It's about the best a studio grime album can be.

It might be easy to criticise 'Those The Brokes' as a stab at busting through into the MOR mainstream, but it's fairer to see it as The Magic Numbers developing their expression while staying faithful to their core sound, and quiet charm.

This album is fucking brilliant – it made me want to cut my hair, paint the ceiling, fuck the postman and burn the disco down. So I did. Then I curled up in a corner, cried, and shat myself.

The band have colonised the rich turf at the intersection of meticulously structured mope-rock and free-flowing three-chord pop, where moments of resignation cosy up alongside twinkling hopes for the future like Winehouse to the sauce.

They've totally nailed it.

Yes, it's the relentless energy, humour and versatility which makes this record stand out and apparently their albums are merely incidental compared to their stunning live shows.

The album is closer to the thrash end of their style then the folk, and the music reflects the anger in the songs brilliantly.

As White Stripes albums go, 'Icky Thump' is a goodie, and there's no resting on of laurels either.

One trick pony's they may arguably be, but they've done the same trick twice and pulled it off.

The good news is that for a bunch of brats they're well in control of the complex, riddling, labyrinthine structures that go toward making the perfect pop punk songs.

Thankfully, it's even better than expected.

Anyone expecting any of the more experimental tangential qualities of the German group will be disappointed, as will anyone expecting intense lyrical workouts from Smith. Instead we have an extremely convincing whistlestop tour round current electronic music with a partially deranged, completely eccentric lexicographer raving brilliantly over the top.

There's nothing quite as immediate or fantastic as 'Disposable Teens' here, but the album on the whole is a triumph.

Well as befits such a completely uncompromising visionary/awkward pain in the arse (delete one if you can be bothered) it veers between the preposterously awful 'Genuine Lullabelle' with its bewildering spoken word passages and the awesome wire taut assault of 'Be Prepared'.

This is not just an album that can be appreciated by fans of the avant-garde, pop and rock alike but a genuine fuck you to the people claiming modern music has nowhere left to go.

This is classic timeless pop.

Their brilliance lies in writing the crassest, most obvious, lowbrow hooks.

As good as 'Tio Bitar' is, it's actually a weaker album than 'Ta Det Lungt' in some respects.

One of the finest albums of the year.

It's in the vein of 'Debut' in terms of songwriting but there are a lot more samples of foghorns on this record.

The confident arrangements throughout 'No Shouts, No Calls' are the finest Electrelane have yet committed to tape.

Lyrically, it's astounding as ever.

'Everything Last Winter' is a record by a band blithely unconcerned about any perceptions of cool.

Akin to Bowie's 'Hunky Dory', in its senseless but brilliant eclecticism.

Rabid Dinosaur Jr fans will find plenty here to enjoy.

Unassuming, unpretentious and totally listenable too, this is thirteen songs and fifty minutes that might just make her famous.

'5:55' is a welcome addition to the Gainsbourg family's musical legacy, and we can't give any higher compliment than that.

Anyone expecting something similar to his early doom-laden musings will find nothing of the sort here.

The album sees the band moving on from the Libertines-aping chord structures of their debut and pushing in new directions.

You really won't find a more interesting, intelligent or wonderful dream of an album as 'Sensuous' all year.

The Champs' music is so exhilaratingly, grin-inducingly, fist-shakingly wonderful you cannot help but want more. VI delivers in spades.

There isn't a bad song on this album.

As with all Blonde Redhead albums, there is no real standout track to pinpoint. Instead, they've made a terrific progression from, and succeeded in the daunting task of following, 'Misery Is A Butterfly'.

A decade after he first set an impossibly hard act to follow, Jarvis Cocker has returned with an album that knocks not only his ageing contemporaries, but many of his descendents, for six.

If it's house music you're after then you won't like this because this (sorry to point out the bloody obvious) is something completely different. And that, as far as we're concerned, is the whole point.

The Fall are the best new band in Britain.

When the tempo is slower on certain tracks such as 'My Interpretation' and 'Any Other World' the initial comparison is unavoidably that of one to Robbie Williams or Elton John, but there is none of the dead-eyed cynicism of the former and none of the bellowing oafishness of the latter.

'Sound Of Silver' is the album of the year.

This could be Modest Mouse's finest hour were it not a little long - the nuances are occasionally rather swamped by the effort of listening to the hour-long record through.

This is no mere regression into a tried and tested formula for the Duluth trio. Each of these tracks is more than their trademark guitar, bass, drum soundscapes with delicate vocals hovering above the mix.

His most poignant and accessible album yet.

Malin once more acts as skilled arbitrator between classic rock and punk, just this time around he's a little more sympathetic towards the boisterous aims of the latter.

This is a record that will so quickly get under your skin and fill your head with such a bounty of melodies that the only way to relieve the swelling is to joyously whistle them out.

'Why Bother' is a testing listen, of course, and after a while the vocals can begin to make your brain start to dissolve in minor whirlpools.

It seems - for the first time, perhaps - he's made one out of love for the artform alone rather than with the added motive of letting off a little barely-suppressed rage or feeling he has scores to settle, either with the industry or himself.

Much of the LP's success can be put down to the completeness of the world that I'm From Barcelona create and promptly invite you into.

With 'Ten New Messages' The Rakes have pulled off the knack of being able to deliver a series of songs that are longer and deeper but equally as memorable as the spiky missives spat on their debut.

The View are a study of all the essentials of British rock & roll.

Gruff Rhys is one of our most imaginative and original musicians.

A fascinating work of collage that never gets tedious or faddy.

An absolute triumph from one of the most consistently forward looking hip hop bands in the world today.

It's inevitable having enjoyed their partnership for so long, that you occasionally feel the lack of Moffat's brutal honesty, but Middleton grows more interesting with each solo release.

If Simple Kid is too simple for you, if you always liked Supergrass but never thought they pushed their material to its astral conclusion and felt their retro musings were a little too close to the original blueprint, then this baby, is for you.

It is a lot of fun, brilliantly produced and is the perfect winter soundtrack to plans for a summer road-trip.

It's not overestimating matters to call 'Tones of Town' a timeless masterpiece.

Moffat knows how to conduct, contort and concoct fountains of melancholia.

The only disappointment is it's all probably way too leftfield for generic consumption, meaning most people won't actually get to hear it.

If there's a main criticism of this record then it's the fact that it's not entirely cohesive.

The pop album of the year.

Building on the shaky, disjointed, but strangely beautiful foundations that they first laid twelve months ago with the release of their debut, 'Some Loud Thunder' is a gloriously shambolic second album from a band that continues to sound like no one else.

Where 'Parklife' was exuberant and almost knowingly callow, 'The Good, The Bad & The Queen' is weary, confused, almost mourning for what once was.

The effect of the new bleak mood lurking beneath the glimmering pop is to pare away the occasional over-cutesiness that has marred Of Montreal's work in the past and enhance the freaky psychedelic sublime of Barne's best moments.

The music on the album sounds muscular, more confident than before.

It's a more oblique successor to 1999's self-explanatory 'Tune In, Turn On, Free Tibet', and, paradoxically, their most focused effort yet.

Sonically, there's no radical steps forward here, but then standing still for Kristin Hersh is pretty much the equivalent of most people's sprinting: we could do with a few more of her.

This album oozes wackiness.

People who hate the venality and misogyny of modern mainstream rap will find this a particularly joyless experience, but this unwavering and energising disc at least has the courage of its convictions and makes the immediate competition look like the mealy mouthed twats they are.

It's terribly important that you don't give up on this record too easily. Given just a little bit of your precious time, the album will grow into something you never expected.

A colourful, incomparable colossus, a work of breathtaking, staggering genius and no mistake.

This isn't really a party record, more of a reflective, late night curled up on the couch with a loved one record.

She has issued a treasure. She has floored us again.

'Milkwhite Sheets' will come to you offering kisses, but beware the knife behind its back

For the first time in what seems like a long time, here is an album that is going to be deservedly huge.

There's little that sounds really new here.

A curious, klezmer-infested charm.

'Young Machetes' is both a magnificent and important album.

They entwine eastern canticles and fuzzy finger picking and electronic trickery like no other.

There are enough pinnacles of musical achievement married with subtle storytelling to justify the scale of this album.

Intelligent, melodic, poetic and funny, so this is what Now sounds like eh?

Although more full-blooded and more rhythmically experimental in places, '...Planets' isn't a giant stylistic leap from ''Homseongs', but then, why would you want it to be?

There simply aren't enough superlatives to describe the genius of his music.

This is a densely structured journey through intense pummelling and dervishes of electronic noise.

Aside from track sequencing issues... and dodgy indie geezers, 'The Outsider' is a great album and well worth the wait.

A quite beautifully realised album.

It's not quite the second coming or even the first for that matter, but 'Food & Liquor' should leave you feeling sated and occasionally elated.

Fascinatingly dense, soulful and utterly divine.

A lesson in understatement, 'Into The Blue Again' reminds us that LaValle is the undisputed master of emitting emotion without embellishing it with perverse orchestration or all manner of multi-tracked trickery.

Put simply: there isn't a bad track on 'Blood Mountain', which will be seen as the metal release of this year, on whichever level you care to mention.

There's a kind of timeless haze that drifts through 'Yellow House' and makes it a pleasingly elusive listen.

Here Dylan has written a great part and acts it out beautifully. And, as usual, everything is out in the open but nothing, absolutely nothing, is revealed.

This album is just a purer distillation, a more joyous exaggeration of the smaller, more tasteful thrills offered by every posturing indie rock band out there.

'Damaged' is a hugely welcome addition to Lambchop's now frighteningly impressive back catalogue, and an album with few limitations.

Although Darnielle's incessant lyrical urgency occasionally causes some words to sound too forced, it's these delicate, well placed notes, minimal piano tinkles and two chord strums that save the songs.

While not quite aspiring to the lofty benchmark of 'Whatever, Mortal', this recovers the lost ground of 'Pajo'.

This is an album of gin-fuelled laments, uprisings and battered beauty: such dignity and sharp proficiency shows he can only do better.

Even if you only have a passing interest in 70s heavy rock this album is nigh on essential.

If you're the sort of person who only buys one metal album a year, then you'd probably be better off buying the new Mastodon album 'Blood Mountain' and going to see Slayer live but otherwise, what the hell are you waiting for...

'Monsieur Gainsbourg Revisited' is an often fascinating and enchanting compilation as these things go, though I say, somewhat predictably, that there's no substitute for the real thing.