Put simply: there isn't a bad track on 'Blood Mountain', which will be seen as the metal release of this year, on whichever level you care to mention.

Sigur Ros do this better than anyone else right now.

The trouble is, the much-lauded braggadocio of 'Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not' is hollow.

A great release from a great new talent, Kano has the words and the beats to deliver.

It's every bit as essential as any of its predecessors; completely essential, in other words.

Like The Polyphonic Spree stripped of all their faux compound dwelling arse wittery, this is an unambiguous shot of serotonin straight to your head and heart.

This is a record for the late night after a later one; the cauterised throat, the yellow of the reading lamp, and the restless shifts in twisted sheets.

About as disappointing a follow-up as you could ever imagine.

The album sees the band moving on from the Libertines-aping chord structures of their debut and pushing in new directions.

If you like your dance music jerky, nasty and just a little bit angry, Death From Above are your boys.

Distant connections are subconsciously weaved into an undulating whole that fans of electronica, Tortoise and Mogwai will all appreciate - at least in parts.

Mostly, it's Chan's wonderfully bold and understated piano and guitar work that makes 'You Are Free' what it is, a collection of shapely and becoming lo-fi oddities.

Whether this is an album that actually suits them is another matter, but it actually makes them feel entirely relevant and, for as prolific a decade-old band, that’s high praise indeed.

'Rooty' isn't going to change your world - 'Remedy' did that - but it is another indispensable, truly, properly, madly inventive and utterly enjoyable album of the sort that, at the moment, only Basement Jaxx make.

'Panda Park' is a strange record, though whether you think it's any good or not depends on your tolerance levels.

A tour de force of infectious acid techno and head-rush-inducing electroclash and, as likely as not, this year's essential dance purchase.

If there's a main criticism of this record then it's the fact that it's not entirely cohesive.

'Silent Alarm' is a brilliantly accomplished art rock record that immediately immerses you in a world of taut, late 80s post-punk, melodic indie. It rarely lets up.

There are moments of prog rock, jazz fusion and freakydelia in this rush of ideas and if that sounds awful then don't be put off. Instead of the shambolic mess that this kinda influence normally entails Mars Volta have come strictly disciplined.

Admittedly, this time round he's prone to touch on more comfortable territory than before... but often there's a delicious sense of him going back to basics without sacrificing the benefits of modern technology.

Akin to Bowie's 'Hunky Dory', in its senseless but brilliant eclecticism.

Most of the time 'Lowedges' is so laid-back in Hawley's well-bedded-in, Fifties crooner way, it almost buries itself.

There is just enough balance between the tune, and the unexpected jazz chords, ear-splitting squeals, and lovely harmonic noises to make it forever listenable.

Elbow have made the most passionate, beautiful and downright special record you'll hear this year.

'Rather Ripped' is the most accomplished and mature album Sonic Youth have done in years.

A decade after he first set an impossibly hard act to follow, Jarvis Cocker has returned with an album that knocks not only his ageing contemporaries, but many of his descendents, for six.

It’s this rediscovery of how to make pop music with loud guitars and peculiar sounds which makes Kaito so fresh.

Not, perhaps, the hugest of leaps from 'The Noise Made By People', granted, but that album, fine though it was, was very much parking on specific continental territory; 'Ha Ha Sound', by contrast, feels like it wants to explore somewhere more bearingless.

Yes, there is a lot in the way of failing relationship therapy on here, but when it's done with such eloquence and downright elegance it'd be churlish to treat it with the disrespect more easily afforded to music's legions of professional disenchanteds.

This album is sublime.

This is better than anyone could have expected.

'Aerial' towers over the vast majority of even this year's embarrassment of riches.

No-one makes gizmos and machines prong like fruity tuning forks as well as this man, nor do they construct such vivid atmospherics with such cunning simplicity.

He lays bare pissed-off tantrums and his emotion through a burgeoning self-belief and raw musicality to create his endearingly bittersweet masterpiece.

This is a subtle record that rewards what you're willing to put in.

Though not really getting the joke can somewhat divorce the listener from proceedings, the slick, masterful production and real-life cameos from the likes of Ghostface and particularly Cee-Lo on the majestic 'Benzi Box' make up for the feeling of exclusion.

They've totally nailed it.

Even if you only have a passing interest in 70s heavy rock this album is nigh on essential.

Everything about Lemon Jelly is meticulous, extending beyond the detailed production and lush orchestration.

It's all good folks but let's be clear. IT'S NOT GENIUS.

Interpol prove themselves to be men on a mission to take us back to a time when long faces and even longer overcoats were de rigeur for alpha males the musical world over.

This is a record that will so quickly get under your skin and fill your head with such a bounty of melodies that the only way to relieve the swelling is to joyously whistle them out.

Thankfully, it's even better than expected.

Alas, it's not as consistently satisfying as 'Born To Run' or 'Born In The USA', and Springsteen's voice, always gravely at the best of times, has taken on an increasingly wizened air that sometimes renders it frustratingly impenetrable.

'Damaged' is a hugely welcome addition to Lambchop's now frighteningly impressive back catalogue, and an album with few limitations.

Whereas previously his songs felt carefully and beautifully crafted, here he seems content to merely plunder a whole host of archaic musical styles and immerse himself in self-congratulatory jams, and a result you end up with a less than satisfying hotchpotch of songs.

Quite unlike any other chill out album you're likely to hear, 'Melody AM' takes low rider funk and splices it with 80s synth-pop ambience and analogue dub techniques to create a truly inspiring epic pop landscape which neither strays into questionable light classical territories, nor worrying prog rock terrain.

A good record, if a little frustrating.

Challenging, ingenious, electronic surrealism for the brain and ears.

It displays the kind of emotion and movement that Four Tet, Boom Bip and Stereolab would all appreciate.

A showcase of complementary flavours that burst out of the electronica ghetto.

With that warm soapy trumpet now hinting at something a flutter more soulful than the usual dose of despair and despond, the Tindersticks have actually moved on and started meaning something again.

Had 'It's A Wonderful Life' been recorded by anyone other than Sparklehorse, we could simply describe it as an amazing record before sitting back to bask in its splendour, but given everything that Mark Linkous has been through, that such a beautiful record not only exists but sounds so effortlessly graceful marks it out as a definite contender for album of the year.

'Gold And Green' is such a joyous rattlebag of a record, so untrammelled by convention and received wisdom that it tends to make Keiran Hebden's last effort sound a bit like mid 90s stoner trip hop.

It's a warm and welcoming experience all round, and very much the mark of a band that know exactly what they're doing even if they sound remarkably out of step with everyone else.

It's hard not to feel that the mystique is so damaged by the poor execution of the opening, that the rest of 'St. Elsewhere', however good, struggles to catch up.

This is no mere regression into a tried and tested formula for the Duluth trio. Each of these tracks is more than their trademark guitar, bass, drum soundscapes with delicate vocals hovering above the mix.

This is a rather stronger record than [Daft Punk's] on the whole, even if it likewise suffers from flaws in execution.

This is a genius pop album, one on which pretty much everything fantastic happens.

This time, as well as simply delivering the goods, Wilco come bearing a basket of extras.

Doom is what is amazing and great about hip hop.

This will be one of the best things you'll hear all year.

This is no whimsical, fey take on folk music, rather a bold, buoyant frug with the skeletons of The Doors, Teardrop Explodes and other likeminded explorers of the stoned side.

The effect of the new bleak mood lurking beneath the glimmering pop is to pare away the occasional over-cutesiness that has marred Of Montreal's work in the past and enhance the freaky psychedelic sublime of Barne's best moments.

It's exactly the album we all demanded from them, but moreso.

As White Stripes albums go, 'Icky Thump' is a goodie, and there's no resting on of laurels either.

Admittedly, there's not exactly the strictest of divides between the two, although 'Aw C'mon' is arguably the more upbeat of the pair.

'Cedars' is a record of huge maturity - witty, often quite sad, occasionally perverse, but hugely charming nonetheless.

'Destroy Rock & Roll' is exponentially more than the sum of its parts.

A slice of experimental pop, simultaneously bright and bleak.

It's a lot less dangerous than we've been led to expect.

But even on those tracks that don't make the cut as RJ stand-outs almost everywhere you care to look there are stylish touches and subtleties waiting to be discovered with each subsequent listen.

After the patchy pleasures of 'Wanderland', 'Tasty' is a huge Roman orgy of an album.

With 'The Last Romance', a whole lot of people are at last going to fall in love with Arab Strap for the very first time.

It's not overestimating matters to call 'Tones of Town' a timeless masterpiece.

A beautiful ramble of a record.

there's something in this that sounds just so much more intelligent than fannying around making devil horns.

'Wind In The Wires' is a magnificent record full of the language, imagery and sound of travel.

If Simple Kid is too simple for you, if you always liked Supergrass but never thought they pushed their material to its astral conclusion and felt their retro musings were a little too close to the original blueprint, then this baby, is for you.

A return to form: no tongue-in-cheek pop motifs, but a welcome re-embracing of the mid-American rock that always informed Pavement's more enlightening, abstruse moments.

The songs are pretty, the guitars are mellow, all complimentary and measured; dull, in other words.

There's a lot of tracks on this album that go a lot deeper than anything Jigga's ever done, but so what? They ain't gonna cut it as party jams. Well, except the party jams.

Aside from one or two bore-me-ups, this is an album of understated perfection.

Gruff Rhys is one of our most imaginative and original musicians.

Fierce and noble and fragile and genuinely moving, 'A Rush Of Blood To The Head' is a lovely furnace of searing goodness made by some wonderful contradictory bastards.

Yes, of course it's a touch on the pretentious-sounding side, and it's also one of the most remorselessly miserable records of the decade so far, but none of this should discourage you from embracing it wholly.

'Hate' is gloomy without being self-indulgent, and grand without being pompous.

Yes, it's the relentless energy, humour and versatility which makes this record stand out and apparently their albums are merely incidental compared to their stunning live shows.

This is a fragile, beautiful music, it all nearly falls apart and then flops back together.

It's not without fault; too many songs and too little variation between the tracks detract from unequivocal enjoyment. Much more of an album to admire, rather than cherish.

A curious, klezmer-infested charm.

This is anticon at their most approachable and reflective and should be filed on your shelf somewhere near Dosh, Boards of Canada and Arcade Fire.

A stealthy, smoking beast of a thing: hip hop with a British passport and dubplate roots, embroidered with wiggly, scratching sound effects and made-to-measure production.

It has the electric hot valve excitement of sixties garage rock, the stomping sexuality of glam and the amphetamined rush of punk rock all dusted down and mashed together in its fever pitch workouts.

'Fall Heads Roll' as a whole might not quite scale the heights of 'The Real New Fall LP', but there's no doubt that elements of it are up there with it.

This is a brilliant, visionary album and needs rewarding with units - MTV won't have the scoobiest what to do, radio programmers will freak, and hip-hop will, once again, move forward.

So few men have managed to touch our scabrous hearts in such a way. Cohen, Bukowski, Barrymore, Hulk, Waterman... Middleton, Moffat.

Giant mutant rats are running about the place with gasmasks and guns. Their eyeballs are electric red, firing lightning bolts of acid, spit and shit and blowing up the place and the furniture.