Experimental yet poppy, awkward yet unforced, Panic Prevention is a minor masterpiece from a truly bar-raising new talent.

As fun and full-on as it gets right now.

Their sophomore album is surprisingly world-weary, but brims with an almost brutal rawness and betrays the pair’s striking talent for storytelling.

It’s a one-trick pony album sure, but what a trick.

Klaxons serve up Day-Glo pagan ritual and pop silliness on toast, and kids get sick on it.

Overblown orchestrations, searing choruses, a demonic self-help tape pastiche and odes to Tom Cruise’s private life are tempered by sparse melodic interludes and tender songs of souls battling against grim routine.

At the heart of this album is a trio of absolute killers.

Roots And Echoes is an album of songs with all the warmth and familiarity of old leather--and as strangely unexciting as that sounds.

A fine album for autumn.

it's great to hear Banhart playing outside of type, and the swagger and muscle occasionally at work suit him surprisingly well.

The incessant hooklines cloy a little after repeated listens, but that’s hardly the most damning criticism of a pop band.

NYPC's restrained disco needs to rip it up and get wilder, cos this down‘n’dirty posse is actually cleaner than a Boots cosmetics counter.

It’s clear that chemistry was in the air.

This mini album sometimes feels as if it’s thrown together like quickly-packed luggage.

There are few dynamic surprises here, and no serrated edges, but this disc's strength lies in its building mass of lumbering, decelerated funk, its textures gluey and thick.

Rather than play catch-up, the Chems are accentuating the difference, digging deeper into melody instead of piling on the noise.

Preposterous, touching and brilliant.

An addictive and immersive debut album.

The sort of euphoric, sweetly intentioned indie pop that, despite occasionally making Belle & Sebastian sound like Da Lench Mob, nevertheless manages to stay the right side of cloying.

Overall, The Sun feels like three men taking things at their own leisurely pace but without wasting a second.

At their best, on Yankee Go Home and Five Easy Pieces, their sound becomes less indie rock than ecstatic chanting.

As lush and expansive as his former work was taut and aggro - only the quality remains.

Godin and Dunkel are peerless at conjuring a mood, and sonically this is typically impressive, but it needs more foreground, more focus.

The translations offer many witty surprises.

This may not measure up to The Hour Of Bewilderbeast, but it does boast a batch of sweet and deceptively unfussy, scruffily heartfelt tunes dealing with love, loss and the messiness of life that help redeem his unarguable songwriting talent.