Chugging and thunderous, Stefanski’s debut set as Raffertie is self-assured: an expertly stitched quilt of textures.

This teaser [is] no doubt just the beginning of a new strain of avant-footwork coming our way in 2016.

The most impressive thing about In League With Dragons is that it’s the 17th Mountain Goats album, and Darnielle shows no signs of running on empty. This is an album that should excite existing fans of the band. ... It also works well as a gateway for new fans as the songs are catchy, the music is well balanced and when the band hit that sweet groove its glorious.

This isn’t download territory--it’s a journey, and if you buy a ticket, you have to put the time in to get to the destination. But what a destination.

The “highs” are as potent and heady as ever but ultimately, they’re ephemeral.

The amount of moments of contemplation away from the mosh pit benefits the listenability of the album, though its overall sequencing is blotchy and still more like a mixtape.

It carries a deeply insidious atmosphere, never revealing what is coming round the corner before exploding into either a flurry of motion or into a whispering, ephemeral moment.

Best when he’s corralling others into out-of-their-comfort-zone creativity, it’s the Albarn-sung tracks on the second half of the album where the attention wanders and the album opening Snoop Dogg cameo seems a million miles away. Of course, there’s alot here to take in and maybe it just needs a fair few listens to fully digest it - the sign of any album worth its salt.

I Don’t Run advances Hinds’ endearing charm and esprit de corps, which in turn makes this another totally enjoyable listen.

It’s a brilliant pick me up, a dazzling set of songs that tap into our innermost impulses. A colourful way to remember those good times, and one that is perfectly prepared for our eventual return to the dance floor.

British music fans should gaze upon King Krule with great pride. Under immense expectation, he has managed to become the product of his far-flung influences, rather than a pastiche of any.

Albarn on Britain is a proven formula, but Simonon, Allen and Simon Tong combine to craft curious twenty-first century folk about curious twenty-first century folk.

The closest ‘Quadra’ comes to breaking new ground and entering unclaimed territory is the dramatic metamorphosis of Green’s voice during the nostalgic nu-metal hymn ‘Agony of Defeat’, not to mention the superb acoustic intro and the profane chorus of ‘Guardians of Earth’. More crucially, the samba drum-kit of ‘Capital Enslavement’ and the syncopated beat on ‘Raging Void’ shows that the idea of exploring percussive possibilities is slowly growing on them.

A helter-skelter ride through extra-dimensional sonics, ‘Wilds’ is an exhilarating return, The Soundcarriers’ lengthy absence simply making their return all the more potent.

It’s an album to get lost in and to find the pockets of light that punctuate the sublime melodies and dank instrumentation.

Dreamy but real, hazy but pure and insightful, this project facilitates fresh ambition and explores new ground for Real Estate. And maybe, this record will take them even closer to that elusive ‘main thing’.

At times pretty, at others curiously appealing, ‘AIR’ is more-often-than-not simply boring, ca selection of mood music that fills up space without every truly saying anything.

While this might not be the most fun album to listen to, Neil Young and Crazy Horse deliver solid performances that elevate it from seven songs of despondency.

A 10-track wonder that is a more mature and eclectic take on her gloriously femme and thundering electro-pop.

Avey Tare’s new album ‘7s’ sits in the shadow of ‘Time Skiffs’, but it contains a curious character of its own. Featuring – naturally enough – seven tracks, it both nods to some of the conduits of Animal Collective’s work, while also injecting something different.

This is strange, boutique folk-pop with a vitalised imagination--a rewarding listen, and then some.

The result is something that sounds mechanical and generally detached from emotion.

A dark and perilous experience, one just hopes there’s light at the end of Adams’ tunnel.

Sad, weird, beautiful, fiercesome; music to move and excite. [Apr 2013, p.97]

Well worth imbibing.

The album is a sun-kissed trip with layered overdubs, shimmering guitar inter-play and a sense of wanderlust, a warm departure from the celebrated lo-fi debut LP.

With plenty to digest, there’s no lack of ideas, if maybe a lack of focus. Stripping this back to a leaner, focused synth set might have injected a bit more punch. That said, Office Politics finds the underrated genius as acerbic and creatively inspired as ever.

Stars Are The Light is an aural journey, one which forces the listener to reconnect, or at least reconsider, their relationship with nature. In doing so, it encourages individuality and challenges one to break-up with the conventions of modern life.

The result is a solid, if overly safe album that avoids some of the pitfalls of the past but fails to ignite the heart.

It takes a special sort to do such songs justice with a mere acoustic guitar, but Marshall manages it. When things go electric, the ante isn’t upped nearly enough, however, and can’t help but pale compared to the frantic energy of The Hawks and Dylan fighting the audience.

It’s schizophrenic and really quite silly in places, Broke is never less than entirely entertaining.

A more concise LP that continues LUH's mythos, whilst also branching out sonically, Love Hates What You Become reinforces their necessary purpose. Fearless, life-affirming and without compromise, Lost Under Heaven's future blues have the potential to be a soundtrack of a generation.

A record of sheer beauty and one that finds London Grammar at the absolute top of their game.

When Gambino plays it straight he sounds majestic.

Despite at times being muddled, Segall is not afraid to stand up and confront the audience, evoking the most visceral of feelings and pushing the boundaries of comfort. Divisive, but all the more brilliant for it.

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

The pair still aren’t in that DFA1979 category of combatively brilliant, just yet.

He returns in possession of a gloriously direct set of songs that feel instantly familiar.

Tracks such as ‘Aurelia’ and ‘Feed From The Floor’ harbour familiar macabre theatrics, though this time they feel more matured and far less overwrought than in previous offerings.

While ‘FLIGHT’ may not be for the faint-hearted, it is undeniable that El Khatib has set out what he wanted to do, and has done so in the style of a true professional.

Dream Nails often surprising, forever enlightening debut album proves that the revolution will be a whole lotta fun.

This is a punchy record sure to spark some vital debates, as well as having a solid slew of crowd-pleasers.

A bold, impressive debut offering, it finds the songwriter’s perfectionist streak paying off.

Dirty Projectors [is] a disruption, but a pleasant one at that--it affords listeners the space to grapple with the loss of Dirty Projectors in their previous form, while dispensing enough nurturing, boundary-breaking tonic to ensure that the first run-out for the project's next chapter is shrouded in optimism rather than dissolution, unforeseen obstacles and all.

A perfectly balanced album that matches her newfound vibe as a woman ready to tell her truth. This album is a note that good things come to those who wait.

As pure and rich as milk and honey.

Every track is excellent, ruthless, relentless.

Brash and bold, its juxtaposition of fragile synth lines and uncompromising slabs of aggression make for a compelling, if not occasionally familiar, listen.

By befriending you and almost playing good cop bad cop, the vibrant grace of ‘Ra_Light’ and the global peak of ‘Near The End’ open an organic sense of nostalgia with an alert funkiness.

A sobering state of the world address spoken with street eloquence and education, W.A.R. resumes Pharoahe's talismanic dictation above a packed battalion of guests as a failsafe spectacle.

Unapologetic, progressive and complex, it's adventurous, indulgent post jazz, brimming with spirit. Absolutely exhilarating.

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.

McMorrow loyalists may bemoan the polished sheen that characterises the tracks on We Move, but there is some genuine pop-soul mastery at display here, McMorrow’s sound more wholesome without renouncing the spectral quality that characterised his earlier material.

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.

In these trying times, it’d benefit from being a whole lot more confrontational.

A surprisingly effective 21st century take on the Seventies singer-songwriter album, with tight band performances from the likes of the Dap-Kings and sympathetic production from the king of the trumpets.

The sound is typically dense but never overwrought with a wide sweep of styles and textures, The Orb being past masters at moulding a huge pool of raw material into a cohesive, listenable whole.

Less one-eyed compared to, say ‘Omega: Alive’, far less experimental than the last ‘Nighttime World’, ‘Victorious’ still leaves open the interchangeable nature of where Robert Hood starts and Floorplan ends.

While never quite holding together as a set, NIN continues to admirably cover new ground while doing what they do best, namely reflecting humanity’s worst impulses.

The fact that I’m listening to this album on a gloriously balmy afternoon and am getting in the festive mood is testament to Legend’s conviction and the arrangements. However after 14 tracks, it does start to lose its way a bit.

After the swelling synths of the album’s intro track, ‘Adulter8’ opens with a chip-tune alarm sound, and you kick your feet out of bed only to find the floor fall from under you, as shards of a euphoric bassdrum take over and fragments of haunted vocals dislocate you from any sense of direction.

Pearson's mournful growl, and the brutal honesty in raking over his personal failings, makes for a majestic, in-the-dead-of-the-night confessional.

There's enough promise and originality within the current scene to merit considerable credibility.

Like most King Gizzard records, it runs out of steam in the second half, but when ‘Infest’ rips it rips as hard as some bands who have been making this music for decades. Like the modern thrash revivalists, King Gizzard combine youthful energy with enough of their own inimitable style to make this excursion into the cobwebbed world of thrash fresh and interesting.

Undeniably formulaic but just as captivatingly beautiful, solemn closer Let Me Back In is the track-stopping highlight, painstakingly building to a crescendo before the ghost voices drift out. Glorious.

Whilst the album could do without a cover of Billy Joel's ‘Just The Way You Are’, it doesn't detract from the overall feeling of warmth threading through this project.

Dominated by Satomi Matsuzaki's cute vocals, this is might be a laid-back record, but it's still one that's wonderfully challenging.

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.

Power drifting through the gears and with cutting-edge in hand, this is a shoe-in contender for house album of the year--clear and distinct, all the way through.

‘April’ might not be as strong as 2016’s ‘Second Love’. The songs are solid but not quite as pristine as its predecessor. However, it’s understated melodies and melancholy laced lyrics still have the power to stop you in your tracks. This feels like third love.

Duchampian yet danceable and nothing short of essential.

A peculiar but pitch perfect partnership.

Live, Little Dragon are weapons-grade ace. Now they’ve finally got an album to match.

Zaba is blessed with musical facets that will blind you with their splendour.

Much like Villagers’ previous releases, the overriding feeling is of well-crafted, thoughtfully structured songs. The intimacy created by O’Brien’s delicate voice is as ever enhanced by beautifully chosen tonal colours.

Listening to ‘No Gods No Masters’ feels like listening to Garbage again for the very first time, which is a terrifically thrilling prospect.

Everything feels so much more alive, everything so much more stark; Longstreth seems to have emerged from a year-long slumber, and there is no more sleeping in sight.

A peerless left-field masterpiece.

While ‘Leaving for Japan’ is a beautiful, delicate song with something of the Twin Peaks theme, ‘Don’t Follow Me’ and ‘Push On’ show, dal Forno is just as adept at creating drama from sparsely layered atmospherics and a forceful beat.

This fascinating collection of spirited hooks, and deeply heartfelt lyricism, cleverly blends high-tech energetic synths, quick wit, and trippy guitars into something you weren’t quite expecting. Arguably, the result is a much bolder record than his last solo debut ‘Twenty Twenty’.

This latest offering is a finessed folk-rock record to bring a little taste of long summer evening drives to the glacial January gloom.

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

All the songs are of a similar tempo, tone, and theme. There is little to distinguish them – a bit more diversity wouldn’t have gone amiss. Saying that ‘World Of Hassle’ is pretty fun and has some killer melodies.

Everybody Down might have created a new genre: the album noir.

For all their feel-good, boppy charm, The Orielles have created a truly intelligent indie-pop album with Silver Dollar Moment.

The debut album from London’s Cheatahs is an exercise in introspective, eclectic art-rock.

They have created their most youthful album yet; a vibrant record which paints a picture of the near future so vivid it seems convincingly real.

‘Long White Dress’ and ‘Singles Bar’, subject matter made clear from the off, are highlights; the former is mellow and wistful, with a delightfully lilting chorus, while the latter radiates the fatigued disenchantment of somebody lacking motivation in the unfulfilled pursuit of love.

An exhilarating and ambitious collection, it should bring Field Music a deservedly larger audience at last.

A strong, self-assured debut offering, 'TOY' represents a band who are capable of channelling multiple identities without losing sight of their own.

There are times where the album is inconsistent; the beats aren't as addictive on 'Rhythm Is All You Can Dance'. The album is at its strongest when it bravely introduces seemingly incompatible music styles to each other.

This is hardly music to quicken the pulse and there’s no escaping the sense of sameyness over the album’s 40 minutes.

Despite the vast flavours Bibio is presenting throughout this record, so much of the quality production is slighted by tracing the same predictable frequencies and manoeuvres as so many servile songwriters leagues below have made prospering careers out of.

While not without fault, ultimately ‘Forever’ emerges as a tender salute to Phife Dawg. Six years on, he remains a key aspect of the rap firmament – a light that has not dimmed.

With Little Dark Age, the group have perfected the balancing act between the two, and have delivered a project that should please fans on both sides.

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

Even as the production’s impact dips in the midst of playtime, when the final note of ‘The Seed’ plays what’s left in one’s memory is only the good, and for that Aurora’s latest album succeeds.

Sonic Citadel towers over its surroundings as one of the best albums of Lightning Bolt’s career to date.