Mis-steps like the sticky Santana-worship on 'Hanuman' are far less palatable, but when the combinations match up, it proves exactly how impressive this band have become.

This is a missed opportunity, but it's commendable that when both parties are not at their strongest the results can still satisfy.

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.

Though Brightest Darkest Day isn’t a world-changer, you have to admire this pair’s indisputable dynamism.

On the whole, Tender Signs struggles to get beyond the level of an immersive period piece.

To say Michael Kiwanuka's debut is not the most modern-sounding album would be an elephant-sized understatement.

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.

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)’.

Far more stripped back than the Charlatans frontman's previous offerings, Oh No flits between affecting moments (the rather gorgeous 'Hours') and repetitive down-beaters ('A Case For Vinyl') that seem to go nowhere.

For a Tarot-themed rock album made by an immortal megalomaniac, it's actually OK. Especially the loud bits.

Provides far more ecstasy than agony.

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

The Jezabels are so nearly there on 'Prisoner'– they just to focus.

Sadly, Siberia is lacking any genuine spark.

All designs are firmly fixed on a glorious technicolour gem, but it's fair to say results are mixed.

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

'Port Of Morrow' is a glorious and confident return, even if it lacks a little darkness at times.

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.

Most of the tracks are about as blank and sterile as an airport terminal.

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.

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.

While there are individual moments that are up there with the band’s best, Right Thoughts falls short of the return to form the opening tracks suggest.

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

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

[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.

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

Don’t Forget is just possible to enjoy. But only in mod-eration, of course.

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.

Ester is very much an individualist work.

When it works, it’s brilliant.... But at times Caramel feels undercooked.

It may be a skip away from the processes they know best but, in 'In Time To Voices', Blood Red Shoes find fresh invention.

There are moments of weightlessness and beauty here.

It's largely uninspired and generic dance music, all industrialised dystopia and insouciant dehumanisation, making U&I an often prosaic return.

While Dry The River stick resolutely--and somewhat predictably--to their 'start quiet, build to a stomping ending' mantra throughout, Shallow Bed is an uplifting debut.

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...

This is just the latest in a series of EPs from the Philadelphian, though some may quibble it’s light on original material.

Magic free and generally shapeless, TEEN have some real growing up to do.

An album of wonderful surrealism.

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

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.

Occasional cringe-inducing lyrics aside, 'Dry Land Is Not A Myth' gets everything bang on.

For now it’s still deliciously entertaining.

Menace Beach may have their sonic ingredients already established, but the result is even better than the sum of their parts.

The band's fifth full-length is a sluggish drone of guitars so muddy they sound like they were recorded in a bog married to pseudo-spiritual waffling from singer Dave Heumann.

Surrounding himself with talent that far surpasses his own doesn't hide the weakness of many of these tracks.

Mostly, though, the music on Sistrionix is plain bad.

This is as forceful, salacious and dangerous as they’re likely to get.

Prepare to swoon.

Ghostory is as potent and decadent as School Of Seven Bells have ever been.

In the end, it’s all a little too demure to really shout out loud about.

If he'd shown us a little more, MU.ZZ.LE would be altogether more satisfying, but that's just not Gonjasufi's style.

Not exactly champion wordsmiths, then, but the ebulliently heart-warming rush of the tunes is reason enough to forgive any clunkers.

On [Strapped] they've toned down their trademark do-or-die spirit and returned with something far more considered and refined.

Halcyon is a bold and confident step forward.

Basically, you can listen to all 11 tracks of This Is... Icona Pop and have a reasonable time, or you can put I Love It on repeat, forever, and have the time of your life.

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

Impressively diverse but united by a strain of quintessentially Maccabeean hopeless hopefulness, it's an outpouring of both technical brilliance and affective emotion that thrives in its sheer humanity.

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.

A loveable pop debut.

The suave Londoner’s debut is a deeply ridiculous affair, but something about his Cave-meets-Cohen shtick endears.

"Milk Maid are great!" Shout it from a rooftop.

In and of itself, So Long, See You Tomorrow is more or less flawless BBC; their music has always been polite, erudite and winsome, and that beat does not skip here.

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

Sledgehammer riff-filled rock doesn't need to be clever, but it sure as heck needs to sound like it's driven by full-pelt, carnage-causing energy. And that's where Band Of Skulls' second effort falls short.

With the wind still in their sails, Tennis have smashed another winner.

Even attention-grabbing appearances by Lovefoxxx and Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor don’t distract from the ambition, intellectualism and plain-speaking seductiveness that make ‘SUM/ONE’ a more than impressive listen.

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.

America Give Up proves them to be far more exciting than a mere second generation rip-off.

[An] intense, skeletal, and actually-rather-dreary debut.

On Four Bloc Party manage to make their affecting and dizzyingly devilish music sound relevant and exciting again.

Outlines are blurred between post-punk, rave and a very modern psychedelia; brushing between textures and emotions with skillful subtlety and provoking sincere disappointment.

Beneath every stoner vocal or woozy guitar line there’s enough melodic nous to ensure Melbourne never wobbles too far into drug casualty territory.

An album that ups the radio-friendly factor without compromising any emotion.

Whilst often brilliant, Crawling makes you wonder why Pure X have swapped pleasure for pain.

'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.

It all feels rather too short, which was surely Mazes’ plan all along: leave ‘em wanting more.