The Oklahoma songwriter is back with some of her most ebullient, ambitiously styled music to date on St Vincent.

With Loud City Song, Julia Holter marks the scene’s zenith, continuing her journey from obscurity, through marginality and onwards into accessibility.

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

Not a great leap forwards, then, but a welcome throwback nonetheless.

It’s the longest and best Laura Marling record yet.

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.

Occasionally the bare-bones arrangements, a virtue in the main, serve to expose minor shortcomings in the songs. But overall, it’s a quibble far outweighed by the thrill afforded by a record that’s as honest and open-hearted as anything this great band have put their names to yet.

While some of the abstract material here is frustratingly opaque, how many other ‘pop’ acts can you name that would have the brass cojones to drop a near 20-minute track right in the middle of their record? Astonishing.

This debut's sophistication might mean Jessie slinks to the forefront rather than shoving her way to the top, but however long it takes, Devotion marks a new chapter in this future-pop superstar's journey.

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

It’s a pitching and yawing listen, and it’s compelling and punchy in a way that’ll have you bouncing straight out of your chair.

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

Though Modern Vampires Of The City is flawed--there’s no stand-out single, and the low-key ‘Obvious Bicycle’ is far too sombre to justify its billing as the opening track--repeat listens to this third act are rewarded.

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

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

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

At just eight songs, doesn't stick around long enough to outstay its welcome.

These songs are all excellent, and if the album had maintained that level of consistency it might have shaded into genius, but sadly the rest falls short, frequently lapsing into a pleasant but slight flexing of Thundercat’s considerable chops.

A who's who of re-mixers have been cast for the job, and there's value in finding their take on Nick Cave's already unique sound.

The now-quartet’s fourth record marries prickly melody with glossy discord, eclipsing not only its predecessors but its entire genre.

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

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

Despite expanding their sonic remit further than ever, Queens Of The Stone Age are still the same peerless band, indebted only to themselves.

A very, very brilliant thing.

If a sense of staleness had begun to creep in round 2009's 'Popular Songs', Fade pretty much puts them back on track.

Too often inaudible, the band’s uncathartic noise can still test patience as well as nerves.

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

He’s absorbed new influences into the unique framework he creates around his songs, pulling in aspects of house, gospel and R&B to create something alluringly strange yet pleasingly palpable.

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.

Whilst Hegarty's extended speech in 'Future Feminism' fails to grasp wholly, (but will probably fill a void in your pseudo-intellectual appetite), the collection as a whole is an impressively captivating soundscape.

Despite its length and moments of lyrical self-loathing, Wakin' neither bores nor depresses.

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.

Total Strife Forever (thanks, Foals) is an ambitious, absorbing debut, and still probably only a glimpse of what East India Youth’s capable of.

It’s the romantic last dance of an album that shows that they’re still the same old Monkeys. Just dressed up slicker and sexier.

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.

‘Morning’ is stately in a hopeful sort of way; ‘Heart’ an uptempo standout that hints at the quiet majesty of Nick Drake in his ‘Bryter Layter’ period. Meanwhile the striking ‘Wave’ pits Beck’s vocal against a lush, sad string arrangement by his dad--but there are moments where the introspection slides into an acoustic torpor, too.

Mostly, it's a success.

The raspy sonics can’t mask some of their most shrug-worthy songs to date.

The resulting collection of campfire singalongs proving nothing short of magical.

[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.

Tear-stained and unsettled it may be, but the second chapter of Perfume Genius' flamboyant, disturbing story is uniquely compelling.

An album that's sprinkled with magic.

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.

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

Truly special.

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

The juggernauting anthemia that has become their signature is upscaled for Reflektor, a wider-than-widescreen, 70-minute, two-disc odyssey.

It’s a rewarding mixture of romance, wit and fantasy.

It is hard to care too much about something this safe.

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.

Smart guys, smart record.

White Denim continue to teeter there.

An album of controlled explosions that reclaims rock for the oldies and gives the kids something to mosh to.

O'Brien's voice is beautiful and his songwriting often adventurous, but there are times when the aim isn't as true as it could be.

A gentle collection, evocative of a transitional time.

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

'Visions' is a cornucopia of Claire Boucher's most vivid waking dreams. Gripping, then, but also as intangible as the prevailing dread of a forgotten nightmare.

It's pretty f***ing awesome.

[Parts of the album are] bogged by balladry and at times blighted by tales that teeter on puerile, but this Nottingham scamp has got chops beyond his tender years.

It doesn’t quite rank alongside their very strongest material, but there are still more rippling vocal harmonies and gutting one-liners than most bands could be proud of in a lifetime.

A fearsome, mind-bending collection.

The very retro Sleeper is an acoustic affair, characterised by bluesy downers and portentous balladry.

Psychic is perfectly executed, impenetrable.

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

Frankly, it’s a delightful, demented journey into pure psych chaos. Essential listening.

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.

'Lost Souls' is so preposterously raucous it should have the record industry running scared at the point of a pitchfork.

Another near-flawless piece of work.

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

So with their fourth LP, where they burst from the tracks with peppy numbers like ‘Holy’ and Biffy-esque choruses on ‘The Woodpile’, it’s a mite disappointing.

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

It's a startling beginning, but it's followed by eight equally mesmerising, if altogether different, songs.

Be Strong is funny, innovative, uplifting and, most importantly, always fun.

Melody's magic combination of dreamy sonics and saccharine vocals is an inexorable pleasure.

It's really bloody good.

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

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.

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

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

Whilst Lorde’s world creates its own incredibly distinctive atmosphere, it feels accessible and open to maturing.

This is music that demands to be played loud, and often.

Bold, vulnerable and pleasingly disjointed, miraculously Night Time, My Time was worth the wait.

An intimate and very British release to cherish and hold close; it also happens to be one of the year’s best so far.

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

Deerhoof's eleventh album continues their long tradition of delighting and confounding in equal measure.

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.

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

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.

Fortunately, the contents don’t disappoint.

This time round, perhaps due to Courtney’s settling down and the addition of Girls keyboardist Matt Kallman, the band sounds fuller and more mature, with a tendency to look forward rather than harking back to the past.

In short, this time, they've nailed it.

Some of the best material she's ever penned.

[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'.

It might be as modern as loincloth, but ‘California X’ is surely a future classic.

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

Far-out, fascinating, fantastic--just plain F-ing good.

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

'A Different Ship' is a magnificent return.