When these three Liverpool lasses let their freak-folk flag fly their abandon is contagious. Their voices are great, which helps, but it's the unexpected instrumentation that really seals the deal.

Exquisitely poised solo pieces that subtly pay homage to the likes of fellow keyboard masters Abdullah Ibrahim and Erik Satie.

While there is nothing here which startles, the spirit of the music is vivid.

Hot Cakes is a rock-solid home win from the band who still do feelgood hard rock better than anyone alive.

Their 12th album covers all points from brutality to beauty in pursuit of epiphanies.

The overall theme is utopia defiled. Until, that is, Deacon – ever the optimist – brings it all together on "Manifest", the big rapturous finale.

Fragrant Word has killer synthpop tunes buried within it, but too often you wonder how much better a record this would have been if they quit dicking around and just gave you the song.

You might even argue that this and its predecessors, My Name Is Buddy (2007) and Pull Up Some Dust and Sit Down (2011), represent the most cogent work of his long career.

Jamal sounds close to his 1950s Chess Records best.

Her talent and pain are equally raw and equally audible.

One day, maybe the Lips will play nice again. Until then, they and their Fwends have given us plenty to get our heads around.

The wisdom expressed is crusty but benign, poetic and sometimes witty.

While there's perhaps a surfeit of synth-washes, the beautiful "Winter Elegy" superbly fulfils the opening promise.

Gossamer is hard to fault, besides the fact that it's more of the same.

This is one of the most exhilarating albums of the year.

"I wanted", Ocean wrote, "to create worlds that were rosier than mine. I tried to channel overwhelming emotions." Mission accomplished, and then some.

Thankfully, the Knife have remained true to their essential principles.

On record, this is a joyous burst of blissed-out world pop.

[Life is Good] proves once again that Nas is one of the smartest and most skilled players in the game.

This is a belting return to form by the best vocal artist in jazz.

The slightly sterile neo-soul fump of the Roots may lack the feel of their progenitors but the songs make up for that.

The odds-and-ends nature of this compilation is spelt out by its title, but the quality barely suffers for that.

With treasurable details – the dubbed-up refrain of "Black Icy Stare", the Merseybeat-ish groove of "Karmatron" – feeding into an overall ambience of lotus-eating sensuality.

Not a perfect debut, but one that leaves you with the feeling that we're dealing with a living, thinking artist here, not just another Brit School waxwork.

A hitherto only-hinted-at humour (try "UK Blues") punctuates this hypnotic and haunting glimpse into an imperial isolation.

It may not be for everyone, but it's evidence that there are still some restless minds out there.

When it's good, it's a thrilling and ambtitious state-of-the-nation address.

Sounds like Kraftwerk's Autobahn driven by a tractor. Forget Krautrock, and say hello to Yokelrock.