She has issued a treasure. She has floored us again.

As far as style and technique go, it's more of the same; quite literally MORE. 'Kish-Kash'? Mish-mash: Basement Jaxx make dancefloor monsters, Frankenstein's monster stylee.

If there's a snag it's not that the album exactly dips - it's just there's a lack of variation of pace, meaning it can be difficult to consume in its entirety at just one sitting. But, with a little patience, it comes alive.

What makes Bunyan's return such an unqualified success is that, unlike so many of those she's influenced (Patrick Wolf excluded) she doesn't come within a country mile of the briar patch of cloying kookiness.

Most of these songs sound like they're taking down whole walls of your average sonic cathedral and replacing them with huge stained-glass windows with a billion pieces in a hundred thousand colours that sparkle like angel's tears when the sun hits them, like. Yes, it is a bit evangelical. It's reverent.

Too much of 'Geogaddi' just rests on the Boards' well established tricks.

Björk has transcended any pop plinth she may (incorrectly) have been placed upon, to become, probably, our greatest contemporary female vocalist since Diamanda Galas.

Rancid are currently the best and most consistent and most observant rock n roll writers on the planet.

The Books make the incongruous harmonious, the silly sensitive and the complex easy to understand. 'Lost And Safe' will sweep you up into an aural world where, for once, beauty and humour co-exist.

Despite its many wondrous moments, 'Feels' is not a record for everyone.

It is undeniable that they can produce beautiful sounds with their equipment, it's just that they do not seem to be able to orchestrate it to any purpose afterwards.

Songs that shamble along in the gutter but can still bite your ankles if pushed.

There are enough pinnacles of musical achievement married with subtle storytelling to justify the scale of this album.

Fourteen listens deep, this is still getting better. All but a rap classic. You know, Kanye's good, but really, fuck that. Ghost for president.

Your new favourite record.

Anyone else tries this, it'll be like being force-fed Sunny Delight by a battalion of pastel-pashmina'd Pokemon on My Little Ponies. In the hands of The Flaming Lips, with their stellar inventiveness and inquisitive sweetness, it's just utterly noble.

As a headphone album, 'These Were... The Earlies' is something of a stunner.

An epic alt.rock symphony that takes the band’s trademark sun-kissed melodies and brass flourishes and melds them into something altogether darker and achingly beautiful. Unsurprisingly, it’s an approach that more than pays off.

'Multiply' sees the flavours of Al Green, Curtis Mayfield, Prince and Sly Stone twisted into 2005 with subtly inventive touches and modern production suss.

So once you get behind the relatively unobstructive and emotive voice, what you have is the sound of NYC circa '77 pushed through the ramshackle indie filter.

It's painstakingly layered and often lush, but sometimes scrubby and miserably sparse.

One of those classy records that will sound good forever, no matter what you do with it.

As long as you are open, you will love this album. It will be as important to a lot of people as 'The Queen Is Dead'.

The whole thing makes for a masterclass in enigma and economy.

It sounds oh-so-fashionable, but it isn't simply an instance of über-credible semi-celeb DJ/producer wanking all over his decks and a handful of records no one ever heard of; every single track is not only quality, but accessible.

Confrontational, clammy, brimming with confidence... ‘Royal Society’ is as majestic as its title implies.

A quite beautifully realised album.

They actually sound like they've elected to live in a cocoon full of aromatic candles, a huge collection of musty records, some drugs, some books, and a collection of mid eighties Peel sessions alphabetically labelled on TDK C90s.