Earworms are decidedly less abundant than normal, though, sad to say.

Lonesome guitars wend their way through the shimmer of rising heat, synth swells collapse into dust and a plaintive violin calls to a long-lost lover, all of which twines itself together to form a rich experimental drone that's as vast, lonely and unending as the desert images they conjure.

While it may have been captured through a somewhat disjointed creative process, though, there's no sense of No Name No Color lacking cohesion.

Still shrouded in mystery yet sounding clearer in their intentions than ever before, the familiar mix of strained vocals, propulsive yet unobtrusive instrumentation and haunted piano refrains serve as a perfect example of why we missed them so damn much in the first place.

What this means is that if you find this band annoying, you'll probably hate them 10 times more after hearing Wonders Of The Younger. For the rest of us, there's no denying that 'Rhythm Of Love' and 'Killer' are guilty pleasures in the making--consider us thoroughly killed with kindness.

With Brendan O'Brien (Pearl Jam, AC/DC) producing, Stephen Christian's vocals cry out louder than ever across closer 'Depraved' and it proves that five albums in Anberlin have moved beyond the light of 'New Surrender' to dabble with a more interesting, darker edge that borders on Circa Survive.

MCR have made an album that is as fun as it is meaningful, as experimental as it is familiar. Let's see the Daily Mail hijack this one...

It would be churlish to deny that some of the selections on Born Free feature tunes on which the listener can truly chew, but it would also be wrong to ignore the fact that without this music Kid Rock's lyrics are, at best, the work of a sentimentalist and at worst, the mewlings of a moron. [13 Nov 2010, p.52]

Most strikingly, Darkly, Darkly, Venus Aversa displays a masterful control over the multi-faceted Cradle Of Filth sound; brutal vocal gymnastics, skull-rattling double-kicks, symphonic flourishes, dramatic narrative and balls-out axe-slinging all make their presence known, but in a manner which routinely serves to bolster the coherency of the greater whole.

Amoral proves that Violens will stand proud knowing they can give a name to their organized mess, even if they don't know what it is yet.

Commercially-driven producers or not, though, the band have a knack for keeping their sound current and contemporary –- while still being reminiscent of their early material.

Spiral Shadow might just be the album of the year so far. All hail the kings (and queen) of nouveau-prog.

Songs For Singles is unmistakably a Torche record; primal, punishing, yet irresistibly sweet. It may make a mockery of the traditional album format, but then again, would you expect anything less?

Recitation finds the band at their genre-bridging best, sounding, if anything, even more euphoric and life-affirming than before.

The Massachusetts five-piece don't hit as many compositional peaks as predecessor Overcome, although tracks like Hold On and The Last Time bridge the gap considerably.

For all its bluster, There Is A Hell is far more than the story of a man battling his self-perpetuated inner turmoil; it is the sound of a remarkable band establishing themselves as one of the finest of their generation.

The likes of 'The Resist Stance' and 'Someone To Believe' burn with righteous anger and the energy of a band half their age. Only the closer, the toothless 'I Won't Say Anything', isn't up to scratch. A fine addition to their cannon.

'Coffee And Cigarettes' and the title track slowly uncurl themselves over the course of a few days and before you know it, it feels like Jimmy Eat World never went away.

With The Big Deep they've taken a much more straightforward approach to things than ever before and ended up with a collection of solid, accessible rock songs.

On his latest solo effort, System of a Down man, Serj Tankian, continues to stride further and further away from the sound that was once his bread and butter.

Make no mistake, Gira has his mojo back and Swans are very much alive.

Root For Ruin is a worthy continuation of their oeuvre, and a better album than 07's "Let's Stay Friends."

A Thousand Suns is a more experienced and experimental Linkin Park. You may not get it to begin with but persevere and you'll be rewarded.

It's a pleasure to report, then, that Hurley is a fine album.

Featuring the classic, jagged and tar thick riffery and off-beat timing that have become Helmet's signature, Seeing Eye Dog is a great (especially re the vocals) and gritty listen.

For all those teens who grew up disgracefully with Taylor and Jim Root's other band, Audio Secrecy is the soundtrack to the rest of their lives.

Asylum won't set the world alight, but it's certainly not monotonous enough to send anyone to the madhouse.

It's not to say Time For Annihilation isn't very good, just if you like Pink and other commercial rock, you're going to love this.

All your usual horror and metal needs are catered for, although according to Wednesday 13 the lyrics are more personal this time round.

The riffs remain as ample and hard-hitting as ever, and with Matt Bayles (Isis, Mastodon) handling the production, The Sword have never sounded better.

As fans of the group will attest, there's nothing quite like experiencing Mogwai in a live setting and while Special Moves might never fully capture that sheer weight of sound, it nevertheless represents a hugely impressive live document (even without Burning, the accompanying DVD).

It's all good fun and makes the most of its human components, but there isn't much here that emerges as truly awe-inspiring or anything else other than a jolly good jam between chums. Of course, if that's all that's needed for Apocalyptica to remain among Finland's most popular imports, then for now, at least, it's still job done.

The Final Frontier might sound alien at first, but Iron Maiden's DNA is splashed all over it.

More industrial than 08's Anthems For The Damned, this fifth effort should slip them into that position.

Kaleide runs out of steam towards its close--heaven knows why the original, blustery version of "Smarts" has made way for a sombre reworking--but it's still an enjoyable, grown-up follow-up to the band's debut.

Mr Wylde is onto another grininducing winner here and long may it continue.

Featuring two members of the late great Jay Reatard's band--the towering garage rawk that defined his sound is tangible with Wavves too but here left to bathe in the sun and taken for a quick dip in the ocean.

There's a glorious new depth to the old formula here showcasing undeniable talent.

A right dirty dose of LA rocking is in order courtesy of Buckcherry, and boy, is it great to have them back!

If there's criticism, it's that Nightmare still falls back on cliches, building with aggressive force to then rely on a safe melodic chorus. However, there's enough of a change to see A7X lash out beyond their core sound, making Nightmare their greatest achievement to date.

Super producer Ross Robinson has been given the unenviable task of bottling lightning, and he's certainly earned his money this time round; from Jonathan Davis' tortured, primal yelps to the pounding drums and a bass sound that ebbs and flows violently through your extremities.

There's enough originality to warrant a second look, though, evoking the epic soul of the infamous The Haçienda club with percussive clatter overseen by techno producer Ewan Pearson.

There's nothing immediately wrong with Perch Patchwork--'Living Decorations' and 'Israeli Caves' are serviceable indie rock tunes, and 'Was' is a teasingly low-key ditty--but the core of the album is eminently forgettable.

Their sound, now more than ever, is a paradox: despite the Cure-ish grey waves of guitar and Spencer Krug's morose vocal tics, Wolf Parade can't conceal the fact that being in a band is clearly terrific fun for them.

Baffling yet hum-able at the same time, this is the work of a band without a clue where they're going, and it's all the stronger for it.

With longer songs between their trademark short frenzied blasts, they maintain a clenched grip on how the ethos behind grassroots hardcore and the necessity of a modern punk fusion can mix effortlessly to create something truly special.

Continuing where the dark grooves of 8's Nude With Boots left off, The Bride… exhibits the perfect marriage between the Big Business boys and Melvins main-men King Buzzo and Dale Crover.

It'll probably help if you're on mushrooms, but nevertheless this is quite something.

Loaded with heady guitar trips and crunching grooves, all topped off with flamboyant frontman Scott Weiland’s soulful vocal (which sounds all the better for his newly cleaned-up lifestyle), this is classic STP.

An outstanding return.

With each song bleeding seamlessly into the next, there's little relief from all the doom and gloom, but regardless, this remains another worthy addition to Harvey Milk's awkward oeuvre.

While the 12 tracks here are built around conventional nu metal structures, what unexpectedly rolls out is a stubbornness and increasing force never present with Evanescence.

Though ‘The Powerless Rise’ only signifies progression within strict genre parameters, AILD have stuck to their guns with flair.

Trouble is, after one listen it becomes evident that MB hardly benefit from further investigation – they’re just another hipster band who got lucky.

[The departure of keyboardist/multi-instrumentalist Franz Nicolay] Far from having a negative affect on these 10 songs, The Hold Steady have flourished in this slight change of tack, with frontman Craig Finn's inimitable, narrative lyrics as stirring as ever.

True, at an hour-plus, only myopic fans would contest Forgiveness drags a little by the end, albeit brightened by penultimate Pavement-a-like ditty 'Water In Hell'.

It’s the stellar-sounding closer ‘This Place Is Death’ that perfectly demonstrates the striking yet violent contrasts that make album number six a masterpiece.

Fever is unlikely to win Bullet For My Valentine more respect amongst their peers, but this could be the album to persuade non-believers.

Although not original at all, ‘No Guts. No Glory’ is another strong, balls-out full-length from the brothers O’Keeffe and co.

There are moments, like the echoey, spacious ‘Dead Moon’, when things get eerie and alienated but more often they’re down-to-earth and bluesy, like they’ll stop playing when the beers arrive.

Listening to the album when fully engaged with the story of its creation is both exhausting and exhilarating. A heartbreaking work of staggering genius? Very possibly.

Coheed And Cambria are always at their finest when they're being dramatic, and as such 'Year Of The Black Rainbow' is possibly their best record to date.

Crusty, jarring and still as acerbic as ever, this is Cancer Bats at their best.

This full length contains all of Bleeding Through’s hardcore malice only now it’s encased with a perfected, extremity-heavy formula.

It's a war of emotion rendered in the most extreme tones and is more and more rewarding on every listen. One day, all bands will be like Dillinger.

While hardly what you’d call commercial, ‘Oversteps’ contains some of the pair’s most approachable material for aeons, with their usual alien and sometimes hostile soundscapes peppered with vibrant melodies, particularly on the swirling brooding ambience of ‘Ilandrers’ and bright, fizzing ‘Treale’.

The Husker Du-lionising and strategic swearing of earlier releases might be absent, but Let's Wrestle's copious charms are otherwise very much in force on their full-length debut.

To some it will seem cloying and trite, but persevere: underneath Scott Hutchison’s warm burr lie a clutch of songs that deserve to be held close and tight.

It lasts about two days, though, and even though the likes of 'Four Score And Seven' and 'To Old Friends And New' hum with energy and shoutalong choruses a little restraint would've worked wonders. An above-average Titus record is worth a dozen imitators, though.

Possessing a grandeur that never descends into pomposity and a restraint that could never be mistaken for bland aural wallpaper, this is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful releases you’re likely to hear over the coming months.

Starting off pleasant but eventually becoming a regular stereo occupier, the grungier second half of this release is the better half.

Glasgow’s finest nerdtronica--in the sense they’re slavishly dedicated to unveiling ever-intricate ways to make us shake a leg – quartet have returned with a second album that takes the charm of their debut and cranks up the rave factor.

Alkaline Trio aren’t naïve punk rockers from the Chicago suburbs anymore, as a result this album fails to recapture that innocence but succeeds in creating another strong body of work that the group can be proud of.

Monolithic, streamlined and straight from the underworld, Snakes For The Divine is High On Fire's finest hour thus far.

It does mean that their eponymous third release for Thrill Jockey can be rather prosaically boiled down to: if you like whooshy spacerock, you’ll like this.

Where 07’s ‘Is Dead’ hinted at the band experimenting with a more progressive sound, it was nowhere near as cohesive and accomplished as this. I Was Trying To Describe You To Someone is a phenomenal album.

There’s no filler here, even the short instrumental numbers deserve their place as they break up the album into chapters. A surprisingly good follow-up, Life Is Sweet! Nice To Meet You is essential listening.

The Constant does what it says on the, er, CD; constantly good, but with more focus it could have been brilliant.

A compelling, intricate album in which to lose yourself.

By the time the closing brass-driven sequences of the 3D-fronted ‘Almost Air’ ebb away, Massive Attack feel like a living, breathing vital force once again.

This is a solid album, rife with brooding love metal and big choruses, but while this is HIM’s most accessible album to date it’s also the most unpalatable, as Ville takes one step too many towards self-satire.

Mechanize is without doubt their heaviest and most powerful, and considering the stark, foreboding lyrical subject matter it seems totally relevant that it should be. A truly emphatic return.

Equally experimental as it is disturbing, their latest musical experience doesn’t disappoint and is an altogether leftfield and very noisy affair.

Prior To The Fire will set the Canadians aside from their peers.

Gareth’s vocal is less shrill these days, his lyrics are less desperate (though just as despairing), and the band’s soundscapes are increasingly diverse....A big step forward.

Kieran Hebden’s first album as Four Tet in almost five years is perhaps his best yet, sealing his reputation for blending jazz, electronica and classical influences into seamless, shimmering soundscapes with an ever-mutating style.

With no outside influences to force these leek-lovin’ lads’ song-writing hand, they’ve delivered an album that, although not as polished as previous efforts (but that’s part of the charm), is purely Lostprophets; and the real sound of progress, for sure.

Of The Blue Colour Of The Sky displays that Damian Kulash and co are perfectly capable of writing more grown-up, experimental material.

That the record spans their 15-year lifespan puts the kybosh on continuity a touch; see announcing your last song in the middle of an album. However, that’s generally overridden by sheer dumb fun within cuts like synth-drenched supermarket ode "Tesco V Sainsbury's".

Provided you don't have an unreasonable dislike of melody, you'll enjoy the majority of tracks on this album. Even if that does make you feel a bit dirty.

Even at its most meandering points (‘Nowhere Lullaby’), the tangents on ‘There Is No Enemy’ feel purposeful. Martsch’s lyrics remain wry and erudite, but he’s back to expressing himself in a more whimsical fashion and, more importantly, writing actual melodies.

One can’t help wish for less social commentary, and more hands-in-the-air/ feet-in-the-moshpit bangers.

We also love to party and this third effort from Cobra Starship screams ‘party’ right from blast off.