True Widow have laid down an album so strong that I can't see anything usurping it as album of the year for me (or anyone else who gives it a few listens). And at the end of April, that's a mighty bold claim. But the glove is on the floor now, and everyone else will simply have to step up or cower away and hide.

It’s hard to overstate the extent to which the excellence of this record is sealed by Timony’s bullish approach to sonic economy; there are no flourishes, no accentuations on Rips, only precisely what needs to be there; noodling guitar parts and an unyielding punk aesthetic.

If it’s their lighter side that appeals, they’ve never made such a consistent pop album, and I use the term with not the slightest hint of cynicism.

The Earlies are like a stripped-down take on the [Flaming] Lips: psychedelic, lo-fi and indie in the purest sense of the word.

Tarot Sport doesn’t pause to bang or whimper. Tarot Sport accelerates.

Over twenty years later their music continues to connect.

Our Love lacks the element of surprise that Swim had, but still holds in abundance all the hallmarks of a master: so rich, so textured and despite being predominantly electronic, so human--speaking with painful honesty to a condition that ranks just below death and taxes in uniting us all.

This is a record that demands your reflection and immersion, rather than just mindlessly wigging out.

She’s created an album that’s worth more time than a quick fling on the rebound, another engaging entry in her ever-expanding catalogue.

As a whole, Heavy Ghost is considerably subtler even than "The Crying Light."

Basinski brings to his craft an understanding that music structures time just as much as time structures music. Among his most entrancing work.

The whole affair is deeply involving, full of odd punctuations and wonderful non-linear compositional structures.

What really stands out is how …Dog literally hits the ground running from its opener, 'Pagan Angel And A Borrowed Car,' cutting a clear slice from the organic and distinctive junkyard percussion and deep-fried blues stomps of Tom Waits.

Grand without ever being bloated, humane without settling into pessimism, the best indie band in North America remind us why sometimes, the rewards do not equal the output.

Rather than sound like two guys in their fifties messing around with some expensive equipment to recapture their past glories, it’s strikingly modern.

Frost has ditched much of the subtlety and minimalism that echoed within his previous work and birthed a surging, hard charging, straight to the rim, go-hard-in-the-paint beast of an album.

Where this EP lacks in progression, it makes up for in the strength of the songwriting.

The new record by Vampire Weekend is the best alternative pop album you will hear this year. Unselfconscious, technically brilliant in a way that crucially you will never actually notice, shimmering with beautiful, strange melodies and just a small smidge of actual bonkers.

Asunder, Sweet is Godspeed at their most conciliatory, most bloody-minded and most untouchable.

It's mostly a stately, minimal affair.

Steeped in the postpunk aesthetic, a well-established rock style that nonetheless remains richer and deeper than any other in formal possibilities, this is a deceptively complex record that conflates doubt and optimism while at surface remaining aggressively articulate.

If it hasn't already been made clear, there is a pretty constant, not to mention obvious, Eighties aesthetic permeating these eleven tracks. But it's been put together well enough that its never really overbearing or worse, a contrived mess.

The few extra tracks that follow ["Slow Fade"] don’t really do much apart from bloat the run time, which is my only gripe with the record, really. That aside though (and what it lacks in depth, it more than makes up for in atmosphere) it’s an intriguing look at a talented producer carving his own path, and making dancefloors a little bit weirder.

At 75 minutes and 19 tracks, it is comfortably his longest record to date, but also his most listenable.

Defeatist it may be, but such genius is very rarely recognised in a band’s lifetime. So be it – because there genuinely is no verbal persuasion that could exceed a single listen to America’s most underrated.

There’s something horrific about this record; it’s possessed by an indefinable evil that permeates every song.

The heart of the album lies in the unparalleled excellence of Oldham’s songwriting – simple yet complex, understated and profound at the same time.

Route One or Die is a heavy, sometimes dizzyingly diverse listen. Despite this, the band's emphasis on melody means these songs hook you in from the very first listen, while still having more wonders to reveal to you on repeated listens.