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.

The five songs here are awkward bedfellows.

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.

It’s an interesting mix of the wide-eyed and sparkly and the beachfront and nonchalant that makes for a hugely radio-friendly record that won’t dent your credibility.

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.

What lets it down is that it is unutterably, irrevocably and unswervingly dull. Dull, dull, dull. As boring as the hum of a fridge.

Borrell 1 is a disaster that could obliterate any appeal Razorlight once had.

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.

Lynch showcases a grim neighbourhood that seems electrically oppressed somehow, synthesised echoes murmuring like residual radiation.

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.

‘A Ton Of Love’ shows they’ve not lost their knack for passably impersonating Echo & the Bunnymen, but really, you deserve better than this hazily indistinct angst.

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

Magna Carta Holy Grail is a solid example of a decent modern rap album and nothing more.

Mostly, though, the music on Sistrionix is plain bad.

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

What’s impressive is that, for all its hymnal melodramatics, Impersonator somehow bypasses insufferability.

An album that ups the radio-friendly factor without compromising any emotion.

What Kanye has created is the most honest--and yes, at times dislikable--record of his career.

Most of the songs here start like slowburn opener ‘What We Done?’, with Stelmanis’ constantly tremulous voice front and centre surrounded by ever-increasing layers of synths, padded beats and distant percussion. If you can get past it, however, there’s much to enjoy.

It’s a compelling story; through industry difficulties and growing pains, comes a lovesick, loveable and brilliant album.

The Brazilians’ fourth is a tuneless, tiresome rabble of a record that does just that [make you feel glum].

This is Peace using 90s sounds to channel that decade’s optimism into something positive for today.