Take your cues from Twin Peaks and find solace in their best effort yet.

Listen with dad for maximum uneasy, immersive and moving effect.

At 70 minutes, False Lankum is definitely a demanding listen, but an extraordinary one.

Their 14th album rakes over the wreckage and emerges as a generous, deeply humane mission statement: it’s an album of profound melancholy, of course, but also one lit up with heroic, big-pop colour. Ultra-vivid indeed.

Most of these songs (with the exception of the spooked, slow burner Hawaii--featuring a fantastically creepy snigger on the intro--and the yearning, melodically twisting beauty of Give Me Strength) would find their way onto various Young albums of various vintages over the years, but there’s an accumulative effect in hearing performances of songs as powerful as Pocahontas, Powderfinger and Campaigner unadorned and fresh in their authors mind.

Reset takes shape as a tribute to the consolatory powers of music and companionship, brimming with convivial charm and inner-voyage invention.

On the whole, Fresh Blood is an often difficult journey that’s still worth taking.

His latest set sees no let-up on the quality, yet feels a lot more home-made than 2015’s The Boombox Ballads.

All told, a rebel-rousing cut above today’s sludge.

Unusually for the average album (which this is decidedly not), every track here is distinctive; a cinematic, mind-scramblingly complex yet cohesive mini-epic.

Painful itself remains essential listening. The extra tracks add context and plenty of magical moments; fans will be beside themselves.

The finest album of Tillman’s career to date, it should have the staying power to make the end-of-year lists.

A superlative album that finds them back to their ethereal best.

[The] process of sonic expansion is continued apace on this latest effort.

The Velvet Underground features some of Reed’s strongest work; few will need reminders of the melancholy bliss of Candy Says and Pale Blue Eyes.... The two discs of different mixes of the record here (including the legendary mono “Closet mix” from the original pressing) are refreshing reminders of the quality of an album that’s often underrated in comparison to its predecessors.

Lean, precise and purposeful, its 12 tracks whistle by in little more than 35 minutes; its production, in keeping with the limitations of lockdown, is deliberately pared down. There are other flutters of experimentation – the title track is an unfastened groove that struts like Ian Dury on a mystical funk trip – but it’s the simple melodic strength that binds the songs together.

Chhom Nimol's twisting, beguiling vocals tell a hypnotic story without reliance on lyrical narrative; they seamlessly blend into the lushness of the group’s confidently exotic music.

This is one holiday destination you really should explore.

It still shows signs of the snotty punk remnants that Nevermind had buffed from its paintwork. And yet here it is, neatly repackaged and served up with memorabilia shots in a bid to get us on board once more.

Doolittle 25 fleshes out the original album with a disc of B-sides and contemporaneous Peel Sessions, plus a disc of demos (both of which are also available as a double-LP on gravid 180g vinyl), and armfuls of the aforementioned demos receive their first official release herein.

It’s a bold and vibrant experiment that, over its beguiling 40 minutes, realigns the piece’s hypnotic power to the trance-inducing qualities inherent in Malian music.

Overall, it’s less of a curiosity than it might look on paper; not so much a departure as it is a confidently mapped-out alternative route.

It’s arguably The Veils’ most complete and satisfying work to date.

Savages is a feisty record that returns to the familiar blend of hardcore, thrash and groove metal.

Yet for all the tales of sonic Celtic carnage, Dawson’s sixth solo full-length, and second for Domino offshoot Weird World, is his most accessible to date.

A no-frills, 10-track set that’s almost permanently cranked to the max.

The past might be an albatross around Lydon’s neck, but he demonstrates superhuman strength at times, achieving lift-off in a way that nobody was really expecting. If the end of the world is nigh then PiL are going out with a bang.

In short, if you collect Jansch you won’t regret investing in these for a second. If you’re new to him, you’ll find a musical universe opening before you.

Landfall is a humourous, magnetic, and heart-breaking album, and paved with the kind of pathos that could make even TV’s Mr Tumble feel a little flat.

No Cities To Love is Sleater- Kinney’s most focused, accessible and often furious work.

Their unpredictability and magnetic power remain undimmed by the years.

The first album in this collection is a rather spotty affair, suffused with dread, as if the band are suddenly experiencing a moment of self-awareness. Still, by most other group’s standards it would be a career stand-out. It’s Leaves Turn Inside You, though, on which Unwound’s legacy rests. A thrillingly diverse exploration of the possibilities of rock’n’roll.

Rawlings emerges from his usual behind-the-scenes role with considerable originality and quiet authority on an album of entirely original songs.

With enough reference points for old heads to spot and enjoy, but enough invention and melody to stand entirely on its own two feet, To The Bone--with its tales of paranoia and love in the fake news era--is thoroughly recommended.

he Last Rider is yet another confident stride along that path, and anyone with a passion for smart and savvy grown-up pop is enthusiastically urged to follow him wherever it leads.

Deceptively simple, Morning Phase rewards repeated immersion.

Their best album in some considerable time.

The ambition and scope of these 23 songs is undeniably impressive, Scott still with a firm grip on the country and folk-minded tropes of his best back pages, augmented by (mostly) successful detours into the arenas of soul, funk, even hip-hop.

All Together Again proves to be a warm and diverse collection of mostly unreleased pieces for a series of commissions over the last 10 years.

As befitting a band who met studying music at Toronto’s Humber College, this Late Night Tales is akin to capturing a conversation by friends bursting with excitement, sharing their latest musical finds.

Ultimately, The Source, offers indisputable proof that the man from Lagos is thriving in what are supposed to be his twilight years. Like a vintage bottle of Château Lafite, he just seems to improve with each passing year. Long may he continue to do so.

If you want a more detailed account of each album, you’ll have to check our Reissue Of The Month review in RC 335. Limited, expanded editions of Sly & The Family Stone’s first seven long-players, from 1967’s A Whole New Thing to 1974’s Small Talk, were reissued in 2007 and are now out of print. This box set sort of plugs that gap.

This new compilation focuses on projects she released under her own name plus sundry collaborations, remixes and assorted feature spots. Above all else, this 34-track assemblage highlights the fact that Thorn’s trajectory has been an unpredictable and surprising one.

A couple of the tracks may catch Tom in booming mode but there’s a pleasing variety of delivery, plenty of sensitivity and a whole load of rocking. Quality control is top notch throughout and the backing musicians are never less than superb.

To paraphrase just a touch, post-crash, necessity is very much the mother of inventiveness here. But out of that echoing vastness comes a gentle sense of melody that reveals itself, bit by bit, through repeated visits.

For all the exuberant looseness of their recordings, most remain essentially song-based, skilfully produced and slyly focused.

While not quite equal to its predecessor, Divide And Exit offers plenty to get your teeth into.

Though it’s short and sweet, the 10 tracks that make up Dury’s fifth album are cinematic in scope and yet laser focused.

To overly analyse the motives or intentions behind any of these revelatory tracks (87 in all) is to risk missing out on their more implicit, primal joys. This is Dylan at one with his domain; explorative, inventive, persuasive and, as is almost always the case, enigmatic.

Moore’s followers will glory in the winding passages of guitars scratched, spiked, stroked and droned, now with the added bonus of fuzzy solos from latest axe accomplice James Sedwards.

Lacking a common language (they were forced to communicate via sign language) the sessions--recorded in a garage on the outskirts of Lisbon--have nevertheless resulted in a winning hybrid of styles.

It’s that signature weather-battered baritone that provides the most goosebumping moments however, crooning into the sunset about love, loss and failure.

A painstaking labour of love for all concerned, Savage Young Dü is--at last--the kind of archival release fans of these transcendent punk-pop pioneers have long since craved.

Pinballing between modern fright and fervent fight, I Can Feel You... exults in the thrill of self-determined discovery.

It certainly sounds like an album collaged over five years in various places around the world. But there are no contemporaries for this sound, and they hit their mark often, that moment where all the dried pasta shapes, buttons and string turn into a surprisingly lucid portrait of a band happy to try everything at once.

Tracey Thorn is a singular talent, and in a career that spans over four decades she’s achieved much. Record though has set a new benchmark.

As ever, it’s all played with impeccably economical style, tight-as-a-drum country shuffles with occasional jazz excursions; the work of a bona fide legend who’s never sounded more alive.

At 121 tracks, a running time of nearly nine (NINE!) hours and 55 unreleased songs, it’s somewhat redundant to say this seven-disc boxset documenting the first decade of Fairport Convention’s life is strictly for the hardcore. Sadly – and herein lies the lament of the wallet-destroying boxset--in Come All Ye are songs that would convert a non-believer at 10 paces.

There are touches of My Morning Jacket in the vocals too, but in chief it is the already-mentioned artists who dominate Dolls Of Highland and if you’ve been missing them a lot, then this is an album not to be missed, filled with yearning and melody.

Despite being a compilation, this collection has an immaculate flow--like all Beach House albums.

Bismillah and Karam add gentle layers of spiritual jazz and afrobeat to the mix. Best though are the tracks which plot a less quiet path; Indefinite Leave To Remain begins with intermittent, raindrop-like piano flourishes over recorded vocal snatches before guitar and drums build into a monsoon-like barrage.

The innate beauty of The Beta Band [is] unfulfilled potential aligned to a stubbornness that would never betray artistic ideals; a punch in the guts followed by a raspberry in the face.

At times they overstretch – the tail-end of Part One drifts like fish and chip wrapper in the breeze – but a visit to Coral Island elicits the intangible pull of a place in time etched forever in the mind. Roll up, roll up.

A fraught album that reaches out furiously for release, forming a push-pull of pressure and release around the band’s defining attributes: Tucker’s tumultuous vocals and Brownstein’s livid guitar.

Twenty five years into your career, Dear is proof that heavy not only still rocks, but that under your [Boris'] charge, it is unlikely to get boring.

This is not an overly confessional collection: if you’re looking for self-revelation, you may have to wait for a forthcoming autobiography, but nevertheless there’s much to enjoy.

This collection is called Smash for a very good reason.

Brigid Mae Power’s 2016 debut was a beautiful, dreamy affair. So is The Two Worlds--but so much better.

It’s a delightfully trippy treat that improves with each encounter and deserves to build on the success of Loveless--an aching ballad that, to these ears, likely had some genesis in the work of electronic pop pioneers Alphaville.

More rewarding re-evaluation than celebration for long-termers, it all provides a mightily attractive artefact for Stones diehards.

With nary a filler in sight, it’s an exquisite, richly evocative listen infused with the very smoke and steamy atmosphere of its natural nightclub habitat.

In the Shadow Kingdom, the smooth seduction of I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight comes out downright lusty, while the jinking melody of It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue ebbs and flows here, seemingly dragged by swollen waves of sound. Some lyrics are subtly changed, others are turned on their head – the devotional To Be Alone With You transformed into something dangerous and desperate (“What happened to me darling, what was it you saw, did I kill somebody, did I escape the law?”).

Thankfully, while pouring out his soul into three or four-minute measures he never loses sight of his attractive Americana-goes-pop sensibilities, most perfectly realised on Over The Midnight and the title track.

From the very outset, songs scream with insane ambition.

At 68 minutes long and 16 tracks, its length becomes an issue during a third quarter which drifts. But as an exercise in breaking with consistency, I Am Easy To Find shows The National remain open to new possibilities after all.

If you’re looking for glacial Nordic chills, Arve Henriksen’s hauntingly beautiful Towards Language will do the trick.

It doesn’t feel like completely new territory, but it certainly resonates.

The long-awaited Music Must Destroy is Ruts DC’s first fully-fledged rock LP since Animal Now and it doesn’t disappoint.

It’s an edgy, spirited 12-track affair, and it feels like the logical successor to the band’s recently reissued Dung 4, rather than a belated follow-up to Devil Hopping.

The album doesn’t stray far from the pop template established by early single Chinatown; only now there’s a more self-assured swagger, backed with clear and confident production.

Its brief running time over just six tracks harks back to earlier releases such as The Internationale or his debut Life’s A Riot, but this is a definitively 2017 soundtrack.

The inclusion here of iconic tracks such as the aforementioned Little Johnny Jewel and Richard Hell’s Blank Generation shows that their label was indeed instrumental in documenting the birth of NYC punk, but elsewhere Chris Stamey & The dB’s Big Star-esque power-pop and The Student Teachers’ quirky, synth-driven art-pop prove that Ork and Ball were equally comfortable promoting bands who had little truck with the three-chord revolution.

It’s a bracing listen then, and one that forces you to suspend belief as it whips past. But just as with each and every White Denim record, it’s wholly rewarding, repaying repeated listens, letting you check off things you hadn’t heard in it before.

Santana IV rolls back the years to the time when the band melded spicy percussive Latin grooves with searing blues-rock. Seraphic-voiced Ron Isley fronts a couple of tunes but it’s the spacey, psychedelic instrumental, Fillmore East, and addictive salsa-rock of Anywhere You Want To Go, that impress the most.

We Disappear is the brashest, most mainstream-sounding alt-rock record The Thermals have pulled off to date. It rarely pauses in its pursuit of hook-laced, punk-pop anthems such as The Walls and the bittersweet Thinking Of You, but it sounds especially jubilant on the best of its Grim Reaper-related numbers, Hey You.

Leftism is dance music history and so deserves the big reissue treatment. Leftfield have addressed the passage of time with an up-to-the-minute roster of remixers for the bonuses. Still, the results are generally pretty disappointing – they all put their own mark on things and leave enough of the original versions in to make the connection, but not many come close to the originals.

Simpson’s gentle deliveries benefit from his wealth of experience and mature understanding of the work, making for a richness that imbues all the songs--never more so than on Come Down Jehovah.

Wherever you turn, exuberance and invention are generously served.

When this is good, it’s properly great.

Day Of The Dead not only represents a triumph of admin on the part of its curators, but the sweetest love letter to the Grateful Dead imaginable. Deadheads will adore it; the unconverted may find themselves a lot more Dead-curious.

Nocturnal Koreans is a testament to their continued relevance.

Not everything works. The aforementioned Always You leaves little impression and the clunky Caroline’s Monkey, which shoehorns in every hackneyed junkie reference you can think of (“holes in her skin”, “ice in her veins”, monkeys on backs, etc, etc), is just about rescued from oblivion thanks, again, to its auditory nod to Kraftwerk’s locomotive-fixated sixth studio album. But otherwise, Memento Mori is brimming and sometimes soaring with immediate pop songs.

While there’s plenty of thrilling rock’n’roll here, his faith also gives us some flat-out gorgeous moments.

Both songs [Stained Glass and Same Sun] lack that extra dynamic, and instead plod along in somewhat tepid one-dimensionality. Somehow, though, that doesn’t break the dreamy, wistful spell of the album as a whole.

In the now vastly-populated electronic marketplace, this is an album well worth investigating as an example of passionate scientists adding the music’s past immortal strategies to the planet’s ever-buzzing soundtrack to take it proudly into the future, rather than contenting themselves with replicating hoary old blueprints.

Between Stuck’s bright indie-jangle and the layered guitars of the reflective Something Else, the result offers testimony to the robust flexibility of Chastity Belt’s alt. indie foundations; they make the evolution seem natural, not stretched.

True, it’s rarely a subtle listen, continually more light than shade, but almost 20 years after its release, … Morning Glory can still excite. Some Might Say remains an awful drudge of a lead single, but the rest, pretty much in its entirety, is surprisingly refreshing to revisit.

What continues to both disarm and comfort about Williams as she glides into her late 60s on the crest of an extraordinary career now entering its fourth decade, is how adept she remains at shifting mood, tone, emotion and musical palette at the drop of a plectrum