It is, as you'd expect, spacious, gentle, reachy, euphonious and, for Air, fairly organic sounding.

Equal parts Byrds, Beatles and Burritos, this kicks away the cobwebs nicely.

It's tender, touching and not nearly as miserable as its subject matter suggests.

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

As an 19-track collection of rarities from the period 2003-present, TTEC is necessarily a mixed bag of styles and qualities.

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.

Composer Joe Acheson seems more interested in texture than development and you can long for a discordant voice, but as head-nodding experiences go, this is pretty good.

Woon's work is unashamedly bucolic (he writes songs about going for a walk) and beat-literate (he's worked with Burial), and his tremulous, medieval folk singer voice makes it perfectly bearable.

Conor Oberst has always been an artist to inspire, irritate and frustrate, and on what he says will be the final BE album he does these things in equal measure.

Sistrionix is a hugely enlivening 41 minutes of deliciously distorted vocals, instantly memorable fuzz-up guitar riffs, handclap breakdowns, and vicious put-downs of cheating lovers and sleazebags.

Very musical, it is, if ever so slightly coffee table.

Pretty lovable.

Occasionally the listener is carried away on the soulful cusp of Gonjasufi's scraggly voice, but more often than not they are simply overwhelmed.

Their unadorned, effects-free music remains simple and straightforward, like a rock equivalent of the Dogme school of cinema.

Only the more straightforwardly poppy numbers disappoint, with power-ballad manqué “Crescendo” a particular anomaly.

An unprecedented futuristic hybrid of dubstep, speedcore and math-rock, with lyrics which charge towards unexplored lexicographical horizons.

The second Yelle album is essential for anyone who appreciates dancefloor-friendly European synth pop.

This often sounds more like a BBC4 documentary than a pop record. And that's no bad thing.

Carry Me Back ticks all the boxes: jaunty, soulful, nostalgic without being cloying.

It's nevertheless a hugely enjoyable ride, Clarke and Gore's duelling synths creating an entirely instrumental soundtrack to the sci-fi movie playing inside your own head.

There are no standout songs but that's kind of the point: GTTW washes over you like a cooling stream on a hot day.

You know exactly what to expect: high-energy, hugely entertaining garage rock. And, with the odd exception, that's what they deliver.

For the most part this is a glorious hymn to the art of playing together, of which Lennon would surely approve.

It's the drift, eddy and thrust of the whole ensemble that tells the main story.

There are collaborations with Bobby Womack, Sheila E and George Clinton. All driven by the heavy funk bass of Collins. Which is never a bad thing.

Back to Forever moves things into the 1980s--all fist-pumping verses and “Kids-in-America”-like big choruses.

The main signifier is Peyroux's sound, now as downhome as a chicken shack and artfully haunted as a Cassandra Wilson session. Tasteful.

For the most part it works well, provided you can live with Dawn's butter-wouldn't-melt ingenue phrasing and tone.