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'.

The Clearing is a subtle, expansive work.

More Light is prosaic, but also proof that when you want to rally a new generation, it’s not Marcus Mumford you want holding the megaphone.

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

Something's exquisite charms confirm that Chairlift mk.II are a much-improved proposition.

It's a record that effortlessly juxtaposes chopped up electronics and ghostly effects with James' supersweet voice to create eleven strange but simple pleasures.

The Californians still play ethereal tunes that could waft on forever.

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

Perfect imperfection.

[Unsound] is as rough, ragged and wracked as they've ever been, the likes of 'Dust Devil' and '7's' pushing needles thoroughly into the red.

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

These are songs that flinch as much as they fight, that veer wildly into strange territories but never overindulge and that, essentially, draw all of the best bits from Coxon's weird and wonderful arsenal into one inimitable package.

It’s a sensory experience throughout.

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

Balanced, measured and, when necessary, jump-out-of-the-scented-candle-filled-bath creepy.

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.

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.

Some way off a breakthrough they may be, but they're still a chilling thrill for those unafraid of the dark.

Girls Names make sadness moreish and hypnotic.

An explosion of Snaith's warm-yet-manic verve, this is euphoria from a new master of the dancefloor.

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

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.

Algiers, then, is everything we know Calexico to be: lucid with grit and tempered with melody, easily the equal of their career's best work.

This sinister, skittering collection (recorded before the sad passing of singer Trish Keenan in 2011) is the perfect compliment to Peter Strickland's marvellous film.

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.

This isn't a reinvention of Dinosaur Jr. so much as a sideways glance; a new angle to help us appreciate their wonder in a new light.

Featuring cameos from David Longstreth, Chairlift’s Caroline Polachek, Kindness and more Cupid Deluxe is a rich, rewarding listen.

Spoek Mathambo's mixture of rapid rhymes and genre-melding combining thrillingly.

A refreshingly innovative take on the decade [the 80's], and though it occasionally lacks a little heart, 'Interstellar' at least pushes Rose's talents in an impressive and unexpected direction.

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.

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

This sticky mess is his best yet.

Disenchantment should always be this spellbinding.

What richly rewarding, flourishing, beautiful songs they are.

A jubilant collection.

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

'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.

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

Grips you like summer flu.

A well-rounded and mature second album.

A perfectly-crafted album rich in just about everything.

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!

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.

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’.

Two Wounded Birds' pains make for mighty pleasurable listening.

Nostalgic, positive and romantic, it pumps new warmth into Copenhagen’s cold and concrete punk movement.

Sure, there’s clunky country passages (‘Houston Hades’), brassy crooning (‘J Smoov’) and Cream-y jams (‘Cinnamon and Lesbians’), but Malkmus’ wit remains more than intact in his middle-age.

These are tracks made for the pub, to be bawled to with beating hearts and swollen lungs. Get involved.

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

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

The arrangements can be flabby, but what you'll hear at the heart of Carry On is the voice of one of music's great troubadours.

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.

A fully realised work of intellect and warmth.

Irrespective of genre or decade, 'Rispah' is an astonishing tsunami of emotion which above all, makes you feel alive.

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.

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

A comforting return to the hazy psychedelia and laconic 1960s bohemia of prime BJM, only now with added eastern twinges.

Another twelve inches of brilliance.

It’s intimidating at first, but once your eyes acclimatise, you’ll relish joining them in the shadows.

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

A spectacular, modern take on a classic, timeworn formula.

Their debut is yearning blog-pop, which might be a bit ‘2009 called...’ if songs like ‘New House’ weren’t just as sharp as their 80s, sax-ballad ancestors.

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

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

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

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.

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

The studio remains the band's fourth member and their wind-tunnel intensity is a constant. The compositions are more focused this time round, however, while quiet-loud dynamic shifts are more arresting.

Oozing more nihilistic youthful abandonment than anyone since Black Lips, their manifesto sounds pretty appealing from here.

If you like the idea of blog occupants such as Washed Out and Neon Indian but want to take the hazy filter off their Instagram souls, then 'Gone' could be for you.

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

This is Peace using 90s sounds to channel that decade’s optimism into something positive for today.

Casiokids received a one million Kroner grant from fellow Nordmenn A-ha for musical potential....A-ha can consider their money well spent.

The change becomes Pinback rather well, with newfound self-assurance adding warmth to their melodic nous: sweet and soulful.

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

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

Although it doesn’t always hit the mark, Swim Deep’s debut proves more than capable of matching to the dizzying highs they write about.

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)’.

Provides far more ecstasy than agony.

Their narratives have been stronger before, but 'Noctourniquet' remains abject absurdity masquerading as sexy heroism.

An unholy marriage of the brutal and the brilliant, fuelling suspicion that their best is yet to come.

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

It’s a compelling story; through industry difficulties and growing pains, comes a lovesick, loveable and brilliant album.

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

Sure, this is a great garage rock record--but it’s dreaming even bigger.

Fine, intelligent and, at times, thoroughly heart-warming--but you've got to work for it.

Delightfully creepy.

Join The Dots makes good on the band’s promise to deliver a new album every year, though you can’t help but feel certain songs were neglected in favour of more sophisticated production values.

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

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

[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.

Their LP betrays nothing other than attention to detail, enviable knowledge of their musical history and the ability to chisel hunks of belligerent punk that could revitalise the genre.

It's the freakier corners here that shine bright like neon.

Ultimately, though, such moments [eight-minute behemoth 'Rolling Out' and 'Free Action''s endless harping on a major seventh chord] of purgatory only make tracks like the sweetly-countrified title track and the blissful 'Trails' sound more like some kind of heaven.

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

Their kings of the beach crown may have slipped a little nowadays, but Wavves still offer plenty of no-frills fun.

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]

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.