Raw, exhilarating and completely mystifying.

Combining moments of instrumental grandeur with sections so stripped-back they verge on silence, Watson delivers the perfect summer evening soundtrack.

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

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.

Their boldest and most fantastically frisky record to date.

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.

As engaging as an album of mood swings can be.

Although she retains the cool cleverness of an indie icon, this New Yorker's detached demeanour eventually ends up sounding, ahem, trullie dull.

It's slicker than anything Katy's done before – maybe not as long-term-lovable, but certainly worth living with for a while.

The Kasabian-ish 'Danny Come Inside', with its predatory stride, and the tautly atmospheric 'Had It Coming' are rallying gear shifts; disappointingly, the remainder of 'Milk Famous' seems to be on cruise control.

[Once Krug's genius is realized by the world] then riches untold will pile up and allow him to do nothing but make albums like 'Heartbreaking Bravery'.

[Their] slightly-off-kilter lyrical slant is probably the most remarkable thing about Evans The Death's Echobelly familiar indie.

The album captures little of the Opera's live spirit.

The potential for unfocused drudgery could've been huge, but they've sidestepped far enough to create an involving and endearingly creepy work.

It's an album that reels you in, enveloping everything in a black mist, from the slick protestations of 'Dark Star' to the surging intensity of closer 'Leading To Death'.

It's audaciously hit and miss, inevitably, but 'Out Of The Game' is anything but shy and retiring.

Grips you like summer flu.

'Blunderbuss'' weaknesses are diminished by moments of sheer greatness.

Copious candid personal insights are shared with the gravitas of Johnny Cash over a bit of blues here, a fleck of folk there, and country stylings aplenty.

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

At his best, Oberhofer packs emotional punches in the maniacal vocals of 'I Could Go', underscored by proggy synths, billowing flutes and a chorus that stomps around like a giant drunk toddler. Somehow, Oberhofer's melodrama makes getting dumped sound fun. If only he could keep it up over a whole album...

'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.

Pip retains the sizzling electronics and soaring melodies of her first offering, but delivers them like a sultry wrong'un wracked with self doubt, battering drums and attacking every guitar she can lay her hands on.

Morbid one minute, cute the next, finally untangling 'Choreography' is an engrossing pleasure.

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

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

It's enough to hold the interest, although we'd prefer Alabama Shakes to capitalise on their more esoteric elements and cut out the cliches.