This often sounds more like a BBC4 documentary than a pop record. And that's no bad thing.

Only the more straightforwardly poppy numbers disappoint, with power-ballad manqué “Crescendo” a particular anomaly.

Post-millennial indie boy-rock has taken a savage beating here. And it may prove the best it’s ever had.

Drawing on anything from Medieval plainsong to free jazz, she creates an extraordinary sensation of light, air, and space.

Most of LTHS consists of thumping soul-pop reminiscent of JoBoxers or high-energy Hives-like garage rock, and even if it errs on the side of sameyness, it's rarely dull.

A skittering collage of vocal drum'n'bass, garage, and funky house that parties, in the best way, like it's July 1999.

Gruff’s gorgeous voice helps humanise Feltrinelli. Never more so than on “Hoops With Fidel”, which, rather than demonising him and Castro, conveys the ideal of international revolution as a beautiful thing. As beautiful, in fact, as this album.

The result wears the weight of its history lightly, with the exception of "The Departed", a solemn tribute to lost Stooges.

If you replace the techno with ambient tones and piano noodles, he can sound a little reedy and exposed.

It's derivative and is a near hybrid of Mew, the Postal Service, M83 and Empire of the Sun, but it's perfectly likeable without ever inspiring outright love.

It can be plodding and takes a while to get going, but also occasionally reaches soaring, festival-fields-at-dusk heights.

Even without the unpleasant association of the Chris Brown guest slot here, #willpower (we're letting people hashtag their album titles now?) is a charmless listen.

The live stuff is consistently inventive.... Randomness dogs the remixes, but that's standard.

It's close to the best of all music I know.... A second CD of later, unreleased material with some genuine gold among the dross.

Classy pianos, minor chords and brushed drums back her ever-elegant, half-spoken syllables.

Rokia rocks, and it's a fine and bracing thing to hear.

A genuinely empathetic production, then, which does not pull up many trees.

Save Rock and Roll features unexpected excursions into rave-pop, and numerous celebrity cameos, but enough airbrushed pop-punk to prove they haven't forgotten which side their bread's buttered.

Ghost on Ghost is as dense stylistically as it is lyrically.

This rocks harder and faster than those fellow Tuareg bluesmen, partly due to the noticeable pop influence of another Malian act, Amadou & Mariam.

It's almost boring: yet another excellent British Sea Power album.

"Yes You Do", a 1950s rock'n'roll love song updated for the synth age, is the standout track, but "Bassline" is the most typical.

"What's Wrong with America" is the masterpiece, doo-wop and social protest mixed with God-bothering. Someone book them for a festival, quick.

It's difficult to tell, though, how much is sock and how much darn.

Throughout, we get a wounded and fragile man setting his hope-filled heart to music.

Comedown Machine is, essentially, The Strokes' 1980s album.

Surprises are few and what Delta Machine lacks is one big, arena-ready, fist-in-the-air synthpop stormer.

It's testament to his songcraft that it feels all of a piece.