A work of pure, true genius.

You don't even need to know about the box-set's extras: if teenage angst is the root of rock and roll, then 'Quadrophenia' is its definitive statement.

Amongst the army of incredible contributors, all unified by melancholic production drawn from the ether of another age, David Lynch's star shimmers brightest.

If you love the ambiguous crossover between half-step London sounds and crushed and warped 4/4 peddled by the likes of Martyn, Burial or Joy Orbison, then the love in you will find this album.

Showing clear progression and monumental ambition, TNP have crafted a stark and dense knockout performance.

Some of the riffs are quite incredible ('A More Perfect Union'), and the general effect of the whole album is that the listener will want to weep and dance simultaneously. Simply brilliant.

Her second album is an enchanting collection of beautifully raw songs, the faint trace of tape-hiss in the quieter moments combined with the rootsy feel of songs.

As his main band disappears into "indefinite hiatus", console yourself with the knowledge that Birgisson has just made the best record of his career.

It’s Buzzcocks-goes-Daniel Johnston, with a little Guided By Voices on the side, erudite and desperate, and everything mentioned above and yet a lot, lot more. And it’s a pleasure to share it, and them, with you.

Suffused with an indefinable sense of melancholy, the likes of ‘I Can Change’, ‘Home’ and ‘Dance Yrself Clean’ instil the rubbery electro with a tangible soul - whilst ‘Drunk Girls’ delivers a giddy hit of bony post-punk.

First spewed forth in 1973 this blend of Iggy's guttural moanings and James Williamson's precise spiky guitars is rightly regarded as one of the most seminal, ferocious, uncompromising, crude, sleazy, nihilistic rock albums of all time.

Although the album is full of brilliance, album opener ‘Marina’ stands headstrong above the others in terms of scope and grandeur, a dirty distorted guitar solo coupled with an African style instrumental and tribal chorusing sees ‘Fever’ go from commendable to a masterpiece.

It's less immediate than previous material, but nevertheless absorbs the magic of the world, distilling it into ten slices of trembling, impassioned rock 'n' roll.

M.I.A. stands alone in her own world of pop firing out her mercurial messages, which are as complex as they are captivating. MAYA is a towering work that makes a mockery of rivals and genres.

Further proof that The Arcade Fire may indeed be the best band on the planet.

The Eel Pie Islanders' sees the band mature as songwriters, which should attract the mainstream attention that's so overdue them.

It's predictably brilliant; another display of Dear's dazzling musical imagination.

Somewhat removed from the robust radio friendly pop of their first Hoffer collaboration The Life Pursuit, this latest record inhabits a more delicate sonic framework, reminiscent of early B & S.

Lucky Shiner is one of the most innovative and mind-melding albums of the year and one that just keeps on giving.

This is not just West's best album, it's a keen contender for the most ambitious LP in hip-hop history. West side story!

Adele is sincere, poignant and affecting throughout; the emotive 'Someone Like You' closes the album magnificently.

His are fragile, beautiful songs floating over warmly alien, sometimes seemingly formless musical structures yet it's an effect borne through unconventional levels of space and patience.

Few albums this year will match up to the level of proficiency and commitment here and yet it remains a distinct probability that the world still won't listen. An album that will shadow most others.

We're New Here is a psychedelic atlas with which we can all sonically voyage upon. A great way to start the year.

Joyous, pensive, cathartic and hymnal in equal measure, this is the human condition set to music.

Gimme Some, sixth album from Swedish indie pop types Peter, Bjorn And John, is absolutely superb; sunshine and a hundred beach parties stuffed into thirty minutes, sprightly and joyous, cool, confident and glossy.

Dirty, loud and intimidatingly sexy, Blood Pressures is the result of a year spent apart - Hince's adventures in sound provide the album's thick production, while Mosshart's stint as Dead Weather frontwoman instils further confidence and swagger in her provocative lyrics.

As lyrically profound as ever, yet with a tinge of detached romantiscm. Pioneers they remain.

C'mon is such a delight, simultaneously luscious in their orchestration and muted in their delivery. Beautiful.

Smother does exactly what it suggests but with a poetic fragility and an exacting panache that enthrals and entices like never before. An essential album.

Finely crafted folk is elevated towards greatness by the stunning voice of Alessi Laurent-Marke.

[Gloss Drop] is one of the most startling, visually emotive albums we've heard in years. Vividly audacious.

Mirror Mirror is a raw, nocturnal and very northern record, and one that's nailed its bleeding, hedonistic colours high up the musical mast.

Gone is the Primary Colours influences of Portishead's Geoff Barrow, or the punchy impatience of Strange House, and in that place stands an intellectually collective five-piece, fully immersed in the confidence of their own astonishing abilities.

Everything here is gorgeously sung and this woozy, gently uplifting collection of songs is pretty close to perfect.

By stripping back the layers of overbearing electronic production of the past, they've recorded an album of lush and elegant pop music, beguiling and gloriously cinematic.

An excellent return.

This music really doesn't need any window dressing because it's as good a collection of songs as she has put her name to in ten years.

He has fateful serenity tangling with rudebwoy pluck through crackly pirate radio reception, smuggling in head-scratching interludes - field recordings seemingly from the club's toilets/smoking section - and one '70s synthesizer pitstop.

Sounding fifty years out of time and traversing genres without concern, it is unlike anything else you will hear this summer. And you really must hear it.

The only real criticism of Ceremonials is that this album is completely, relentlessly, Florence. Her fans will lap it up, while those who aren't keen on her will probably remain unconvinced.

She's brilliant, sometimes inspired, and this tenth studio album finds her gifts undiminished.

I have seen the future of dreamy pop, and its name is The Maccabees.

She may not take life too seriously, but when it comes to making divine music, Beth means business.

This is a confident, bold and captivating record, and one which is dominated by that beguilingly ragged voice.

Stuffed with bomb-ass beats and rhymes that will bang from Cali to Darlington.

Imbued with a rupturing rave-punk sensibility.

'R.I.P.' is both an update on the bass explorations of restless Britain and perhaps a timeless thesaurus of blistered tones and ideas that younger producers will beg, borrow and steal from for years to come.

It's hyper real hip-hop made just in time for the end of the world.

An unconventional masterpiece.

The maker and breaker of neon daisy chains, 'Galaxy Garden' is a fantasia that's as lush as a chain of soap shops.

[Loveless] not only stands the test of time, but transcends it. Songs like 'When You Sleep' sound as inventive now and would outshine much of the crop of young pretenders... Remains an archetypal classic.

Young, yet somehow void of naivety. Vibrant, yet artistically matured.

A peerless left-field masterpiece.

Channel Orange demands to be listened to in a single sitting.

It makes for a stark--often chilling, often exhilarating--collection of music that spans the genre(s), from the well-known to the esoteric, the accessible to the impenetrable.

Centepede Hz is somehow both futuristically innovative and welcomingly accessible. Amid the obscurantism caused by white noise and radio interference are strong choruses likely to get any form of life dancing.

It's a masterpiece.

Hypno-grooving at its best.

A very welcome return.

An exhausting and thoroughly absorbing set.... It is a record that everybody should own. Meticulous, majestic, momentous.

{Awayland} is just brilliant.

The Portland-based psych-rock outfit’s second album is an absolute triumph.

It’s a dense work that’ll be discovered thriving equally happily in the niche of teenage bedrooms as in underground cults and a nebulous haze of mushrooming Mixcloud communiqués extending over the horizon.

Potent in its masculine restraint, this record has surely always existed, just waiting to be plucked from the surf; a mercurial, magisterial, stick of seaside rock.

It's a gem for Harcourt fans and the sweetest of introductions for new listeners.

Rest assured, his remarkable voice and grasp of melody remain undimmed and while it may not sound exactly as you were expecting, it is a bold, distinctive and genuinely excellent record.

The North Borders is a triumph--each listen is a revelation; seemingly it’s a breadth of work that marks a new, exciting era of electronic music.

Overgrown remains closer knit, and paradoxically less fragmented than its illustrious predecessor, ideas rotating core values guided by an affirmatively unseen hand. Which ultimately makes this an even better record.

There is a modern, angry masterpiece in here--just skip the manifesto.

Overall, Modern Vampires Of The City conveys one hell of a sense of permanence from a band that once seemed ephemeral and frivolous.

Four is an accessible album, filled with heavy questions about what love really means, posed through sensitive and dramatic arrangements.

An unassuming and bewitching masterpiece.

This set of tracks will stand with their most masterful.

Some of the tracks cry out for a bar or two to be spat over, but when you hear that hollow synth on Teeza’s ‘Rum And Coke’, you’ll be sold on the grime renaissance.

Without doubt, this is one of the folk albums of the year.

It’s great fun, and clearly a Bay Area attempt at the big league. Like hip-hop used to sound. Praise be.

With a mix of frantic and scrappy pop songs alongside blankets of processed peacefulness Contra is a fun and always intriguing listen.

End Times may be a tunnel with no light at the end of it, but the bleakness is beautiful.

Romance Is Boring is another step up for the Cardiff seven-piece; avoiding the shoutier, brattier elements of debut ‘Hold On Now, Youngster...’, the band bring to their latest effort a much darker atmosphere, with similarly desperate lyrics.

Many have already been drawn into the melancholy whirlpools of their past two albums; yet more will surely be drawn by the warmer embrace of Legrand and Scally’s latest statement, a stronger, rhythmic definition offering a hand through the ether, beckoning the listener into their fluid tapestry.

Angie Stone’s fifth album, is her strongest to date, as she delivers an LP that effortlessly combines the finest elements of Neo Soul with old-skool R&B.

Falling Down A Mountain marks the return of a bolder spirit and, as a result, there is another truly great Tindersticks album to add to your collection.

This debut album from the Manchester trio is a captivating Gothic Americana creation.

A solid second record with tinges of brilliance, it’s another fine piece of work from the busiest man around.

Returning from a six-year long wilderness of soundtrack work and greatest hits, ‘Heligoland’ sees the duo back at the top of their game.

Clocking in at less than 33 minutes to ensure your left gagging for more, Sweet Heart Rodeo is a near faultless blend of Landes’ country roots and the urban savvy of her Brooklyn base.

Big layers of instruments dual with and complement each other via weird time signatures, and inspired, complex riffs that sound like they’re scoring a car chase from a cult Seventies film, mixed with bursts of electronic futurism--perhaps best displayed on the album’s title track--a manic, brilliant piece of instrumental songwriting that shows Jaga Jazzist to be at the top of their game.

With echoes of Lou Reed in many of the tracks, including ‘What Makes Him Act So Bad’ and ‘Cigarette Burns Forever’, and faint hints of Green’s previous work with the Peaches in others - ‘Oh Shucks’ - ‘Minor Love’ sees Green marry his roots with the new directions he’s taking, and comparison to the tape recorder fodder of old isn’t so hard make anymore.

2009 has seen the emergence and critical success of other techno-pop bands, including The xx and Fever Ray, and Pantha du Prince plays into exactly this sort of intelligent, thoughtful, and in many ways uplifting music.

Taught and lean, bold and mean, Blood Red Shoes are fighting fit and Fire Like This might just be their knock-out punch.

Their third album in as many years, JJ continue to gather a pace and 'No.3' will surely propel them further into hearts and minds.

From the monasteric vocal and Union of Knives-esque menace of ‘The Infinites’ to the shades of Hot Chip (‘Price On Your Head’) and Ladytron (‘Boy Girl’), ‘Back To Light’ is another early marker in what’s shaping up to be a stellar year for dance music.

‘Sea Change’ is as epic as anything that came later, Knights’ vocal supplemented by a rich seam of orchestration, but much of the material here could have been lifted from those early recordings, where skeletal fret work frames angelic vocals. A return to the source.

The Wild Hunt, the second release from Swedish guitar-twanging folksy master The Tallest Man On Earth, is a graceful and beautiful advancement of form, and matures just the way a second album really ought to.

This first true-solo effort sees the man responsible for some of rock's most iconic riffery joining forces with the friends he met on the way (including The Cult's Ian Astbury, Lemmy and Iggy Pop) and is a rocking riot from the off.

While no single track quite matches Four Tet's 'Love Cry', it's as good overall as his contemporary's recent 'There Is Love In You'.

Never one to hide his emotions previously, Rufus Wainwright offers a sparse but staggeringly heartfelt collection of songs for voice and piano, influenced, at least in part, by the long-term illness and recent passing of his mother.