‘KiCk i’ incorporates pop, experimental, noise, electronica and psychedelia into one project. Amid a highly acclaimed career, Arca’s latest album presents a new high-water mark.

The track list lurches, rather than blends seamlessly, and on the spacey ‘This World’ she plays with an atonal vocal line (and the admittedly great lyric “you little prick – what do you know?”) that typifies her preference for experimentalism over accessibility. Even so, Moolchan remains as singular – and sophisticated – as ever.

A slow slog through a murky alternate dimension, from a band who made their name on vibrancy and experimentation, Inside The Rose is frustratingly lacking in both.

The result is an absolute pleasure.

This is Americana of the highest order. [20 May 2006, p.33]

Her debut LP is good, but not up to the standard its title suggests.

This warm, wonderful record is a joyous, head-spinning delight.

The Adams of ‘Love Is Hell’ has gone out to make an album that actually is classic rock ‘n’ roll rather than one that can simply impersonate it, and sound convincing. [Review applicable to both Part 1 and Part 2]

In her music, as in her life, everything revolves around sex - but unseemly as it is for a woman of a certain age to frug bawdily alongside Damon Albarn, Marianne gets away with it.

Merely a decent Morphine album.

This is certainly the kind of music punk had to be invented for. It probably won’t make it onto the Radio 1 playlist, but don’t be surprised if something from Stiff pops up on Mid Morning Matters.

The problem is that Ferg fails to provide a coherent musical vision to go with these compelling reminiscences.

Business-as-usual has rarely sounded this beautiful.

Cosentino announced her solo debut the same day Best Coast announced their “indefinite hiatus”. It was a bold move, but judging by the fruits of ‘Natural Disaster’, it was worth it.

A classic, if often over-familiar Cribs album then, but the door is open for the forthcoming Steve Albini-produced ‘punk one’ to be the death-or-glory game-changer.

Not only does it shine a light on what inspires one of the greatest living American songwriters, it also works to preserve the greats of the past and ensures that the best music and stories continue to survive.

His world may be grittier, but Plan B's up there with Alex Turner as a lyricist, crafting simple and darkly witty songs about the reality of life in Britain.

‘McCartney III’’s freshness lends it to both faithful covers and complete rewrites – there’s no baggage to these songs.

Ultimately, Aerotropolis is not just a statement of Ikonika’s personal growth and reinvigoration, but a measured statement of British electronic music’s broader lift-off.

Here he tightens the screws a bit to make 12 purposeful, concise tracks.

Combining afrobeat, dub and more samba slickness than you can shake a headdress at, the frenzied carnival rhythms of Pop Negro will spark a fire in your newly tropical soul that will still be smoldering come next year's Mardi Gras.

The Free Nationals’ supreme musicianship is unquestionable, but they more often than not seem to require an outside presence leading from the front to really bring it all home.

A joyous and compassionate return, ‘Real Power’ proves that Gossip’s clear-headed maturity has ensured they achieve its titular sentiment.

Things do sometimes get laboured and one-dimensional. But, there's a wry Glaswegian humour here, which ensures there are plenty of smiles to go with those dance moves.

Ocasionally, the shtick does wear a little thin and they lope off towards water-treading mid-pace. The line between parody and genius is always going to be fine.

Producer Mark Ronson does an astounding job of taking them back to the Fab Five glory days of Rio.

As a whole it’s a bold, beautiful and uncompromising record.

The record is littered with painstakingly layered guitar parts, mellifluous melodies and clapping drumbeats that nod to Russell’s posthumous collection ‘Love Is Overtaking Me’.

Here he summons the spirit of Zappa, Blackalicious and Gil Scott-Heron to stunning effect. But when he’s speeding through neighbourhoods of clownish rhyme schemes, alliterative gibberish and sped-up Mozart sonatas, you wish he’d take his foot off the pedal slightly.

Irrespective of the permanently changed world it’s now entering, Park Hye Jin’s second solo release demonstrates her confidence to create free from the confines of categorisation.

There is an admirable consistency to the production, and at its best Event II is touched by greatness.

Almost every part of it sounds sublime.

Laura Marling, six years Emmy’s junior, sounds far more worldly wise, and there’s a sense of naivety, rather than innocence, that stops the album being as Joni Mitchell as it thinks it is.

The album begins to lag toward the end as the slower tracks drag their heels, but it’s still an impressive debut.

‘As Long As You Are’ maybe an unexpected handbrake turn for Future Islands and it may not be as hit-laden as its predecessor, but it’s a refreshing record in its own right and one that throws up plenty of existential quandaries.

At one point, Presley claims, he and Le Bon used the sound of a frog’s ribbit for an instrument. It’s here where Hippo Lite verges towards sounding like music that was only ever made for its makers, rather than an outside audience. In a quest to discover simple living free of consequence, Le Bon and Presley can, at times, get lost in their own little bubble.

Blige’s enthusiasm is most powerful on Follow.

'Take Them On, On Your Own' is a masterpiece. You should get hold of it as soon as possible.

'Impeach My Bush' is no great sonic leap forward, but it is a near-perfect distillation of Peaches' "thing".

Grace is less a masterpiece than an escape, a memento of his charisma and charm more than a leap towards new horizons.

Gracious Tide stays with you like a dream you wish would keep recurring.

They could turn even the hardest kids at school into pissy wrecks with the elegant dread-heart blues of this, their fourth album.

It’s a beautifully crafted album, with Orlando’s lyrics their strongest ever.

'Life On Other Planets’ is about three-quarters of the great album everyone knows they can make.

Not likely to appeal to your common or garden new raver, but perfect with a nice cup of tea.

It's all strung together with punk-drunk pace and some properly good melodies. This is the real deal.

The anti-folk pioneer's sixth album for Rough Trade is a familiar comedy of errors, full of dusky textures with a sparkling hue of optimism.

This collection has a tantalising flavour, the sense of an alternative history of rock.

She sounds like she’s having a bathroom hairbrush-singing party to which we’re all invited. These are sweet sweet fantasies, baby.

It’s refreshing that his second is so subtle.

Bentham may have struggled writing this album, but the results exude confidence and ambition. Whilst it draws heavily on the slacker sounds of the 1990’s, Bentham brings the genre firmly into 2020 with her fresh take on what it’s like to create in a time where inspiration can be hard to find.

The result: essential listening for members of the Lambily – Carey’s famously loyal fanbase – and an intriguing, sometimes fascinating artefact for everyone else.

So believe it: this is the real thing, no-one’s crying wolf, not even Alan McGee.

With Daughter's second album, she's more poignantly present than ever and her suffering is an emotional exorcism we can all find strength in.

Grey Britain has important things to say, but due to the lack of any direction or mission, it allows itself to be eaten up by the anger that fuels it.

Bird roars through the album’s 15 tracks, seamlessly transitioning to thoughtful downtempo moments. Broadening her sound to keep up with her perspective, she’s stayed true to her roots while knocking down the genre walls she was once placed within.

The bastard lovechild of Tori Amos and an Eastern European touring circus. [15 Apr 2006, p.35]

With this vulnerable yet versatile collection, Shakira shows there are no limits to the art of her catharsis through song.

A debut album proper in all but name, in fact, ‘Demidevil’ shows that Ashnikko’s far more than a two-trend wonder – with a tank full of intriguing bangers that evade living under ‘Daisy’s formidable shadow.

As usual, if you scratch the surface there's a lot more going on than you'd initially realised. [20 Jan 2007, p.31]

Those wanting clangour and dissonance will be disappointed, but everyone else will be pleasantly surprised.

Tracks like 'Bacaroo' and 'Sailing Bells' deploy the sort of lovely string arrangements that sweep you off your feet and have your knickers on the floor before you even notice your cold bits.

Their best album to date.

In an age where even Britpop corpse-botherers Brother trumpet their desire to collaborate with Odd Future, the Monkeys have made a record heavily indebted to late-'80s indie and a small group of white, male '70s singer-songwriters: Lou Reed, David Bowie, and Leonard Cohen.

It’s a groove and a mood piece; a funk report for the ages and the future--and, after less than 40 minutes (including the bonus tracks), it drops out of space at exactly the right moment.

In parts Riz's flow is slightly awkward, but his rhymes are tight and full of razor-sharp quips, and the production is slick and energetic.

Metal Resistance shines brightest during tracks such as the epic, melodic ‘Amore’, which draws more heavily on J-pop. For the most part, though, its adherence to the aforementioned formula can be quite boring.

This album lacks the novelty factor – Liam finally going solo – that made ‘As You Were’ so welcome. But it’s more diverse (everything’s relative) and textured.

Perfect pop without the pretence, basically.

No Gods doesn't disappoint.

Out Of View, engineered by The Horrors' Josh Hayward, is noisy, irreverent fun.

As desolate and coldly beautiful as a windswept moor, What’s Between refuses to yield simple answers but rewards deep exploration.

It feels distant and phoned in.

A sublime farewell from the millennium's finest synth act.

Lyrically and musically, Gallows are a very different band from the one who made ‘Grey Britain’, and the fact that you can’t imagine them making this album (or its predecessor) with Carter will remain a deal-breaker for some.

This record is a worthy companion for the latest Joanna Gruesome album: Fist City too, blur the distinctions between indie and punk, and have a similar knack for killer hooks.

The result is an album teeming with hooks and melodies butting up against countermelodies, and a crisp, vibrant pop production.

It’s evident the band have begun a new chapter where they appreciate rather than become their influences. They’ve truly 
arrived.

Every single song breaks new ground for Morris – even the simple title track, which admittedly could have been found down the back of Chris Martin’s sofa.

At only seven songs, it’s a lot shorter than most sprawling albums put out by their Western counterparts these days, but its concise tracklist leaves no room for filler, no space for even a note to be wasted.

Although Låpsley’s third album is at times understated in its pop-leaning potential, it’s a personal collection that unfolds with each listen, revealing new intricacies – lyrical, instrumental and contextual – while finding beauty and balance in the quieter moments.

That he’s produced such a full, lush sounding thing packed with personality and life is impressive--but not surprising.

Like any conversation we have with ourselves, ‘Mystic Familiar’ is not simple or predictable, but does prove the power of switching off all distractions and taking the time to dig deep into what’s inside. There’s a whole other universe you might be missing.

This is one helluva party LP.

It’s Factory Floor’s second album and it’s their best.

Their debut sounds sleek and exhilarating, although Foals seem cautious about completely breaking out of the punk-funk strictures that have confined them so far.

Peanut Butter sees Joanna Gruesome relishing the power of refusal, bending the tropes of macho rock and relationships to their own twisted whims.

Out Of Touch In The Wild sees them evolve into the Field Music you can dance to--or the Talk Talk you can smile to.

You might not want to run into Daughn Gibson on a lonely night, but you’d be a fool if you didn’t listen to him push things forward with such noirish flair.

Having now racked up multiple albums of tastefully burbling electronics and inscrutable guitar oddness, Instrument still suits the term: rarely does it ‘rock’ at all, so TRR may as well have progressed beyond it. It’s by no means without merit, though.

A highlight comes in 'Sans Toi', an unassuming love song which proves that, stripped of special guests, it's their songwriting that brought Amadou and Mariam this far.

The pit-friendly snarl of ‘I Won’t Be A Casualty’ and ‘You Must Be Damned’ show that these guys are all still the real deal.

For all the flash and flair, the freshest, most intimate moments here are the result of holding back.

Time has proved Morrissey to be just as powerful and alluring a performer at 45 as he was at 23. [2 Apr 2005, p.49]

The result disturbs something of the original's gauzy ambience, but there are some fine refigurings.

The notoriously hardcore sexual aggressor has swapped strap-ons for sentiment and turned all flaccid in the process, and guess what: it’s quite...nice.

As an honest dispatch from the coal-face, it's glorious indeed.

Whatever he does is never less than great, and these 11 songs are no exception.