One of Haines' best efforts, Nine And A Half Psychedelic Meditations On British Wrestling Of The 1970s And Early 80s is an album that does much to encourage the here and now as it does to paint an impression of a time long gone.

Ersatz GB still trumps most records released this year as, one suspects, The Fall always will.

Under the rule of Worden's powerful vocal these sophisticated compositions provide a gripping, melodramatic exploration of a mindset both childlike and brooding.

Simply, we are left with more evidence of a true American original, who was also as important in his own way as Harry Smith or Alan Lomax and other such college-educated curatorial spirits.

Welcome to Condale is a refreshingly ambitious, variegated take on the 80s both conceptually and in its execution.

It's difficult to say Humor Risk is better than WIT'S END, but it is certainly its perfect counterpart.

The key success of Hurry Up is that his canvas has exponentially increased in size.

Put simply, nobody else could make music quite like this, no matter which part of the electronic fringe they might call home. Daniel Lopatin is in the zone.

A stunning example of the intermingling of bodies, both sonic and artistic.

On the whole, though, these songs are at their best when grounded in low region trickery: rumbles, clipping sounds, droplets, shudders, judders and all manner of absorbed low freak-uency eeriness, as exhilaratingly creepy as anything offered up by trip-hop's most skilled practitioners.

It is a peculiar little record, but it hangs together very well, and makes a reasonable case for his ability to wring something worthy out of whatever art form he chooses to tackle.

They've always been a subtle unit, resisting obvious moments of catharsis in favour of subtle dynamics, but here they manage the trick that Khanate mastered so effectively and create a tension that derives as much from the fear of silence as it does from the threat of noise.

One of the most darkly enthralling instrumental records of the year.

From the toughest moments are borne the most compelling work, and, in Evile's case, in crafting an album as assured as Five Serpent's Teeth they surely deserve to sit atop the modern thrash elite.

On the Water is a 'love album', but much more than that--seldom has a long player narrated so fluidly, consummately and lucidly, a journey of self-realization.

These songs will do very nicely, thanks, as reassurance that Gallagher can still deliver evocative and memorable tunes.

Okay, so it won't be most people's cup of tea, but Gauntlet Hair is a brave and defiantly individual effort.

A softer collection of songs, harnessing more sincerity than his last two general-release LPs (as opposed to Orion, which was online-only), Easy Tiger and Cardinology.

By shedding much of his fantastical baggage but none of his charm, he has created a nimble, playful little album that ranks among his very best.

Coracle is a perfect soundtrack to the hazy, misty-morninged Indian summer we're enjoying. Long may it continue.

I found hooks I hadn't noticed while playing it worming through my head days later, and there's no better testimonial to Rustie's managed moreness than that.

A teenage dream of a record.

It is a proper bass album representing all aspects of the current dance music scene through a noble kind of austerity.

Nothing here is complex or highbrow, but instead filled with the joy and clarity of understanding and connecting.

While the album is often indulgent, this isn't necessarily a downfall.

The Hunter is an example of how to crossover without selling out--something Metallica never learned--and no matter how many copies it sells, this is the mainstream heavy rock album of the year.

In Villalobos and Loderbauer's hands, then, the ECM catalogue becomes more than simply a stone set of recorded pieces of music (music as noun) but a further set of tools with which to music (music as verb). Which, although taking Villalobos some distance from his usual club-centric music, remains in spirit with both his and Loderbauer's usual ethos--pushing boundaries, breaking down barriers.

It's to the remixers' own credit--and perhaps, also, to the homogenous nature of the source material--that TKOL RMX 1234567 does a fine job of highlighting each producer's own idiosyncracies.

The Whole Love is, therefore, just another Wilco album. But it's Wilco at the top of their game, or at least close to it, patrolling territory they've made their own and secure in the knowledge that they belong there.

If the EPs marked the group out as hazy, lo-fi practitioners in the Beach House mould, In Heaven benefits from a general polishing-up on terms of production, but more importantly from a more varied stylistic palette.

Conatus seldom reaches the same level of experimentation as Danilova's collaborations with the likes of LA Vampires. But what she proffers instead is far tastier: a deft fine-tuning of the slick and stylish formula of Stridilum II, with the slightly schlockier moments of melodrama eschewed for something more sophisticated.

Tinariwen's Tassili may not have the distorted guitars of previous records, but the acoustic recordings suit the contemplative mood and makes for a powerful return to their roots, as the musicians' circumstances, like getting lost in the desert, go in circles.

As a general rule on New Brigade, the faster, shorter and more atonal the tracks, the more intriguing the Danes become.

Overlook is not her best record, but is an encouraging return to a sensibility marked by deliberation and sensuousness in equal measure.

Hell on Heels is one beautiful amble.

It may just be Anthrax's most consistent material since Among The Living in 1987.

Floreat isn't simply a seduction--in the most understated way, it's too intense for that.

Crucially, her sense of humour remains intact, sharp and lethal – the sweet laments carried by her increasingly accomplished voice feel often to be one step away from, not laughter exactly, but self-deprecation, or a mordant smile at her own expense.

In its explicit references towards woozy psych, soul and even glam, Tripper is better, and marks Johnson as being a songwriter and rock auteur deserving of comparison with the likes of Mercer, Andy Cabic and Jim James.

The voices are huskier, the music juicer, the innocence of yore starting to chip away as Paradise sees them explore the dark side of vice and life. They're are all the better for it.

It may not be the Rapture many were expecting this year, but this triumphant return to form is pretty glorious nonetheless.

Where debut EP Summertime! and the über-hyped eponymous first album's songs had an oddly melancholic joyfulness that captured a number of imaginations back in early 2010, here there's a quiet switch to an oddly uplifting melancholy. On the best songs, that is – too many just sound gloomy and dull.

The engagement with dance music and half-improvised feel lends it an irresistible forward momentum, something that picks up pace throughout the album to exhilarating effect; the album's second half in particular creates a disconcerting sensation of constant acceleration, until it finally collapses into its closing throes and falls away.

Leave No Trace favours synths over horns – in fact, it's not until about ten minutes in that we get our first taste of brass - and whilst the sound is still impressively full-bodied, without the continuous stream of interwoven saxophone and trumpet solos that made its predecessor such a joyous affair it feels pretty empty in comparison.

Dense, professional, and thoroughly realized, Mirror Traffic will become a lot of people's favorite Malkmus album. He sounds more like Malkmus than ever, and it makes me shiver.

It's that mix of astral expensiveness and strict artistry that makes Thundercat's debut LP The Golden Age Of Apocalypse as grand and visionary as its title.

The first Shjips album to be recorded in a proper studio, with an engineer, West is Wooden Shjips' fullest exploration of these tensions to date, and sees the band stepping up their game in every aspect.

Whilst it may lack the game-changing originality of other big 2011 releases, the record spans half a century of musical history more effectively than any other in recent memory.

Where the warm, bright finish on Fondo made it gleam expansively, occasionally here you wish for a little more space in the mix and in the arrangements, if only to allow us to explore Vieux Fara Touré's beautiful songs more freely.

From a purely musical perspective, however, it executes that very most rare form of retroism--the type that makes the tired, forgotten and domesticated once again radical.

Its huge, cocaine-pricked melodies remain present and correct throughout, but the tracks themselves are among his best so far.

The result is a woozily involving mood piece that encompasses everything from the shimmering heat of daytime ('Lifesized Stuffed Animal', where music box chimes rub up against disoriented square wave bass) to the dead of night, caught in the lairy drunken lurch of 'Kitties'.

Bermuda Drain is, from the off, a massive step forward for Prurient.

While the album is by no means a disappointment, one can't help but long for the return of a less inhibited Krug, free of – albeit self-imposed – limitations.

Life's Rich Pageant rather sweetly gathers the emotions and carries them back to the time.