There's a nagging sense of melancholy throughout that gives these tracks a compelling and slightly haunting quality.

There’s a sheen to much of Days Are Gone that can prevent you from delving further. But it’s a minor quibble on the whole, chiefly because the songs are strong enough to keep pulling you in for repeated listens, each hook burying itself deeper and deeper.

With the wind still in their sails, Tennis have smashed another winner.

Ghostory is as potent and decadent as School Of Seven Bells have ever been.

Jamie Stewart's most preposterously tremulous and knuckle-whiteningly transgressive work.

One Breath lacks the overwhelming force of her earlier material, but given time it will surely burrow under your skin.

Psychedelic leanings and Le Bon’s fragile Welsh lilt make Mug Museum a typically unusual listen, but its sincerity shines throughout, finding beauty in the strangest, sometimes saddest of places.

Most of the songs here start like slowburn opener ‘What We Done?’, with Stelmanis’ constantly tremulous voice front and centre surrounded by ever-increasing layers of synths, padded beats and distant percussion. If you can get past it, however, there’s much to enjoy.

Delightfully creepy.

This, their fourth full-length in as many years, proves the San Franciscans are a dependable force.

Perfect imperfection.

There’s a handful of ballads too--the surest sign of maturity--but just when we think they’ve given up the pacy numbers forever, they sucker-punch us at the death with the perfect one-two combo of ‘Unwanted Place’ and ‘Young’.

It’s happy to take the listener on sudden, unexpected, journeys but also to just be exactly what it is; a really great rock album from a man who knows a thing or two about writing really great rock albums.

The Clearing is a subtle, expansive work.

The scale [on The 2nd Law] is such that you have to stand back in a kind of addled awe. Much in the same way that you might regard a 75ft-high luminous pink pissing flamingo water feature; you have to admire the size of the ambition and the craftsmanship, even if it's not something you'd necessarily want at your own house.

It’s not perfect--‘Grab Her’ and ‘Stimulation’ both outstay their welcome and the glitchy ‘Second Chance’ feels like it’s from a different album--but it’s a consistently thrilling debut.

Errors have never sounded more magnificent.

This sticky mess is his best yet.

With frantic whip-crack beats, chirruping synths and a booming 'no messing' baritone, the NYC duo's anti-authority anthems rage against the hypocrisy.

They've left easy indie-disco hits behind and are now proving they're some of the most capable songwriters around.

A gentle collection, evocative of a transitional time.

Grips you like summer flu.

The rapid and rabid ‘You’ve Got Me Wonderin’ Now’, replete with wonky recorder, matches the velocity of that record [Light Up Gold], as does the hurtling ‘Descend (The Way)’.

It’s a sensory experience throughout.

Their boldest and most fantastically frisky record to date.

In The Belly Of The Brazen Bull is honest, sweaty and delirious.... Their most exciting album yet.

The result is a collection of songs that really soar in a way that some previous material hasn’t.

Their minimalist throb is challenging at first, yet allowing the likes of 'Brains' and 'Propagation' to seep in is to be submerged in an invigoratingly ballsy album.

As closer ‘Black’ fades out, it’s clear MONEY have made something special and, maybe, even sacred.

The record overflows with the tell-tale nuances of a band who have learnt how to translate grandiosity into something more restrained, yet no less forceful.

Wonky yet warm, it's an accomplished balancing act from an ever-growing band.

One Day finds Rowland weary, woozy and nakedly accepting of loneliness and age; a true soul man.

Hawley ditches his heavily orchestrated, Indie Orbison Of The North shtick in favour of a sound that's darker, ragged and riff-heavy. It works.

'Here Come The Bombs' is a sublime first solo effort.

It’s a half-hour packed with ideas and wonky ambition.

[Zoo will piss you off if you think] their Fugaziish formative albums are sacrosanct and that any deviation voids them in the eyes of The Living Christ Our Lord Henry Rollins. Two, you hate loud noises.

AlunaGeorge are a pop act at heart, with most of this debut’s songs anchored to a radio-friendly chorus.

Far from daft, Tomorrow’s Harvest is a psycho-spiritual stormer.

If this is bedroom pop, it surely stems from the most cluttered yet colourful bedroom imaginable.

'Dead Set On Living' also explores such lyrical subjects as being the offspring of a particularly nasty nuclear winter, but does so to a cauldron of riffs and deathly roars stolen straight from the depths of Hell so pant-wettingly exciting, that it's impossible to do anything but scream along.

'Tiger Talk' allows YB to earn their stripes as purveyors of plush, 70s-inspired powerpop.

Essentially, Crybaby is an album that achieves exactly what it set out to do.

This mostly-great follow-up is occasionally waylaid by its determination to make bad instruments sound good.

One of the most brilliantly chaotic, mesmerising albums you'll hear all year.

Guitar work comes across as the strongest feature of 'Spooky Action At A Distance' – tricky arpeggios and impeccably crafted feedback combine to create bleary, Kurt-Vile-esque smokescapes.

A jubilant collection.

A very, very brilliant thing.

Fortunately, the contents don’t disappoint.

On An Object, their blissy ambient tinkerings finally feel earned and essential.

If TOY are a gateway drug, you'll be too high to care by the time this one's done.

Whilst possessing the rich production values Dear's typically celebrated for, 'Beams' sees its creator grow with confidence, slipping into James Murphy's grubby Converse with ease.

'Major' is a more refined second effort, but one that still holds true to the band's promise of back-to-back hooks.

A fearsome, mind-bending collection.

'Coexist' is a refinement and crystallisation of their debut.

It's the frontloading of moonstruck, airy pop songs that make this album worth your time; snobs who ignore 'True' will simply be wasting theirs.

More Dum Dum than Vivian, September Girls’ debut LP is a reverb-ridden sass-pot of a thing--all fluttering eyelashes and scratchy underbelly.

Don't be fooled by the benign title of James Yorkston's latest album--the songs have some real bite to them, both lyrically and sonically.

We can only hope they soon renew their collaboration; 'Love This Giant''s too big and clever, and Byrne-Vincent too perfect a pairing, to be a once-in-a-lifetime affair.

Wonderfully, it’s somehow nostalgic and current at the same time.

An album of wonderful surrealism.

On NZCA/Lines, he achieves his goal [to make 2012 sexy], slipping from slick pop that transforms the mundane into sheer seductiveness ('Okinawa Channels'), to monastic barbershop harmonies ('AM Travel Approach').

Two Wounded Birds' pains make for mighty pleasurable listening.

Expansive, orchestral and delicate, its beauty [the band's music] is totally deserving of another round of critical acclaim.

Over far too quickly, it's another near flawless record from the Manchester trio.

Beautiful Rewind is the sound of an artist looking to cut loose, and its playful spirit proves catching.

Outlines are blurred between post-punk, rave and a very modern psychedelia; brushing between textures and emotions with skillful subtlety and provoking sincere disappointment.

Despite not reaching for particularly new ground, Confess still manages to excite.

At times a lick more panache might have leavened proceedings, but ‘Winter Reigns” celebration of the great English pub (where “the dark’s never far behind”, naturally) rounds out this confident debut in style.

It's muggy and consuming in the way that using 96 effects pedals at once will be, but there's a vital sweetness that shines through.

What Kanye has created is the most honest--and yes, at times dislikable--record of his career.

METZ is pulverizing, but in an artistic, superior way; the Canada-based trio balance noise, aggression and tact expertly.

It's sentimental in places, but it also marks the 24-year-old out as one of the most exciting new producers around.

Even attention-grabbing appearances by Lovefoxxx and Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor don’t distract from the ambition, intellectualism and plain-speaking seductiveness that make ‘SUM/ONE’ a more than impressive listen.

DIIV exist in the hazy, blissful end of the shoegaze spectrum, where every day is a stoned slice of summer.

It’s undeniably a slacked out soundtrack for dopey wallflowers everywhere, but Unreal is also a surprisingly progressive affair that speaks to your soul.

Thanks to the sheer joy with which he performs it (produced here for the first time by Kieran Hebden), it’s irresistibly, inevitably satisfying.

Social commentary ('Blaze Up A Fire'), emotional nudity ('Elephant') and confessional bravery ('Angel Wings') illuminate a warm, honest album.

Saxophone solos! Samples that may or may not be from the Sugarhill Gang! The EastEnders theme tune sung in the style of Boyz II Men!

Philippakis’s words are open and raw. As for their sound, it’s as vital and as fresh as ever.

They've honed their ability to be urgent and primitive, to write songs that make boys and girls want to snog each other, and added nuance and depth. Everything feels bold, fast and confident.

Dutch Uncles’ third album is easily the Manchester band’s most accomplished effort to date.

A joyous sense of imagination proves to be its own reward.

Nocturne still treads the same paths, but it finds Tatum taking far bigger, more confident, strides.

As the title track gradually morphs from delicate ballad to fisherman shanty to blissful climax it's hard not to be awed, even if those casual listeners might not find much to keep them.

By turns, If You Leave is word-in-the-ear intimate and mountain-range massive.

A complete lack of compromise anywhere. Yet, whilst that means that it takes a few listens for the intricacies to fully come through (alongside stormy brooder ‘Strife’, early single ‘Husbands’ is still the most sonically independent offering here), it fundamentally endows the record with a clarity of vision that justifies all the hyperbole.

"Milk Maid are great!" Shout it from a rooftop.

As with Real Estate, producer Kevin McMachon has coaxed the wispy dreaminess of an excellent debut into a progressive, immersive successor.

This second album is exciting rather than essential, but if it's blown-out ears you want, PS I Love You oblige in style.

This isn’t her masterpiece (that’s to come in the sixth and seventh suites), but it’s only a sliver away.

As the title makes pretty clear, this is a break up record, weeping with Magnetic Fieldsy candid cynicism about love.

If you wanted a masterpiece, this isn’t it--it’s too long and stoned for that. Rather, it’s an invigorating, assertive and magical collection that’s probably cleverer than you are.

Contact is a collection of catchy pop tunes and an eclectic one at that.

There's absolutely no attempt to innovate, but it's not a huge problem when the tunes are as sweetly and simply put together as this. [Jan 2013, p.62]

It's a head-swirling selection of the swankiest electro, techno and house, plus silky soul from Blood Orange, geo-political pop from Condry Ziqubu and howlin' funk from Gospel Comforters.

From the moment jumpy, garagepop opener 'Falcon Eyed' trapezes towards you, it's clear that Cate Le Bon is in carnival spirits throughout her second LP.

On [Strapped] they've toned down their trademark do-or-die spirit and returned with something far more considered and refined.

A couple of piano-led downers bring us to a close; bruised and bleeding, but breathlessly exhilarated.