Considered and ambitious, Tincian fittingly sounds like it comes from no time at all.

Without You, Death To The Lovers and We Are The Flames--showcase Skin’s still-gobsmacking voice and will be welcomed by fans of earlier, underrated heartstring- pluckers like Infidelity (Only You) from the 1996 album Stoosh. The rest of the album is much rowdier, powered by Cass Lewis’s immense, distorted bass and punk-indebted riffs from unsurnamed guitarist Ace.

It’s when Villagers are at their most pure--be it on the brilliant chamber pop of Northing Arrived or the pure, instrumental pastoral of the title track--that {Awayland} is strongest; as opposed to when it’s trying to outsource itself to stylistic whimsy or fad.

While many elements of the 10 “love songs” on Mount Qaf are competent, deftly crafted efforts betraying a lifetime of attention paid to such things, any Walkmen magic is rarely present.

Completing a trilogy alongside 2010’s Valleys Of Neptune and 2013’s People, Hell And Angels (both of which went Top 5 in the US), it’s clear there’s still a hunger for Hendrix’s unheard back pages. Both Sides Of The Sky is arguably the most satisfying meal of the three.

The songs aren’t always resolved and have an element of hit-or-miss jam around the edges, but they are thrilling at times.

While certainly not all things to all comers, this deluxe edition makes a good fist of it.

Too many of the witty lines feel forced to scan, and the electronics, once subtle and suggestive, are heavy-handed. There are charms though. Down Here is lusciously Eels-like, and Tracey Thorn’s star role on Disappointing vamps with a definite strut. It’s just, after PGG’s fabulous right turn, for this album to plough forwards in the same direction seems a wasted opportunity.

The vocals float ethereally over the airy atmosphere, feeling wistful yet majestic. A dreamy ambience permeates the entire album, but each track has something different to offer.

It’s a tremendously playful collection that veers from the spectral spaghetti western of Visa To The Stars to Chicken On The Rocks; an screwball jaunt that’s begging to be used as the theme for an absurd Radio 4 panel show.

Like most covers albums, though, this collection isn’t designed to bear serious analysis, so have some fun with God Save The Queen, Cat Scratch Fever and what have you. The real Motörhead is to found elsewhere.

While there’s no doubting the siblings’ talent, at times the polish of the production does reduce the impact of the songs slightly.

Unable to hold a guitar for the majority of the sessions, his progressing dementia making it difficult to remember lyrics, it is nonetheless a celebratory affair laced with surprisingly black humour.

The CDs don’t sit properly in their sleeves, and the booklet, which was once speculated to include photography from Shadow’s visual cohort B+, delivers only the scantest imagery and discographical detail.... Still, as far as the music’s concerned it’s a thrilling journey sizeable enough to make an impression on your shelf.

Bob Ezrin’s production is solid throughout, but the whole thing basically sounds like rock stars having fun on their day off.

Certainly, Childish should never be making laptop beats or recruiting choirs from the DRC, but there might be a sense that his sound needs fresh vigour.

There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with the Lemonheads-style chug of the remainder, though it plants its flag firmly in the same sonic terrain they occupied during 2010’s The Dissent Of Man.

You unpeel this 12-song collection’s layers track by track, with repeat listens yielding new surprises as rifts and melodies that you missed first time around float to the fore.

If the album’s remainder veers from hit to ho-hum, the Death In Vegas-ish bass pulse and deep-immersion dream-techno of Me Swimming offer clear hits of hypnotic electronica.

It all makes for a fascinating, moving collection of songs. No, they’re not the best band in America, but they are worthy of your time and attention.

Occasionally, this approach doesn’t match the heartfelt sentiment (see the lyrics to both You’re My Friend and A True Original) but, on the whole, this is the sound of a man reinvigorated, happy to be recording and with a dependable, more involved backing band than ever.

The result, unsurprisingly, is a record that’s both maudlin and wistful.

Founder guitarist Pye Hastings and long-serving multi-instrumentalist Geoff Richardson lead a new line-up through 10 tracks that tick many boxes without threatening the iconic status of 70s classics such as In The Land Of Grey And Pink.

The rebounding sounds that dominate Undying Color have a cumulative effect, and form a kind of aural mist within which the listener can get lost. Charming.

The significance of the LP title is never apparent--this is the most land-locked album imaginable. Still, here’s an invigorating enough noise to ward off the demons.

Its 10 short, serrated and occasionally anthemic songs are visceral and idealistic, though the trio’s increasingly keen sense of melody keeps the existential angst in check throughout.

Hearteningly, much of it sounds enviably fresh, and its 12 tracks crackle with contemporary energy even if a few of the riffs are a mite grungier these days. It is, however, a little south of perfect.

Without anything to rein them in, these pieces have a tendency to drift, suggesting that a tighter remit, or more judicious editing, might have had more gravitational pull.