The juggernauting anthemia that has become their signature is upscaled for Reflektor, a wider-than-widescreen, 70-minute, two-disc odyssey.

There’s a sheen to much of Days Are Gone that can prevent you from delving further. But it’s a minor quibble on the whole, chiefly because the songs are strong enough to keep pulling you in for repeated listens, each hook burying itself deeper and deeper.

The Californians still play ethereal tunes that could waft on forever.

This is music that demands to be played loud, and often.

An unholy marriage of the brutal and the brilliant, fuelling suspicion that their best is yet to come.

It’s intimidating at first, but once your eyes acclimatise, you’ll relish joining them in the shadows.

This isn’t her masterpiece (that’s to come in the sixth and seventh suites), but it’s only a sliver away.

Beneath every stoner vocal or woozy guitar line there’s enough melodic nous to ensure Melbourne never wobbles too far into drug casualty territory.

It’s the romantic last dance of an album that shows that they’re still the same old Monkeys. Just dressed up slicker and sexier.

As closer ‘Black’ fades out, it’s clear MONEY have made something special and, maybe, even sacred.

The result is a collection of songs that really soar in a way that some previous material hasn’t.

Frankly, it’s a delightful, demented journey into pure psych chaos. Essential listening.

If you wanted a masterpiece, this isn’t it--it’s too long and stoned for that. Rather, it’s an invigorating, assertive and magical collection that’s probably cleverer than you are.

On An Object, their blissy ambient tinkerings finally feel earned and essential.

The very retro Sleeper is an acoustic affair, characterised by bluesy downers and portentous balladry.

With Loud City Song, Julia Holter marks the scene’s zenith, continuing her journey from obscurity, through marginality and onwards into accessibility.

Their debut is yearning blog-pop, which might be a bit ‘2009 called...’ if songs like ‘New House’ weren’t just as sharp as their 80s, sax-ballad ancestors.

Balanced, measured and, when necessary, jump-out-of-the-scented-candle-filled-bath creepy.

AlunaGeorge are a pop act at heart, with most of this debut’s songs anchored to a radio-friendly chorus.

Although it doesn’t always hit the mark, Swim Deep’s debut proves more than capable of matching to the dizzying highs they write about.

At times a lick more panache might have leavened proceedings, but ‘Winter Reigns” celebration of the great English pub (where “the dark’s never far behind”, naturally) rounds out this confident debut in style.

A fearsome, mind-bending collection.

Wonderfully, it’s somehow nostalgic and current at the same time.

Outlines are blurred between post-punk, rave and a very modern psychedelia; brushing between textures and emotions with skillful subtlety and provoking sincere disappointment.

Their kings of the beach crown may have slipped a little nowadays, but Wavves still offer plenty of no-frills fun.

Sure, this is a great garage rock record--but it’s dreaming even bigger.

It’s undeniably a slacked out soundtrack for dopey wallflowers everywhere, but Unreal is also a surprisingly progressive affair that speaks to your soul.

This mostly-great follow-up is occasionally waylaid by its determination to make bad instruments sound good.