Takk does what Agaetis Byrjun did by burrowing into the consciousness and snuggling down to bed there, purring. Each listen brings out another mood, another thought. It's gorgeous.

Love Kraft is the greatest realisation of the Super Furry vision to date.

Gold and Green finds its mark far more consistently than Kila, despite being a far more expansive and rambling album.

The album's highlights far outweigh the more average moments, and there are enough signs here that The Like are going to be around for some time to come.

An album of gorgeous, lush songs.

Though [A Bigger Bang] doesn't dare to place itself in the same hallowed halls as that Jimmy Miller-produced quartet of records between 1968 and 1972, it jostles justly and fairly with the best since.

What really makes The Invisible Invasion excellent, better even than that oft-feted debut, is what they achieve when they go a little bit crazy.

This is certainly an album of progression that is likely to win the band plenty of new fans, but it shouldn't alienate their fanbase either.

In short, this is another very good album.

It's a cleverly and thoughtfully composed album, bereft of filler and loaded with style and substance.

It isn't their best record, but as an acknowledgement that slabs of feedback-laden noise weren't going to take them much further, and change was needed for an attempt at a long-term career, it's promising.

Fink stays close to the sonic templates of both Now It's Overhead and Azure Ray, but has less impact than either.

It's a career best for T.Raumschmiere and another proud moment in the history of hard-rocking electronica.

Many of these songs are a delight to listen to; most could easily be a single.

When the music peaks this is an enchanting listen, but it's unlikely to win the band any new converts.

It's a mightily impressive achievement.

If you can cope with the intensity, there are rewards aplenty to be found here - Sons And Daughters are the perfect group to fill the hole that The Delgados left when they split up last year.

Overall there's just too much bland corporate sludge rock here to make any geniune lasting impression.

While this may not be the best place to start investigating the man, it's still another reliably wonderful chapter in the life of one of the country's best songwriters.

It's shallow but sweet, light-hearted pop indulgence, like the love child of Elton John and Jamiroquai auditioning for Simon Cowell.

No one around sounds quite like Clor at the moment.

It will surely be remembered as perhaps the greatest Frank Black LP (to date, at least) and perhaps even as the record that made it cool to like country again.

The overall effect is one of cloying, claustrophobic one-paced idolatry that needs a bit of fresh air and a good night out.

This is very much a fans only album, much like Missy's other efforts.

His is a rare talent, demanding to be heard.

For a debut album, this is remarkable stuff and hints at even better things to come.

Home Sweet Home is refreshing and genuinely breathtaking.

If you like Billy Corgan for his knack of writing a radio-friendly song with a heavy dose of angst, then you may not enjoy TheFutureEmbrace. Yet give the man credit for moving on and signalling a clear break with his past.

Despite reservations, Angel Milk can be recommended as a good after hours album.

It's a sometimes bleak record, but one that shows that Armstrong and his cohorts are not satisfied by taking the easy route.

Though it might not be as rewarding a listening experience as Cooder's Cuban albums, this is still a set that demands repeated hearing, and I doubt there'll be another record as lovingly crafted as this all year.

It is clean, polished rock with a vaguely punk edge that stays within a clear set of boundaries but in doing so manages to appeal to indie-kids and metal-lovers alike.

Out Of Nothing is a wonderfully affecting album that is the band's best to date.

This is the debut record of the year so far, which has effectively raised the bar by which other bands will be judged in the future.

X&Y is far from experimental, but it nonetheless showcases a band demonstrating distinctive signs of evolution.

So put aside your disappointment at the lack of squealing guitar solos and take Get Behind Me Satan for what it is - another massive step forward in the evolution of a truly great band.

The overall feel of JackInABox is summery and light, and the album flows quickly and smoothly from song to song.

Here Come The Tears sounds like the best album that Suede never made, full of romantic, smouldering pop songs with a soaring depth to them.

Better than the first two? Course not. Better than the last three? Definitely.

An album of considerable depths, beauties and terrifying contrasts.

It remains an awfully good first effort, and the boys clearly have some exciting ideas - not enough to fill the entire disc, but exciting nonetheless.

Demon Days as a whole is a thing of considerable depth and melancholia and offers rather more soul than the cartoon gimmick would suggest.

There's no reason why this can't nestle snugly alongside Norah Jones in record collections around the world, and it certainly deserves to.

Pig Lib Part Two? Maybe so, but there are enough subtle evolutions here to keep any SM follower listening intently until the cows come home.

Sometimes their creativity leads them astray into territory that should best be kept in the art room, but otherwise Axes is a delicious listen.

Adam Pierce has concocted a cogitative brew, a fountain of trills 'n' thrills, that has the noisy echo of '80s New York noise bands, glimpses of the Fusion and Latin flair that transfixes the likes of Fila Brasilia and Jimpster, and the gossamery drift of Scandinavian techno-pop.

What makes this charged debut such a powerful statement is its impeccable flow. From the moment Devil In Me swaggers in like a Molotov cocktail, you know this is going to rock - hard.

Let There Be Morning may be all too familiar to some, but with its driving guitars, catchy choruses and infectious melodies, this solid effort ensures that the band is set to become a household name.

It's not all bad, but there's no getting away from the fact the main problem with this lifeless debut is Elkington's voice.

Another fine release.

There's little in the way of fire or grit here.

An unknown quantity to me before the first listen, by the third play I was already plotting which of my friends I would be lending it to and reprimanding myself for not having come across them sooner.

At times The Decemberists sail close to being an horrific hybrid of They Might Be Giants and The Coral - all arched eyebrows and accordions.