At seventeen tracks it's a purposefully meandering ride, one filled with funky instrumentals and ambient vignettes. While songs such as 'Lately', 'Insecurity' and 'Sex Emoji' show the band has not lost their ability to deliver funky floor-fillers, it's the more subdued material that really shines.

Kaleide works best when all of its individual fragments twist into vision as one.

With ‘Weather’ it’s Saint Sinner’s vocals that give the project direction; when these are stripped away on ‘Simulcast’, it’s up to the listener to find a way though, to draw the conclusions. And it’s these personal conclusions that make ‘Simulcast’ arguably a far more engaging and interesting experience than ‘Weather’.

Take it as deep dance for when there aren't enough hours in the day.

At times, it feels like a test drive, pushing the boundaries to prove to itself what can be done. But when he concentrates his focus and narrows his noodling, it delivers substance and heft.

There's potential here--let's not entrust the future of rock to them just yet.

His drawled, out of focus mumblings drawing you in unavoidably to the patchwork sonics, and though the album can be a little overwhelming on first listen, repeated plays reveal an irresistible talent.

Hug Of Thunder is a welcome return by Broken Social Scene. Dignified, grand and full of life, let’s just hope we don’t have to wait another seven years for their next record.

The LP is consistently engaging: a solid rock 'n' roll album crafted by a bunch of talented musicians finding their feet--and sounding like they're having a damn good time in the process.

For all the ballsiness and twisted subject matters, ‘Songs For Our Mothers’ does limp along with some downtempo drone numbers that would be better if their lyrics were decipherable. .... Still, Songs For Our Mothers’ impresses for all the right reasons.

There are a couple of tonal mis-steps, we’re looking at your ‘Esportes Casual’, and perhaps the running time could be shaved down, but overall this stands as a sweet reminder to take a step back from the madness and breathe.

As a whole, ‘Loss Of Life’ deftly balances the ability to appeal to the hardcore fans who have stuck with them, all while winning back the hearts of those who may have been lost along the way.

Undeniably beautiful. Aloof, abstract and elegant, it melds ambient expanse with pop form to idyllic, if unassuming effect.

‘The Competition’ gets a hell of a lot right, and you get the feeling for album five it might finally all together perfectly.

Successful forays into synth-disco (‘Look At Your Hands’), slo-mo new wave (‘Coast To Coast’) and hymnal R&B (‘Home’) rescue a uniquely energetic, smart record in danger of over-saturation.

A short, sharp burst of intensity, it’s like a 40-minute session on the massage table with kneading thumbs being pushed into your brain.

Tthe songwriting is strong without being spectacular, and John Congleton’s production offers clarity but is somewhat lacking in edge.

Still splitting opinion. Still weaving rich pop tapestries from whatever fibres take their fancy. They deserved better.

This whole album pulses with the emotivity of a cybernetic rainforest.

Though it’s slow and brooding, Impermanence is bold enough to employ silence as part of the music.

The approach proves that there’s still relevance to be found in the commercial compilation. This is largely down to the third disc, titled ‘Meditation’, which serves as a compilation of entirely new material that sees Craig shift his focus from dancefloor fodder to some impressive ambient explorations.

Brighter and airier than a lot of corona art, it might also be also more enduring. It’s a collaboration that invites listeners along for a ride between a now- distant musical past and the present.

Trentemøller’s studio chops are beyond question, but the results here suggest something of a new musical identity crisis.

While Hamburg Demonstrations doesn’t have Doherty retiring his military guards jacket, there’s definitely a greater helping of wholesome maturity to be found in this patchworked and homey collection of ballads both old and new.

This is an album that finds progress in small gradients. Subtle in its evolution, Kings Of Leon treat ‘When You See Yourself’ as a means to re-engage with their early bite, yet remain unwilling to cede their place at rock’s top table. As a result, it’s neither the complete break some yearn for, nor an attempt to re-capture the commercial power that emanated around ‘Only By The Night’.

The brevity doesn’t downplay the creativity. A stunning four-track feast, the only downside is that we don’t hear more from such a formidable cast.

Earthy, enigmatic and possessed of a refreshing lightness of touch.

‘6PC Hot’ is a suggestive, highly creative return, one that suggests fresh possibilities while further reinforcing the songwriter’s future-charged brand of arena level R&B.

There is melody here, clear structure. The Blackest Beautiful is a pop record, of a kind. The kind that eats the other albums racked next to it.

An intriguing if not fully formed experiment, ‘Fear Of The Dawn’ is a defiantly un-Jack White statement, transgressing his role as a traditionalist in favour of something less logical. Packed with nervous energy, its haphazard dash to the finish line is nothing if not fascinating.

Uncompromising and unconventional, ‘Glasgow Eyes’ sit comfortably in The Jesus and Mary Chain canon.

While each of the band's EPs were like short, sharp gut-shots, Vile Child feels diluted in comparison, and as such is a record that shows plenty of promise, but not one that will change lives.

The backbone is Allen’s afrobeat vibe, on top of which ten Haitian percussionists have piled on the voodoo grooves and chants. Pretty krautrockarama.

There's parts of On Desire that feel all too familiar, and there's parts that simply don't work. For every negative though there's a melody or lyric that makes it shine, and for that, the band are worth sticking with, at least for the time being.

Cerulean Salt isn’t boundary breaking, but it possesses qualities enough to leave one charmed, if not consistently captivated.

Often it feels more like an overly conscious art project rather than an album that will sustain repeated listening; it's undeniably, admirably beautiful in parts, but ultimately too consciously cerebral and self satisfied to love.

‘Doggerel’ isn’t a bad record, it’s just missing the audacious grit that is so entwined with the bizarre charm that makes the PIXIES so remarkable.

So long as you can tolerate the musical hopscotch that a Barry Adamson album always represents, Know Where To Run is probably as good an introduction to this peripatetic musician as you're ever likely to need. Just make sure to expect the unexpected.

At times Letherette overreach and their ambition to contort every trend of the last decade into a singular structure feels forced. The album flourishes where the beats are fortified by accompanying charisma.

There are Pixies fans that would have preferred another ‘Doolittle’ instead, but Indie Cindy isn’t bad, not bad at all.

The repetitive beats and seemingly endless loops become, on the whole, tired and tedious too soon.

It won't appeal to those who prefer his party anthems and vibrant disco, but for those who want to see yet another side to this most prolific of musical minds, it's a voyage worth taking.

Easy to absorb musically and easy to ignore lyrically, Loud Like Love is 50 minutes of simply okay alt-rock.

The Scene Between is a happy remedy to a cynical industry and scary, un-groovy world. One listen and you'll be transported back to your teens--when some sunshine and a little dance would cure all.

It's far from perfect - 'Ghost Note' sounds horribly like Skrillex in places - but there [are] enough interesting sonic detours to suggest that these agitators of sound are more than just another over-hyped gimmick band.

Packing so much in comes at the risk of a more diluted sound and an album which lacks a strong sense of cohesive unity. This is most apparent in the first two ‘planets’, where the result is a little muddled. When not biting off more than they can chew by integrating three entirely different featured artists within a five track part (see ‘Off Planet Part 1’), the album is a fresh and interesting take on experimental electronica.

Despite the gloriously odd decision to place Treasures--a piece of music as fragile as the materialistic lifestyles it attacks--first in the tracklisting, there are no real surprises.

A record that has moments of brilliance but by virtue of trying to be a novelty record, actually comes closer to being a rehash of their previous work.

Whilst production and rhythms are excellent, the hooks (barring the album’s final lyric: “There’s so much bullshit comin’ out of your mouth”) often fall short.

Since that reboot 12 years ago, they don’t really know what they want to be. So they try all things, and only succeed at some.

A contemporary-pop triumph.

100 Acres... drips with sonic gloss.

The songs are a little more distinctive, and they’re crafted a little better.

The departure comes with tracks like ‘The Bee’, itself a pastiche of the trip-hop genre, while tracks like ‘Melifer’ fuse the distinctive Plaid sound with pretty Balearic guitar melodies to keep things interesting.

Although there's nothing exactly groundbreaking here, Policy packs plenty of personality and attitude.

While there’s nothing really here to ignite a flame of revolution, or indeed get fists in the air to be honest, Peace Trail sees Young doing what comes naturally, soundtracking tumultuous times with some confident and easy songwriting.

Following the trend set on previous effort ‘Olympia’, the beats continue to become crunchier, direct and undoubtedly more contemporary--but unfortunately less interesting also.

In truth, the material does a decent enough job of filling the acerbic, punk shaped void left since their decade long absence.

Third Avenue feels like a transitional project for Fredo, from his grittier street mixtapes to hopefully something more expansive. His inability to escape from his street-focused comfort zone is sometimes frustrating, especially when the project improves after he opens up later on in the album. But he gives us glimpses of a great project further down the line.

Whilst sonically Fixed Ideals can vary in its impact, Lande Hekt’s lyrics tell a relatable story in a crafty way, carrying the record all the way through.

Like a lot of their back catalogue, Keep The Village Alive is an enjoyable and solid, if unadventurous rock record anchored, as always, by that tremendous voice.

At times you wish their sound was edgier, that they'd go in the direction of their zanier peers Hot Chip and BadBadNotGood. Despite that minor criticism, their unique, funky take on pop is rarely less than fascinating.

Despite the two opposing moods of the album, the candid and dark lyricism is the only consistent effort in the album. It’s a massive shame, considering how much headway the band made with ‘Asymmetry’, but Mallory Knox have found themselves half a step behind their peers once again.

There are enough hair-raising moments here to anchor your skin and stop it crawling quite so much.

‘The Price Of Progress’ is a perfectly functional Hold Steady record, no more and no less.

The sugar is here, but teeth will get itchier.

‘Five Easy Hot Dogs’ isn’t going to win DeMarco any more fans, nor will it distract from his past triumphs. ... This instrumental offering will, like most of his tunes, act as great company for those who just wanna lay back and disconnect from it all.

Ultimately, the Achilles heel of the whole project is how invested, how much fans will truly believe in this. To some, it’s a meme stretched to breaking point, the elasticity of his flute-playing hauled out to become an opaque sheet, void of detail. To others, it’s an excellent – almost unclassifiable – mood piece. Whether it’s the meanderings of an internet-savvy millionaire or the crucial work of a modern day ambient auteur is perhaps in the eye of the beholder.

While by no means poor, this album does little to advance the reputation he has already secured, as one of the UK’s most reliable rap suppliers.

There is a defining (and high-definition) period where the mix becomes less interactive, a little noodlier, and more prey to a mass observing sway.

It’s not a bad record by any stretch, albeit one where the turgid does bump ugly against the terrific.

On their way to maturity, YSP!WSD! lost some of the punkiness that made them exciting, but they still have hooks and groovy synths, so the growth is graceful.

There isn’t much of a sense of flow to the album; the songs stand on their own as the poems were meant to stand on their own.

A record that feels very much like a side-step, ‘Me vs Myself’ contains little of the soul-searching that the title suggests.

Bloated at 16 tracks, it could have been a genuinely strong EP that formed a platform for Dizzee’s return to the sound he helped birth.

It feels like a personal journey through the past on his part, and a genuine tribute from those who've contributed.

There’s still a fair amount of self indulgence, and the rare occasion on which you wish he’d stuck to the old habit of micro length tracks (‘HER’ being one such example), but on the whole it’s a well selected body of work.

They're still settling in at the start line, prescribing rose-tinted glasses that could very well divide listeners.

Soundgarden moved admirably forward with a strong new L.P, and while the performances missed some of the vitality of their youth, they still were able to invoke a tone and vibe all of their own.

Although Supermodel is derivative, it’s more often inventively imitative, rather than devolving into out-and-out mimicry.

No Tourists is unlikely to win The Prodigy any new fans but it’s unlikely to upset any existing ones. And really, if rave-influenced industrial dance is your thing, these old heads are still a cut above anyone else out there.

While one half of Phase sounds complete and polished, the other sounds unfinished, and unsteady. But the songwriting quality of the better cuts and the raw talent that underpins their delivery brings a fire to the record.

With the obvious potential fully realised, 'Improvisations’ could have become an instant cult classic, but in this raw, rushed and unfinished form it is hardly anything more than a collectible item for curious die-hard fans.

It will inspire obsessive fandom and moisten a few eyes, but Henson’s voice is something of an acquired taste.

Compared to the previous self-titled record the features here are in sharp contrast, with less of a hip-hop emphasis. That doesn't mean they're not interesting, though.

A fine line between unpredictable flair and china shop bull.

It’s hard not to feel like the lead singles live in their own sonic universe. The remaining album tracks, while lyrically co-ordinated, lack sonic cohesion.

Playful and melodic, Clash suggests that you take this on a Norfolk country ramble ASAP.

Accomplished again, then, and greatly engrossing throughout. It’s just lacking that crucial aspect of singular appeal to stand aside from a fiercely competitive pack.

The album is littered with so many clunky lines and cliched conspiracy talk it almost becomes laughable, but the main problem is with the narrative itself which makes next to no sense at all.... Luckily, a good sizeable chunk of this album is good enough to stand alone, stripped of the high-minded concepts.

Surprising and satisfying, we'll even try to forgive the spoken word interlude.

Love him or hate him, you can't deny that Ronson can certainly put an album together.

The music lacks the meditative quality of similar works like those by Philip Glass. In place of this, tracks like ‘Sunshimmers’ and ‘The Amazon: The Highlands’ produce a warmness that makes the album an agreeable experience, an experience that does not ensnare the listener’s attention.

Unashamedly broad, it can lack detail and punch; yet ‘=’ has something about it that is difficult to shrug off, while being hard to truly relate to.

A fine sound indeed, but one that could have been better with a shade more variety injected into proceedings.

A bold gesture weighed down with excess, 'The Voice Of The Heroes' is a worthy experiment, one that feels destined to be a cult favourite.

It makes for a focused, solid offering.

It's All Real continues along the same lines: lush production, low-key bleeps and bloops, a hushed, lovelorn 2am ambience.