Rumer's debut is an immediately engaging, gently engrossing set. It wears its cracked heart on a neatly stitched sleeve of the most luxurious fabric, strong and elegant despite the hardships that sit of the centre of every song.

They are, right now, the most inspirational, intriguing, effortlessly enrapturing band at work on these shores. And Smother might well prove to be the album of 2011.

As an album, it is huge, sometimes overwhelming-- but such is the strength and individuality of Newsom’s vision, it seems almost inconceivable she could produce anything unremarkable.

Once more they've turned sludge, slime and slurry into heavy metal gold.

It all clicks into gear by the end, and it perhaps bodes well that they appear to have worked out how to finish things on a high.

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

Muchacho is a vibrant, evocative LP, and a welcome addition to the Phosphorescent catalogue.

There's a distinct valedictory tone to his customary musings upon life, love and the spirit, with one track titled "Amen" and another "The Darkness". But if it is to be his last communiqué, at least the old smoothie's going down swinging.

The end-of-year lists for 2012 are barely gone from recent memory, but you can expect to read about Vertikal again in 11 months' time.

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.

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.

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.