You'll struggle to find any filler on a record that works magnificently as a whole.

All in, this is a terrific, life-affirming and, at times, deeply romantic album - one that proves the potentials in both rock'n'roll and the electric guitar.

It seems only logical that the three of them have relied so heavily on synths to create It's Blitz--despite Zinner's natural gift for manipulating the guitar--an album that's effectively a love letter to the dancefloor.

"Jarvis" is a collection of 13 individual songs, rather than an album with cohesive impact.

While it'd be ridiculously premature to cast The Horrors as the future of anything, this is a bold and often brilliant step in that direction.

If leaving Lost Highway was a blow to Regan's confidence you'd never know it from hearing this - he's definitely taken the right turning.

A more satisfying album intellectually than it is musically.

The dark malevolent genius of "Windowlicker" may be lacking, but Richard D. James still walks that line between the accessible and the downright filthy.

A cohesive and satisfying listen crammed with generous melodies.

Karin Dreijer Andersson would probably make for a fascinating interview but her reluctance to talk about her music is a blessing. There's simply no way she'll ever live up to these sounds.

It's ironic and ill-fitting that such ditch-hopping actually embroils them in impassioned debate--and it's a credit to them that, love or hate these songs' lack of drama, you'll remember them very, very well.

We've been waiting over two years for a follow-up, and in that context, "Get Behind Me Satan" is disappointing.

Proof once more, that you can be experimental, extreme and eccentric but be excellently hip hop all at the same time.

Justice essentially have two modes: funky techno built with filthy overdriven synth sounds and gleefully daft disco/'80s pastiche so shiny as to be almost reflective. Both are held together with a studio rigour that makes the record bounce out of the speakers so forcefully that the moments of synthesis, where the sound coheres into its trademark elastic groove, become utterly addictive.

Overall, it's less chaotic and noisily rampant, the Comets' awesome creative fury now channelled into structures more obviously resembling tunes.

The Fall are the most predictable and unpredictable band in Britain.

Where the album triumphs though is the crystalline clarity of the songs, their titanic emotional wallop and Marling's quite exquisite delivery.

Simultaneously laid back and bursting with intensity, 'Lost Horizons' is a film score inviting each of us to direct our own personal movie.

It feels like the work of a man groping his way, fastidiously but uncertainly, towards the next level.

Written, arranged, performed and recorded by Blake in his bedroom, the album isn't just a good collection of touching songs, it's a complete world of his own; a mood, a moment, a sound that's uniquely his. Just as a future classic should be.

Around the world in 60 minutes, then, Mos embraces both the jet-setting film star lifestyle and a re-found love for the game, making for the Deffest jam since that label gave Jay-Z the keys.

Largely acoustic, the album showcases a beautifully brutal collection of warped love songs; pristine and jagged, abrasive and tender and always devastatingly honest.

The one-time Best Unsigned Band In The Country have come up trumps with a debut album brimming with whip-smart, post-riot-grrl attitude.

"Damaged" is as nuanced, temperate and contemplative as its predecessor.

There isn't a second's worth of music here that doesn't come mink-swathed in note-perfect retro sound, or a song that isn't worthy of it.

Cox is evidently a songwriter and sound sculptor of incredible skill and though the inclusion of the two collaborations--both a little too in thrall to their guests perhaps--means Logos lacks the wholly immersive quality of its predecessor, there is little else to contest; truly, this is pop music at its most weird and wonderful.

For some, the excursions into god-bothering territory ("Create Me", "Man Of God") will be too mawkish, but few could deny that we're now in the full swing of a fascinating new era - a place where rock'n'roll, formerly the preserve of the doomed teenager with nothing to lose, has grown old.

Everything is that much thicker, more weathered, generously exaggerated and significantly less innocent. It pays increasing attention to composition and classy song structures and yet more to pulling them apart and lassoing passing listeners with the strands.