The dreamy 'Clone' has a touch of the Cocteau Twins about it, while the title track's polished riffs are pure powerpop. Only occasional moments – the lame guitar lick on 'Breathing Under Water' being one – sound outdated, proving that when it's done well, a little nostalgia doesn't hurt.

It veers wildly between the divine and the comedic, but this is positively imperious preposterousness.

Although it doesn't stray hugely from the meandering blueprint of last year's '936', 'Lucifer' throbs with warmth, occupying a dreamy hinterland beyond Big Youth and Beach House.

At times, without the visual aids of the stage production, it whips from cohesive to confusing but, for the most part, 'Dr Dee' is a boundary-pushing triumph.

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

Initially it is exciting – the title track and 'Hips And Lips' pack a visceral punch – however, repeat plays reveal that 'The National Health' offers nothing particularly new.

Overall, this is a daring, dynamic and dramatic debut.

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

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

Constantly exhilarating, it's a sensory obliteration that proves that now, more than ever, APTBS are much more than just noise.

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.

Ultimately, Endless Flowers is a poppier, prettier record than Crocodiles have managed before.

Occasionally there are garish synths nauseating enough to induce a hangover on their own, and it's only then that WHB remind you why nu-rave is a genre best forgotten.

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

[WIXIW is] dizzying, discordant and heavily rhythmic, as Andrew, Hemphill and Gross weave found sounds, freaky fragments of melancholy off-kilter melody, spiralling keyboard motifs, flurries of strings and distorted vocals and riffs through electronics that crunch and crack like shattered glass.

You'll only get a kick out of this record if you think all music made since 1976 is terrible and have absolutely no desire to hear anything new whatsoever.

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

'Matilda' is superb, squirmy avant-pop, 'Tessellate' sports a pleasing, stuttering, polyrhythm, whilst 'Breezeblocks' skitters beneath multilayered vocals.

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

Inconsistency's a little too much the watchword, but there are none more Something For Everyone.

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

Occasionally it's beautiful--the acoustic breakdown in 'Thoughts' is unexpectedly sublime--and often beguiling.

Moments of cringe-worthiness aside, album two rejoices in TTT's expansive and elaborately emotional ballads.

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

'A Different Ship' is a magnificent return.

'Walk The River' is defiantly sky-punching stuff, chipping away at its own corner of neoclassicism between latter-day Pulp and late-80s Tears For Fears and displaying not only an excess of soaring Dangerfield vocals but also plenty of roaring guitars...and deftly-exploring haunt-pop suss.

A witches' broth of soothing vocals, swooshing 90s synths and computer drum beats.

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.