one of Stewart's most accessible albums.

In a career of benchmark highs, he's made yet another; and by doing the unexpected, it shows that whatever the sound of his records, the punk inside Moore still lives.

These 11 tracks flow fantastically, sounding like products of a focused period of writing and recording, completed over a relatively short space of time.

The production might be slick, but James relaxes into this framework, providing the necessary lived-in looseness.

Dear's fifth album sees the songwriter, keyboardist, guitarist, singer, producer, DJ and all-round clever dick making a bigger, more accessible sound.

The way Marnie plays is fresh, but she does hold true to some central tenets of rock’n’roll in her fizzing songs: invincibility and defiance.

By getting back to basics and running on their instincts it would seem as if Australia's finest threesome have rediscovered just what it is that makes them great.

A long time coming it may have been, but Some Cold Rock Stuf is a disc worth spending plenty of time with after waiting more than a while for.

As it stands, Green has moved forward--or at least sideways--with each of his three City and Colour albums. But all in all, it's difficult to call Little Hell anything much more than nice.

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

Wrecking Ball is a work of commanding range and masterful execution.

This is a perfect, 30-minute, 10-song album that demands to be treated as one long symphonic pop masterpiece.

This is a terrific and subtly clever album, a(nother) spirited and worthwhile challenge by Paisley to the prejudices of both sides of country's enduring schism.

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

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.

Although less varied and dynamic than Rated R, Queens of the Stone Age simply crackles with energy. At its best, it's just as electrifying, even if it doesn't maintain the dizzying momentum which rolled its follow-up to instant glory.

Sisterworld is perhaps their masterpiece, showcasing as it does all strands of the Liars sound so far.

Go-Go Boots is one of the best examples yet of the separate yet complementary skills of the Truckers' three leaders, melding styles and switching moods but retaining an overall feel that's distinctly theirs.

With the multitude of guests, perhaps this would be better as a DVD. When experienced as audio only the ears are forced to make some wild and sudden adjustments. But maybe that's one of this disc's perverse attractions.

Total Life Forever's break with the past is astutely judged, the execution is even better.

This is another tippy-toe step forward in a strange journey that's seen them steadily chart a course beyond the ubiquitous post-rock tag to take in orchestral pomp and clattering psych-outs as they forge some sort of hairy, woebegone chamber music for an indie set raised on Dirty Three and The Black Heart Procession.

He has made another (mostly) sublime record.

Ex Lives is guaranteed to change a few minds as to what stands out as their finest collection.

The Radio Dept. have cleverly managed to conjure up music with a thoroughly minimal feel, despite this hive of activity instrumentation-wise.

It's a comfortable masterclass, in short, from a songwriter in complete command of his aesthetic.

I’m New Here is an unlikely but triumphant return, packed full of sadness, experience and an underlying feeling of someone making peace with their mistakes and regrets.

This is a transatlantic musical campaign whose virtuosity, verve and sheer eccentric heart make it hard to resist.

Peepers is every bit as good, talented musicians reworking the rulebook with hearts and minds at play.

Rarely does a British debut album forge such a fully formed, genuinely unique direction that attempts to slot it into established scenes prove almost entirely fruitless. But Peanut Butter Blues and Melancholy Jam, the full-length bow of late-20s wisdom dispenser/producer Obaro 'Ghostpoet' Ejimiwe, achieves such a feat.

This is a collaboration that makes sense. Both share a taste for a rather languid tempo, that of small-town life and the more tender, bittersweet emotions; and theirs is a pairing that's complementary.

For all its deft arrangements and catchy chorus hook lines, Passenger feels unforced, spontaneous and timeless; indeed, such is its unaffected delivery that it might have been recorded 30 years ago or last month

Elements create a thick, clotted atmosphere which is enveloping but sometimes almost claustrophobic.

Baloji is interested in an involved fusion that is at once nostalgic and innovative, quickly establishing its own musical identity.

Loma Vista is a fine album of songs of love, longing and celebration that would sound at its best when cruising along a B road in a soft-top, or stumbled across while wandering around a free festival while a bit tipsy.

In short, this is an impressive debut album that attests to the originality and expressiveness of its author.

Caminiti seems fully aware of the perils and pitfalls of the nu-new age, thwarting any such comparisons by rousing his near-ambient flows with radiant beams of six-string sustain.

With a wealth of subtle and understated performances by the supporting cast, including wistful flourishes from pianist Geraint Watkins, whose on-the-money keyboards have graced albums by Nick Lowe and Van Morrison, this is no unthinking pastiche or smirking parody.

If there are discernible musical differences, it’s that there’s a little more clarity and slightly less reliance on the fuzz pedals.

The pleasure in Beirut's music has always largely been in what it evokes – a kind of melancholy tempered with optimism and sometimes celebration. And it evokes marvellously here: whatever current Condon found himself caught up in that led to the creation of these songs, it's one you feel he's happy to coast a while yet.

Spirit Fiction is jazz the way it's supposed to be: cool, chaotic, and unassuming. It's good music for the sake of good music.

While Major plays up to the strengths of its predecessor, it also showcases vocal development and keeps the familiar listener guessing.

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.

Fly Zone is streamlined, its production consistently excellent despite numerous contributors.

It's the sheer intensity of the whole package that seduces.

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

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.

An extraordinary and stylish album.

Sharp, disciplined, and seriously compelling.

The new sound features a dense, Dave Fridmann-like production: pumping, parping, squelching sounds familiar to those from The Flaming Lips, or MGMT, but rarely coupled to such strong hooks, or vocal performances, by either.

As a whole, Revelation Road is the closest Lynne has got to where she should always have been, even if she mightn't stay here long.

Ring was inspired by the symmetrical order outlined in Homer's poem Odyssey, the idea that any structure doesn't necessarily have to abide by a beginning, middle or end. Presumably this is why when succulent-lullaby Clamour completes the cycle you'll want to return to the start once more.

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

While not exactly standing alongside their best in terms of outright quality, shows that even Elbow's 'hidden' past is worthy of deeper exploration.