That inimitable style of drawing that graces this EP's cover lets us know exactly what we are in for: rough and ready songs about death. Just like the cover, the songs here are from the same mold as previous outpourings of gloom from the trio. There is no massive shift in style or approach: ten songs; 20 minutes; in and out like a SWAT team on a midnight raid.

Devising a method to capture a moment of exaltatio with sound is no small feat. Aranos attempts to do just that with a minimal and powerful arrangement of six Tibetan singing bowls and wood flute. Whether this recording brought me closer to release from duality is up for debate, but it certainly did not pull me further away.

It has been six years since this Chicago trio, best known for constructing mainly instrumentals based around two bass guitars and a set of drums, released their last record, 2002’s Millions of Brazilians. In that time it seems that their sound has been slowly fermenting and evolving in sparkling and unexpected ways, not least with the addition of vocals, and with the further addition of strings, guitar, and keyboards. What results is a strange musical dislocation, a selection of 12 scintillating, yet simultaneously bittersweet, indie-tinged rock songs that bubble along with a nervous, tangential energy that often goes off in totally unforeseen directions.

An odd amalgam of post-rock experimentation, jazz influences, and a touch of 1970s pop, this is an ambitious disc that definitely stands out amongst the crowd with its idiosyncratic pedigree.  And besides, who can’t appreciate an album of nervy post-rock that references Big Trouble in Little China and the Wu-Tang Clan in the liner notes?

It comes as no surprise that this Kentucky based trio has produced a slab of blown speaker noise rock that parents and small animals will be disgusted with.  However, something can be unsurprising and yet still be completely satisfying, and I don’t think anyone who enjoys music is petitioning for a “Hair Police covers A Flock of Seagulls” album.  Although, that would probably be pretty awesome.

Tim Simenon presents his first full-length album of new material since 1995's Clear. Future Chaos is not quite a return to form, but an evolution of the familiar BTB sound, an album of leftfield electronic vocal pop curiously unstuck in time, informed by decades of big beat, trip-hop and acid house, but carving out its own idiosyncratic niche.

Christoph Heemann's and Timo Van Luijk's latest offering on Robot Records is a frustrating combination of expected, quiet beauty and unexpected experimentation.

I have always enjoyed Ikeda's albums but never truly appreciated them until I saw a live performance by the man last year. Seconds into the performance I realized that I was listening to his albums at an unreasonably low volume. Afterwards I was sure to play his CDs at the appropriately loud level and they blossomed from being great examples of electronic music to being works of true beauty. This is the first release since that I have listened to properly from the first instant and it is a blinder.

Phil Elverum's precise insights into the human condition have never sounded better than on these duets with Julie Doiron. Her guitarist, Fred Squire, also helps to make a record that is meticulous, profound, stark, and truly beautiful.

Tel Aviv's Boom Pam bring their love of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern styles to a variety of multicultural covers. A further twist to their approach is that a tuba forms an integral part of their sound. Toss in their enthusiasm for surf guitar and spaghetti westerns, and the result is a unique, festive meeting between East and West.

On the follow-up to 2005's Bass Jihad, producer Dub Gabriel paves a clear road for the contributions of vocalists like Yo Majesty, Jah Dan, and, strangely enough, Michael Stipe. For the most part, the arrangements are relatively uncluttered and self-contained, playing to the strengths of his guests. The strategy works marvels, making for a solid album with occasional peaks of greatness.

The music on this third volume owes a debt to Liebezeit’s heritage, recalling as it does such outfits as Can itself, Pierre Moerlen’s Gong and Neu, as well musicians like Manuel Göttsching (Ashra/Ashra Tempel). Fluidity and cyclicity are the two main themes present, with a seamless weaving together of rhythm and sound, a space where neither dominates but both intersect and interact in surprising and sparklingly magical ways.

This lovely snapshot in LTM's Auteur Labels series focuses on the cult label which, despite sprouting out of Brussels, released such artists as Durutti Column, Anna Domino, Bill Nelson, Michael Nyman, Tuxedomoon, and (former Skids vocalist) Richard Jobson.

In the mid-1920s, The Gramophone Company sent representatives into Iraq to investigate the indigenous music found in its record stores and performance halls. Their research laid the foundation for sessions that produced almost 1,000 recordings. The selections on this disc, restored from their original 78s, present a compelling multicultural portrait of Iraq that is all but forgotten today.

The man behind the Room 40 label makes his debut on Touch with this remarkable album. Blurring sound sources (both regular instruments and field recordings) with a variety of studio techniques, this Australian has created a swirling and amorphous group of compositions. Every moment on this album is captivating. Each piece is an exercise in sound sculpting perfection and yet is not just textbook examples of audio manipulation; the music is completely aesthetically pleasing.

The second full-length from Finland's Paavoharju contains songs of astonishing variety composed out of voices, traditional instruments, field recordings, and electronics. Rather than evoking the pastoral qualities of its cover or the album's English translation, "A Song About Flowers of the Valley," the music within is more reminiscent of a dusty drawing room in an old house, forgotten by time but still home to its previous occupants.

It is not too often that a band's entire discography can end up being compiled into a single, 36-minute album, but such is the case with The Loved.  Originally a five song EP released 10 years ago, here it is reissued and expanded with five more tracks intended for a full album which never materialized.  What remains is a disc of unpretentious pop-inspired alternative rock, which sadly points to what could have been.

This collection of vinyl/outtakes from the Rhode Island garbage band might span almost ten years, but for the most part, their pedigree is irrelevant.  They all sound as if they have come out of the same dirty, condemned back alley club with a rat problem and ugly people bareback fucking in the bathroom.  Looking at the liner notes, that's not necessarily a metaphor but an accurate depiction.  Strip away the old grease and dried jizz, however, and there's a solid set of songs amongst the filth.

If ever I wanted music to encapsulate raw pain and anguish in such agonising detail and with such empathy, then this has to be it. Arrowhead is familiar Prurient/Dominick Fernow territory of emotions stripped bare and the ugly underside of the human condition, all delineated through his use of tortured circuits and fried electronics.

Utilizing recordings made over the last decade to make their debut album, the Welsh trio cannot be called hasty. They can, however, be called a treat to the ears. Oscillating wildly between spacey pop and documentary, they have assembled an album that is not only a collection of wonderful songs but also give a bystander’s perspective on the strange creature that is Europe.