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

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.

'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.

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

Grips you like summer flu.

Their boldest and most fantastically frisky record to date.

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.

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

This majestic medley of eight 'exercises' is a fine display of creativity, where morphing piano loops sound like the modern classical of Philip Glass honed into a structured formula.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

A gentle collection, evocative of a transitional time.

This sticky mess is his best yet.

Bookended by snippets of crackling fireworks, the aptly-titled 'Celebration Rock' is big on anthems, euphoria and fistpumping rock'n'roll thrills.

We know a damn good noise rock debut when we hear one.

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

Whatever their reference points, Friends always end up sounding like Friends: now but new wavey, cool but catchy, spare but packed with odd sonic squiggles.

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

Perfect imperfection.

Traps shakes with stoned-in-a-basement riffs and sarcasm.

Two Wounded Birds' pains make for mighty pleasurable listening.

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

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.

A sweet, sad record full of wide-eyed wonder and a charming, youthful naivety.