It'll make you dance and sing until you sweat, and although it stutters in places and has plenty of sections that build but frustratingly never execute the finish to shatter your eardrums, it's an album that is very difficult to truly dislike.

This is a confused mess of a record, with nonsensical lyrics, trite musical clichés, and not a lot else.

While the relentless realisation of their film-ready stylings may not be to everyone's tastes, the fact they're here at all in the first place is a cause worth celebrating in itself.

The vocals, the terrible rhymes... it's business as usual then for Liam; it's just scrubbed up a bit.

It's pleasantly pristine stuff from the still relative newcomer.

While mellow and downbeat at times, the subtle happiness could have been made more evident from the inclusion of ‘Paint A Smile On Me’.

There’s a bit of filler in the form of the relatively stagnant ‘Xmas In Japan’; but pretty much all of the other tracks are just great big fun dancefloor fillers.

The epitome of indie clichés, Drowners have done nothing to break their mould, and On Desire does little to appease the want for something more.

It’s both over-produced and underwhelming.

The second album from the Phenomenal Handclap Band may not contain anything as exciting or danceable as the highlights of their debut but, despite its disappointments, there is still plenty on Form & Control for anyone who enjoyed their debut to appreciate.

In the grand scheme of things, Sequel To The Prequel is a definite step in a positive direction.

Hit The Waves offers little in way of innovation, an unthreatening album to Sigur Ros and The Knife’s releases later this year, but The Mary Onettes are perfectly happy to look backwards.

Having been dogged with comparisons to Friendly Fires since their formation, it is ironic that this record perhaps sounds like the kind of misstep that the St. Albans band made themselves with their second album 'Pala'.

There are a few duds thrown into the pack--closing pair ‘Into The Sun’ and ‘Walk Out Music’ offer little of interest and ensure the record goes out with something of a whimper--but there’s enough on With You Tonight to suggest Summer Moon might gather something of a cult following.

Flashes of the airtight songwriting that ran through ‘Scream Aim Fire’ and ‘Fever’ remain--closer ‘Pariah’ does controlled fury very well--but otherwise, it has to be case of back to the drawing board, because Bullet sound as if they’re beginning to run on fumes.

Glitterbug is a tired album that lacks invention and makes the landfill indie tag even easier to attribute.

As loud and aggressive Flats can sound it can't come close to hiding a lack of pretty much everything other than extreme volume and misplaced nothing-better-to-do-than-have-a-go-at-everyone-else small-minded aggression.

Odell may well sell a lot of records (though long term, he may not) but as far as art to engage and inspire goes, Long Way Down has precious little to recommend it.

The music is a little too polished-sounding to have ever seen actual garages, and there doesn't seem to be much of the charm of, say, contemporaries Palma Violets, pervading any of the record's twelve tracks. But it's fun, and fun is sometimes just about enough.

The beautiful part about Bad Blood is that it is both entirely predictable yet completely disarming.

In a record where there are a minor derivations on a tried and tested formula, 'Still Life' is a major curveball; a high-risk almost jazz-like number that's almost ruined by the strange whizzing noise that could easily be a kazoo teasing its wares throughout.

This is an album that suffers from having altogether too much surface and not nearly enough substance.

A laid-back album Altogether may be, it still leaves a sense of anticipation as to where the group will head next.

Cave Rave is outlandish, silly, summery and as brilliant as its title, and Crystal Fighters have somehow managed to continue in making their seemingly unattainable mix of traditional instrumentation and ideas and dubby electronics work without disaster.

Taken on its own merit Rituals is a bright and bombastic record that harbours a darker underbelly. ... And though there’s a chance it will alienate a small portion of established fanbase, it will certainly earn the band more than it loses.

Despite hiding behind the veil of electronic experimentation, Thom Sonny Green has taken a brave step forwards.

Slick production and a consistency in sound may make for easy listening but if you pay too much attention it all starts to sound a bit contrived and cheesy.

Not a lot on Spreading Rumours makes sense. It doesn't match, even in its apparent desperate attempt to sound like the bargain bin of an Urban Outfitters.

Named after a match-winning wrestling move, Coup De Grace isn’t quite going to do that, but it’ll get Miles through to the next round

'Weapons' has no shortage of big choruses, slick production and crunching riffs but is let down by tired lyrics and too many forgettable songs.

This latest effort from Australian trio Methyl Ethel is a lithe, sinewy creature, by turns weighted and buoyant, half darkness and half shimmering light.

‘Hassan Chop’ is a welcome reprieve towards the end, introducing some of the relentless punk drive of the band at their best, but it does little to revive the rebellious ethos ‘Let The Bad Times Roll’ clearly strives for. Forged from our current volatile climate this may be; an appropriately cutting and volatile response, however, it certainly is not.

Engaging and draining, Parquet Courts have once again pushed their capabilities to the max, and as ever, the results are like nothing you’ll find elsewhere.

At its best, Youngish American exists at the nexus of day-job classics ‘Giving Up the Gun’ and ‘Unbelievers’, offering glimpse of Chris’ massive potential to be an engaging solo star.

If a little more time been spent focusing on the increased R&B influence, Tranquilizers could've been the rejuvenation chillwave deserves.

So far, so great. But when the use of vocals is taken into overdrive on final track ‘Go On Without Me’, where Jacob Bannon from hardcore punks Converge offers up his jarring scream, it’s almost on the borderline of becoming too much.

Perhaps the biggest criticism about Brain Holiday is that it does become a bit of a yawn towards the end.

Medicine is an album that baffles just as much as it thrills.

For those open to more electronic sounds, this will likely be a great release and to those who are dubious of change, the band have accounted for that with a handful of numbers that more or less embody their established sound.

Too much of the album’s mid-section is plagued by Kele’s whimper, and the experimentation with guitar sounds sometimes prioritises method over melody, but there’s diamonds in the rough that shine as bright as the best of Bloc Party.

While in small increments ‘Sexorcism’ feels incredibly empowering and progressive, when you go 12 rounds on the trot, it fast becomes a law of diminishing returns, clumsy in its own damp puddle.

With a bit more focus and a more cohesive feel running throughout it, this could've been a great record. As it is, perhaps as a result of their success to date and the expectation it undoubtedly brings, it feels almost like a missed opportunity.

'Look To The Sky' sees him returning to the spotlight with an album that only fleetingly hints at his past glories.

With new tools, they’ve taken liftoff from a proven formula when they really didn’t have to.

If you are prepared to enter into the listening experience with open ears and an open mind then you will be rewarded with an album of remarkable completeness that feels like a genuine coming of age for two musicians who are growing a little older with a significant degree of grace.

Forget the fact that even at its best moments the album still kind of sounds like a RATM reunion minus Zack de la Rocha, the biggest issue with ‘Prophets Of Rage’ is that it’s not as radical as it thinks it is. Is it competent and confident, energised and engaging? Sure. But there’s nothing new here.

Planta is the sound of a band rejuvenated, a diverse yet cohesive effort that tightens the sonic screws without losing any of the warmth and identity they’ve managed to create for themselves.

Wiped Out! is a fine wine in a sea of vodka Red Bulls, and having successfully mixed pop, rock and hip-hop together, it seems like they have finally defined their sound as a band.

It’s a great--albeit mis-matched--collection of songs.

It's in the middle where the album begins to sag, thanks to some monotonous backings and noticeably weaker hooks ('Remote Control'/'Tell the Vision') which lead the runtime to become alarmingly apparent, before strong features on 'Keep My Spirit Alive', 'Moon' and 'Pure Souls' further begin to force Kanye awkwardly into the background on his own album. He positions himself closer to the spotlight towards the final third.

A record that does the musical equivalent of wrapping its arms around your body and giving you a nice, warm hug.

Much of the album either grates or bores.

There are moments on Coming Up For Air that lay claim to a genuine force, the kind who’ve earned their Chris Martin-endorsed stripes. They’re yet to truly claim their own territory, though, and any attempts to reinvent the wheel fall flat with an almighty thud

'Days Go By' doesn't catapult them back to their prime; there's a lot of issues that can be picked out, be it recognisable musicality or questionable song choices. Having said that, when The Offspring do get it right on this record, they are great.

Reptar have pieced emotions together, both euphoric and heartbreaking, to create a debut that, although perhaps too varied in places, is a great starting point for the quartet.

Unsurprisingly, this collection does sometimes border on becoming stale; 10-30 second fillers appear somewhat pointlessly bookended between certain tracks. But, more often than not, Friedberger does spice things up.

This is far from a bad album but it's also far from matching their best... 'This Machine' is both an attempt to recapture the glory days and a sad admission that it can't be done.

L.A. Divine is simply too rigid for Willett to shine. Joe Plummer, while undeniably talented, is a less subtle drummer than Matt Aveiro and locks Willett into predictable, percussive grids that give his voice a jarringly artificial, almost showtune quality.

Musically confused, frequently lyrically painful (closer ‘Erotic Letter’ needs to be heard to be believed), its ego is so overpowering it ends up as a sweet relief against a backdrop of po-faced, fence sitting peers.

This eponymous debut is a well-rounded effort for a band that clearly has a knack for stadium-filling melodies and angst-ridden confessions. Anthemic in most parts and enjoyable in all, Various Cruelties deliver a debut that's moving and memorable.

While they could go darker, grizzlier, or even shinier, I Love You achieves what few debuts can, by making one hell of an opening statement.

This is boy band material dressed up in an indie band’s clothes.

The result is still just a big, slick, debatably-decent pop record.

Lyrically it is definitely awful.

Levine has done a wonderful job of creating a work whose humble beauty easily can captivate you if you let it.