At 30 minutes long, the trip is brief, but it covers so much ground.

Across a leisurely hour, the slow double bass pull of ‘Broken Wave (A Blues For Doogie)’, the deadpan spoken word and pattering steel drums of ‘Guy Fawkes’ Signature’ and the chatty lyricism on cuckolding regret ‘The Very, Very Best’ stand out, but it’s all golden.

Great Divide is a love letter to the power of music itself; earnest, yes, but as heart-warming a rock record as it's possible to imagine.

His debut lives and breathes the Deep South, from the Chuck Berry references (most effective on opener 'Violent Shiver') to the slower, more hushed tones of 'I Thought I Heard You Screaming', which sees Booker take his vocal cues straight from Bobbie Gentry's late-’60s peak.

Most of these 33 tracks are uptempo bolts of energy.

Catchy and abstract in equal measure, Sea When Absent is the thrilling sound of shoegazing introverts coming out of their shells.

Their imagery may be impenetrable--all "teardrops on the wires" and particles "falling into space"--but the tunes haunt the mind long after they've faded.

If Pe’ahi is a tribute to Sune’s father, it’s a warts-and-all portrayal of a turbulent relationship, but one delivered with a tenderness and intensity that propels the very concept of the retro garage duo into a fresh sonic stratosphere. Drop in, it’s an exhilarating descent.

Overall, it makes for a fascinating listen that rewards close attention, even if a lack of true standouts means the album is more impressive than loveable.

Taking common inspiration and twisting it into their own shape, Childhood have concocted a debut that’s more than capable of standing up to the rougher approach of their geographical peers. In doing so, they've uncovered a diamond.

The album title promises much in the way of forthright antagonism and the Jessie J hair she sports suggests some kind of ironic statement on the chart mainstream, but the content fails to deliver, save for two isolated moments.

The cream of their output is undeniable--the Air-like stringed beauty of ‘Les Nuits’, gut-wobbling soul wailer ‘I Am You’ and early singles ‘Dextrous’ and ‘Aftermath’--but there’s an awful lot of so-so wallpaper here, especially for a Best Of.

Moments do [stand alone]--instrumental 'Enrolment' is dark, stark and almost krautrocky, while closer 'Graduation' lilts with beautiful melancholy--yet, devoid of its context, it all feels somewhat banal.

Their records once had a two-sided feel, Angus' songs lacking the drama of his sister's, Julia lacking her brother's restraint. Here, particularly on 'Death Defying Acts' and 'Little Whiskey', they've got the balance just right.

This pervading sense of control and commitment to her art proves that Twigs is set on building the sound of the future all by herself.

The messy trip-hop of 'If I Could' and screeching synth line of 'First Snow' mean Nausea lacks consistency, but it's a clever and rewarding record.

For all its prettiness, though, Passerby is a record that boasts about as much excitement as a gentle breeze, and its rewards are too few and far between.

The album is split into 10 blasts of discordant brilliance.

The result is joyous electropop with depth--dance beats, '80s-ish synths and Caila's soulful, voluminous vocals fanning out into gorgeous harmonies.

By the time you reach the gentle conclusion of ‘Bonedigger’, it’s clear Adult Jazz will be inspiring their own army of rip-offs before long.

They Want My Soul is a cult record in the making from the quintessential cult group. Normal service has been resumed.

While there’s nothing quite as dynamic as the best work of Shelton’s labelmates Sharon Jones and Charles Bradley, Cold World provides a rousing listen for fans of vintage soul.

Intrepid it ain’t, but sometimes the straightforward approach has its rewards.

‘Flatlands And The Flemish Roads’ evokes feelings of motion, ‘Ode To Viennese Streets’ a sense of relaxation, but strip away their titles and the concept evaporates, leaving a warm but undemanding album.

No Time is a fine and strange album.

Ultimately, the pop sheen Adams applies on The Voyager is at odds with Lewis' songs. By always opting for directness, he's failed to let her do justice, musically, to the darkness of her inspiration.

As a statement of blingy opulence, it’s a big look. As gangsta move, it’s pretty potent too. At the same time, though, it proves that while Shabazz Palaces are definitely moving in hip-hop’s orbit, they’re spinning further out than most.

It won’t convert the unconvinced, but Petty sounds as inspired as ever.