This Bronx rapper-producer makes genuine party bangers out of dustbin scraps. [18 Sep 2004, p.65]

There’s no better soundtrack to getting by and falling in love as the world wobbles unsteadily about us.

Resplendent with Beam’s raw, whispered tones and snatched memories wrapped in the warmth and emotional calamity Iron And Wine are known for, it’s vintage stuff.

In the fury of these cool-crushing rushes Mi Ami are exhilarating, roaring forwards, chasing risk like Can tied to the back of a pick-up truck and dragged across the surface of the sun.

Perhaps it's the introduction of an outside producer (Per Sunding) for the first time, but they're sounding like a band with something to prove.

Adventurous, forward-looking and luxurious, all at the same time.

The results range from danceable ('Phoenix', 'Sad') to unnerving ('Telegraph To The Afterlife', 'Sixty') and give off an atmosphere of ghostly melancholy that subtly subverts Elton's reputation as a cosy British institution.

More laidback than their most feted, punk-derived early albums, this nevertheless compares favourably with the new 'un by Meat Puppets fans Milk Music.

As Minor Alps, Hatfield and Caws have made a gorgeous debut that sounds as if they’ve recorded it in each other’s pockets, their tones exquisitely matched, the songs intimate.

Her 2011 debut 'Hearts' had the drift and shimmer of shoegaze, but Chiaroscuro is sharper, even flirting with techno on the densely layered 'Faith' and handclapping electro on 'Denial' as Lindén tries out all the electronic styles of the 1980s.

From the frantic 'Smoking Kills' to the joyously frank drinking song 'Bottle To Bottle', there's more than enough evidence to suggest the Brighton trio are the caustic blast of honesty and character the UK punk scene's been lacking recently.

It may sound a little high-concept, but its ultimate themes of empathy and diversity are subtly communicated. Glass Animals’ melodies have an immediacy that diffuses any hint of chin-strokiness.

There are no meaty rockers like ‘Inhaler’ or ‘What Went Down’, or slow and sprawling mini epics like ‘Spanish Sahara’, ‘Late Night’ or ‘Neptune’, but we need something else right now. ... Foals are still peaking.

While NewDad might not be as structurally inventive as the power-pop-indebted Hotline TNT or as heavy as the nu-gaze-leaning Fleshwater, they are perhaps more streamlined and together, which counts for plenty. ‘Madra’ is the sound of a band who have reckoned with where they come from and used it to map out where they’re going.

Lashings of reverb and experimentation with acoustic instruments draw the music into something much more evocative.

It takes a pretty special type of artist to release 11 zip files of music for free, follow that up with three albums within a year and still pique your interest when a new release crosses the doorstep. But such is the way of Wiley.

While Hardwired... To Self-Destruct isn’t dissimilar in delivery to their last record, 2008’s ‘Death Magnetic’, Metallica still--in their fifties--remain both vital and innovative.

'Road To Rouen' is the sound of a band at last hitting their stride, finding out who they are and sounding like it's finally making them happy.

Caracal is about Disclosure maturing, moving on and showing the listener how to rave respectably. This is dance music for grown-ups.

Strange Weekend's gauzy dream-pop is almost incapable of provoking anything but love.

Wild World is a triumphant pop record: unflinching in its ability to rouse listeners and unapologetic in its quest for a Number One.

180 doesn’t contain too many weak moments; only the tacked-on-at-the-end ‘Brand New Song’ feels properly superfluous, an in-joke they’ve run a little too far with. Otherwise, you’re struck by the strength of the songs, and the roguish, self-assured charm with which they’re delivered.

At 47 minutes, Long Way Home may seem lengthy for a debut, but it feels cohesive without boxing Låpsley into a limited sound.

Mainman Anton Newcombe is now sober, and here has made his best album since 2003's '…And This Is Our Music'.

As defiant as ever. [23 Apr 2005, p.51]

Her second, now with indie Bella Union, is a precious mix of childlike insouciance and adolescent anxiety.

It’s the sound of all your messiest student rock nights packed into 39 breathless minutes.

Luckily Planningtorock, alias Janine Rostron, has delivered 'W', a masterpiece of art-pop experimentalism that gleefully expands on her debut.