As so often before, the duo’s choice of vocal collaborators is timely and transformative, bringing fresh, unexpected angles to their pieces.

The Manics’ band identity proves robust enough to withstand the tweaking.

This is light and breezy pop that marries summery synths with dreamy female vocals.

It takes a few plays to acclimatise to but, once won over, whatever you listen to next will seem pedestrian by comparison. Lovely, but wholly on its own terms.

All of it frothed up into an accomplished brew and delivered with good-timey vim but without a whole lot of charisma, especially in the vocal department. Snake oil, in other words. Good fun snake oil.

The music is softly strummed, and Bird’s voice is a high, lonesome thing like the wind on a prairie. Sort of.

One moment--the Jason Molina tribute “JM”--is startling enough to forgive the clunking stadium-grunge workouts that seem, conversely, to be bringing Strand of Oaks to wider attention.

Songwriter/producer Sergio Pizzorno opted for a more slimmed-down sound, stripping away layers of sound to allow the ideas to speak more clearly.... It’s a brave but largely successful move, as is the shift from mainly guitar-riff-based songs to ones predominantly fuelled by synthesisers.

Listened to sympathetically, as soppy late-night jazz, it’s fine. Just don’t expect sparks to fly.

Giddily debunking sacred falsehoods with good, honest scepticism, Bauer’s raucous rebirth offers the best of both worlds: intrigue and instant reward for Walkmen doubters and acolytes alike.

Charges of over-solemnity may be levelled its way, but only occasionally are the melodic and narrative threads lost to a focus on miasmic, brush-stroked atmospherics.

These songs bounce, buzz and bubble along with timeless life.

“Inside the Idle Hour Club” is the comedown: woozy, wavy, lush, long. Not exactly cohesive then, but hey--it’s a trip.

Her self-produced fourth album executes another dramatic confidence leap.

The first really serious contender for album of the year thus far.

There’s nothing here to quite match his finest moments, but nothing stinks and that, I suppose, is the best you can expect.

Turn Blue’s stealth seduction suggests this much: their wrong-footing instincts should keep them on the right track.

This is an artist with taste and opinions of her own, not just a schedule and a fanbase to satisfy.

The Instagram of albums, which is to say a source of instant nostalgia, its 70s- and 80s-inspired cocktail of disco, house, lounge, samba et al, could be merely kitsch but is elevated both by the meticulousness of its production and the sinuous seductiveness of its melodies.

Old Fears is the sound of a quick, keen mind at work and play.

Blacc proves he’s more than capable of stepping into the spotlight for his first major-label album which features 60s soul, folk, retro pop, R’n’B and even country.

An intimate, introspective album that takes tentative steps to reveal the soul behind the star.

Everett’s earlier, fearless accounts of family tragedy have refined his ability to explore extreme states of emotional disrepair.

This is an instantly engaging showcase of the 23-year-old Aussie’s talents--poppy without diluting her fierce-flowing charisma.

If music be the food of love, Kelis has cooked up something tasty enough to satisfy all but the hungriest of hearts.

A delightful indie pop record that’s by turns intense, playful and touching.

Liars revel in keeping their listeners on edge and entertained making Mess their most wickedly enjoyable album yet.

They sound confident enough to provide space for Finn’s lyrics of high nights and soul-harrowed hangovers