The joy of this collaboration lies in Wells’ music. It’s a more varied affair than its predecessor.

Records of this clout and calibre are ringing endorsements that Crowell is his own man.

While producer Tucker Martine provides inspired, inventive backdrops, Blau’s powers of interpretation make these familiar songs (To Love Somebody, No Regrets etc), very much his own; an unexpected marvel.

All in all, a stellar mix of tracks, performed exquisitely and, in light of their split in 2011, now with added poignancy.

If it is a mess, it’s a glorious one.

i/o is an impeccable reawakening.

Unsurprisingly, Noveller has scored many films in the process of building her voluminous catalogue; out on her own, but playing a subtle role in realigning 21st century music.

Where Simpson truly scores is in the ease with which he ponders life’s bigger questions while couching them in familiar country language and sounds.

Expanding the boundaries of hip-hop and soul, it’s outstanding stuff which should further enhance the careers and reputations of both.

Motion Set has songs--channelling Blue Cheer, Crazy Horse and Velvet Underground by proxy--but they just seem like context provision for Rogers who, even this deep into his career, keeps jettisoning the most luminescent, surging six-string gymnastics since Paul Leary’s psych-pimping turns on Butthole Surfer’s exquisite Hairway To Steven.

This suite of songs, from Infestation Of Grey Death and Tower Of Silence to The Last Laugh, sets out Cathedral’s stall once and for all: a metal band whose palette of influences made their songs more than merely headbanging opportunities.

There’s enough going on in the grooves of Smote Reverser to satisfy your psych and/or prog urges for the foreseeable future, let alone in the few months it’ll take Dwyer to follow it up.

Though pieced together on a shoestring with Aves playing most of the instruments, it’s a charmingly idiosyncratic, roots-flavoured record.

This is breathless in its intensity, an hour-long triumph up there with anything they’ve ever done, tales of the world today united amid the brooding shadows of a Victorian musical hall stage. That’s life, that’s madness… and it truly is the Madness we know and love.

While fans can rest assured that rampage is still on the menu, be prepared to well up, too.

There’s a fair amount of whimsy, sure (and at points you feel a lava lamp and joss sticks might appear), but this focused, emotional side to Hanson is a welcome addition to this body of work.

Sing It High deserves investigation, and LITA do Tumbleweed more than justice, documenting a time when risks were actually backed, regardless of whether they paid off.

It’s not so much that these two work well together, but that they work well in spite of each other. There are obviously two very different musical personalities on show, but where they meet is a convenient hinterland that somehow manages to honour the music they love.

What you’re left with is the impression of an artist with her receptors fully open, resulting in a debut reaching far more emotional touch points than you’d expect.

Unprecedented in 1968 and unparalleled still, Electric Ladyland has bequeathed us no end of spoils. A fine celebration of Hendrix’s most kaleidoscopically-realised endeavour, this 50th anniversary set even restores his originally intended cover photo. Dig.

Relief all round then that their fifth album is a shimmering thing of beauty; a fresh summer breeze blowing in full of character and heart and sweeping away the dirge and disappointment of their last outing.

Another strong addition to Lanegan’s increasingly impressive canon, it makes despair sound worryingly inviting.

Liam inhabits a range of oddball characters throughout, making it tricky to determine which are closest to his real self, but that hardly seems to matter when the results are as dreamy and diverse as this.

A rare example of a collaborative album that reflects well on everybody involved.

This is intimate, timeless music performed with respect, tenderness and a heavy heart. Just another Unthanks record then.

While III is certainly weird, it’s also rather wonderful.

I See You may represent a sonic shift towards the light, but The Xx are still singing dark songs concerned with introspection, heartache and regret. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Good.

This most genuine version of herself is more than good enough to stand on its own.

It’s only on standout track, Kangaroo, that you could at any point pigeonhole PVT’s latest sound (in this instance, club banger). The remainder is far too elusive, a fusion of too many elements. Not confused, just produced in confusing times.

Halo is the sound of a mischievous, philosophical soul in full swing. An idiosyncratic joy.

While this isn’t an album of chart hits, a pop sensibility is evident in the way that they treat music-making as primarily a challenge of curation. So, myriad high-pedigree producers and instrumentalists abound, and yet somehow, a cohesive aesthetic emerges.

This is a master craftsman at work, without bells, whistles or any other gimmicks. True country classicism.

Sincerely captures the mood of our dislocated times with style and bite.

Each of these 10 songs is a piece in the Feltrinelli puzzle, resulting in an album whose ambition suitably matches its subject’s big ideas.

It’s a record that increasingly rewards with each play, the subtleties and subtext revealed slowly, teased into view by deceptively unobtrusive musical accompaniment. Ellis’ punctuations of the words serve a similar purpose to melodic hooks in traditional pop songs, setting the groundwork for the lyrical beauty of the source material to haunt our thoughts long after the album’s over.

A Melvins selection box of sorts, Basses Loaded is packed with delights.

Konnichiwa isn’t just the sound of young Britain, but a bar-raising example of just how creative UK music can be.

2002’s Title TK was a gentler, more measured and still wholly satisfying record, but its predecessor still holds pride of place in most fans’ strawberry hearts.

Rising above the occasion, Rickie is still getting up close and personal with the listener.

[A] challenging, deeply odd at times and hugely enjoyable album.

This is a remarkably confident, intimate and rocking debut. Grunge fans need not necessarily apply.

Every song is good, albeit not life-changing.

Hang can delight and frustrate in equal measure, but it is an indulgent album that tempts the listener into just one more, wafer-thin listen.

Even the bluntest songs (Angry Bird, Party Liquor) have a dark, cautionary subtext, while the bereft, beautiful Something From Nothing (“about becoming dependent upon faith, which is as much a danger as a source of solace in troubled times”) genuinely stands shoulder to shoulder with Rundgren’s finest ballads.

It’s an easy-on-the-ear, hard-on-the-shoe-leather set.

Musically it’s a side trip to the shop of horrors.

As an exercise in showcasing the singer’s inimitably laconic way with a variety of styles it’s a real winner.

[The Glowing Man] finds Swans ever so slightly more playful, and on the cusp of a new era.

A fitting tribute and a welcome opportunity to hear Miller’s unreleased songs and performances.

The generosity of the endeavour can’t be faulted: hours on end of largely unheard/unseen audio-visual content relating to the era encompassing A Momentary Lapse Of Reason, The Division Bell, Pulse and The Endless River, new 5.1 mixes, a 60-page photo book, replica tour programmes, two 7” singles featuring a Pulse tour rehearsal version of Lost For Words and the 2007 Syd Barrett tribute concert version of Arnold Layne… and, ye gods, even more.

Wryly observant character studies are linked by wistfully understated instrumental interludes, with harpsichord, vibes, nylon-strung guitar and single-finger organ tumbling contentedly against each other like smalls in a twin-tub.

The comp is thoughtfully subdivided by mood/demeanour, with each disc respectively entitled Rock Off!, Tubthumpers & Hellraisers and Elegance & Decadence. The successfully realised intention is to demonstrate that there was more to glam than just implacable, sequin-shedding, mindless stomping--though some of us would be perfectly content with three discs’ worth of just that.

Historically The Who Sell Out hasn’t always been given the serious critical attention afforded its successors Tommy, Who’s Next and Quadrophenia. Yet, it’s just as significant a touchstone in the Who canon, a pointer to, in particular, Townshend’s desire for the band to test both themselves and their audience. It makes this extensive and richly textured ultimate edition a “ragbag” worth rooting through.

Ultimately, Mosquito sees the band reenergised, trying new things and, generally, succeeding.

Simon’s song choices weave together to form a narrative on intolerance, the dangers of divisive thinking, impending mortality, the ebb and flow of love, ecological troubles and faith. Where less nimble-minded songwriters might flounder, his literary eye for the minutiae of life stands him in good stead.

More so than anything in Harvey’s back catalogue, FOUR impresses with its purity, simplicity, accessibility and lack of pretension.

In trying times, Wilco have found some joy in creativity and made another album true to themselves, full of “poetry and magic” to console and inspire.

Even in these bare-bones arrangements, the songs are fully formed, particularly the likes of Pleasant Street and Once I Was: as captivating as anything Buckley put to tape.

Hacke and Picciotto narrate with unwholesome relish.

An instrumental album that never fails to hold the listeners attention, with a plethora of quotable passages and delightful moments. A coming of age album.

Mary Casio is another cohesive collection, glued together by the slightly silly yet still thought-provoking storyline, which regards the life story of an obscure imaginary electronic composer, who is set upon space travel.

Not Even Happiness is intent on taking us back to the garden and in these cynical times, perhaps there’s a vacuum across the ocean for artists that are warmer, purer, less needy than the careerist indie-rock that has gone before. Long may this Morning Dove not Tweet.

It is, like its predecessor, a beguiling union of east and west--an album that quickly establishes its own universe and welcomes you in, with its reference points of Indian classical music, jazz, kosmische and dub.

A Moon Shaped Pool represents a return to the ambition and perfectionism that has characterised their best work.

Trouble Will Find Me manages to pull off the impressive trick of finding the band at once at their most direct and musically inventive.

They’re not as overwrought as the earliest Bright Eyes records--recorded when he was in his teens and early 20s--but they’re just as pure and open-hearted, albeit with the (jaded) wisdom that comes with age, making it arguably his best solo effort yet.

The band’s full-length debut has spent a long time in the works, but it’s nonetheless an impressive statement of intent.

Thankfully, despite all this period charm, Air’s music more than holds up today.

Wolf People invest every glowering note with a watchful intensity that signifies their unswerving dedication.

The demos and live tracks will be intrigue enough--while the as-yet unconvinced may be surprised to find an album that remains relevant; as resonant, daring and evocative as it ever was.

The later efforts are more like dry runs, and we might have benefitted more from a mixture of these and some key remixes from over the years, but really, what’s not to like?

Covers of songs by Nick Cave, Chelsea Wolfe and Lanegan’s Gutter Twins bandmate, Greg Dulli, bring this collection slightly more up to date, but nothing sounds out of place. Rather, in Lanegan’s hands, they coalesce to form a record of timeless, typically morose joy.

Askew executes sad back-parlour arpeggios on a Hdusty, reverberant piano and his distinctive 10-stringed Martin tiple, his antediluvian voice as tremulous as Willie Nelson on a toning table.

An album aglow with a clear-eyed confidence in hushed, honeyed quietude.

To say it’s Stewart’s best album for more than 30 years may, ultimately, not be saying much, but it’s refreshing to hear him at the helm of a high-quality record, to hear him singing with heartfelt vigour, and--perhaps most importantly--having fun.

This new edition adds a second disc of extended 12” mixes, on which his sonic daring truly takes flight.

This is primal, bluesy and as in-your-face as the clenched fist on the sleeve. At 65, it’s a brave change of direction.

It adds up to White’s most relatable – and accessible – record in some time.

This Old Dog plays soft and sweet; but its rheumy eyes betray the pain.

The nine sizzling tracks here may fly by, but reveal a true pioneer still firing on his much-abused cylinders.

This time, with another dance music stalwart in Fuck Buttons’ Andrew Hung on producing duties, Orton shows no fear in heading into the electronic void, with some of her most eclectic and exciting tracks to date.

Prepare to be taken on a journey around the pair’s sonic universe that touches on everything from US R&B, Nilsson-esque singer-songwriter numbers and back again, all under a heady sheen of studio shimmer that can feel woozy, psychedelic or just 110 per cent odd at any one point.

On Teens Of Denial, Car Seat Headrest makes his case for being leader of the pack.

The 90s revival starts here... maybe, but It Hugs Back is also a warm, fuzzy species all of its own, and well worth cozying up to.

Between the weather-worn blues reflections of Hard Times and the euphoric lift of closer Coalinga, the sense emerges of a band rediscovering their footing, a little saddle-sore but riding tall once more.

Skinty Fia is another triumph for this era’s most vital group.

No one’s taking anything too seriously, but if this were a DVD it wouldn’t be a surprise to see Ry flashing the biggest grin in the room.

Crisply produced by Glyn Johns, working with EC for the first time since Slowhand, the record proves a remarkably rewarding listen.

Jenny Lewis and The National’s Aaron Dessner guest this time out but to be honest, the spotlight is increasingly and deservedly Taylor’s alone to enjoy. Surrender now.

Bob Stinson wouldn’t see out the rest of the year as a Replacement as his damaging behaviour got the better of him, but he’s on fire here, showboating around with utter joie de vivre – Color Me Impressed is a riot of total abandon, check his solo on a raucous Favorite Thing. The irritating sorts who witnessed The Replacements in their wild pomp will never tire of reminding you of the fact. This explains why.

It’s a sumptuous package of an excellent album that’s made even more essential by the gorgeous packaging of the very limited triple-vinyl edition.

A Dream Is All We Know flows seamlessly, with no snags disrupting its mellow mood-tapestry, right up until final track Rock On (Over And Over) throws us a curveball by actually glamming out, Bolan-style, as if to say, “Here’s what you thought we were about”. Superb.

They’ve created an album that manages to combine grief, self-loathing and a realisation that life’s better played honest, with a fine-tuned, brutal sound: something like bent sheet metal being hammered straight. Yet it remains listenable, so very listenable.

Parker’s rarely been in better voice, buoyed by the presence of old friends intuitive to his innermost thoughts and intentions.

While Tangk may bring us a more compassionate, empathetic version of the band who seem to be trying to find something that resembles peace after years of tumult, they still haven’t quite lost their punk spirit.

By the spangled keyboards, spectral funk and squalling sax of closing pair Toots and Teeth, Van Dinther has successfully forged his own new personal universe, showing jazz’s original questing spirit still alive, kicking and able to make new sonic waves.

The album is streaked through with intelligent string orchestrations that don’t feel bolted onto the songs to pad out or prettify them but increase their psychological intensity.

The Specials remain adept at appropriating the songs of others to further fuel their message.