If The White Stripes can make two instruments sound like a richly tangled cacophony, Vampire Weekend are the very antithesis of this – taking harpsichord, vocoder, synths, native drums, a string section, guitars and what sounds like the entire contents of a Junior school music room cupboard, and weaving them into something so paradoxically neat and clean, it’s almost off-puttingly clinical. Their tightly-packed concoctions tidily change tack, tip-toeing to racing along, the rhythm cheekily dodging in and out of Graceland-y riffs like nothing I’ve heard in a good while. True: the effect is exhilarating: ‘California English’s pogo-ing guitar, quirked with surprising strings; ‘Taxi cab's steamtrain-like surge, harpsichords pirouetting around about, sharpened up with a keyboard clap. ‘Cousins'’ bass and drums fair tumbling over each other in an attempt to get the Ska out. And yet...all that content feels like a vast shiny surface rather than satisfying depth.

New record....same as the old record? Hiatt admits to "regularly cannibalising his back catalogue" so you could be forgiven for thinking you've heard some of this before. As always though, he has something to say and he says it well. In amongst road and love songs, homage is paid to the people once living on his land who were slaughtered during the Civil War and there's a nod to Fireball Roberts, the Indycar racer who was probably the artists favourite. As usual, Hiatt hires an expert guitarist to make his rock songs really rock and his blues numbers bluesier. In the past he's employed Immergluck, Cooder, Landreth etc. This time it's Doug Lancio who adds the magic. Now 57, Hiatt's voice is past its best and though he struggles at the higher end of his range, he's still brave enough to add a little falsetto now and again.

Still brokenly melodic, still whimsical. Still momentarily irritating - why WHY?! this obsession with drawling through a poxy loudhailer?! But Albarn has grown steadily more expert at refining his fascinating collages of sound and stylistic leftovers: disco, electronica, rap, dubstep…‘80’s kids telly theme tunes... It’s noticeably less dance-y, less poppy and less studded with the Obvious Big Hit than expected, but that just made me like it more. And maybe these (potentially?) risky omissions are responsible for the random assemblage of more famous cameos than a comedy show Christmas special. Sometimes inspired: Lou Reed drawling all over perky, electro toy-town bleeps on ‘Some kind of Nature’. Sometimes brilliant: Mos Def on the exciting, beaty voodoo of ‘Sweepstakes’. Sometimes disappointing: Bobby Womack yodelling on 'Stylo' – the album’s clunky lowlight. And sometimes just plain incongruous - Snoop Dogg’s languid rap intro is just…well...'Eh?'

I should have known by the crap subtitle. 'Reel Life'?, that is poor. I had caught bits of Kermode before this on the Culture Show, some radio, a doc on 'The Wicker Man', in which he spoke passionately and knowledgeably. So I perceived him as an erudite film critic. In this book, though, Kermode does his best to make himself appear as a clown; 'a mouthy, know-nothing upstart' he says. But I don't buy it. It's not how he comes across on TV, so the ceaseless self-deprecation seems forced and annoying. Did his knees really buckle when he met Helen Mirren? I can't believe it. Was his first radio appearance so bad that his mother couldn't bring herself to speak of it? Again, I doubt it, as he goes on to note that they gave him a regular slot. Kermode says 'if I say something happened, it may be that it only happened in the rancid popcorn-filled cinema in my head'. It is clear that many of the farcical episodes related here didn't happened as described. So I'm not sure what's the point.

Efterklang a recent discovery for me,the name is apparently Danish for "remembrance" or "reverberation".Their 3rd LP starts possibly at its peak with “Modern drift” which builds from a rippling modern classical piano and lone voice (Casper Clausen) adding along the way drums more keyboards, strings and brass.Like many of the tracks guitars aren’t to the fore. The way the driving beautiful urgency of “Modern drift” is punctured by strings is most striking. Strings and brass are at times used almost like a second percussion section. The music has strong dynamics with brass etc stopping to allow vocals to stand out. Male /female harmonies are also used to add to the texture sometimes in the form of urgent chants.The music owes a lot to electronic music but made on real instruments and also to the raga infused and repetitive music championed by Steve Reich, Terry Reilly etc. Stand out tracks “Harmonics”, “the soft beating” and the intimate final duet “natural tune”

The Shins... no S Sherl, given that it is James Mercer from The Shins teaming up with Danger Mouse. Contains all the sweet melodies and warmly unfathomable lyrics with a lack of an obvious chorus that you'd expect from a Shins album. With a bigger sound backdrop. The single 'The High Road' is rightly getting good airplay and look out for the beautiful 'Citizen'.

The long-running 33 1/3 series works on the simple premise of getting contributors to pen a few words on a classic album of their choosing. Happily these essays often stray from the standard “making-of” template and into more adventurous territory. For Master of Reality, Mountain Goats frontman - John Darnielle turns to fiction – specifically the musings of 16 year old Roger Painter who finds himself incarcerated in a Californian psychiatric institute in 1985. The journal which he is required to keep and submit for daily scrutiny begins as a one-sided negotiation with “Gary” for the return of his Walkman and tapes which are kept locked-up in the nurse’s station, before morphing into an in-depth deconstruction of the Black Sabbath LP. The book's second half picks-up ten years later with Painter employed as a restaurant manager, unhappily feeding ground meat into a machine called the Beefinator, while composing a letter to Gary that begins where his diary left off.

“The Movie Songbook” is a lovingly crafted selection of music from the movies and is just catchy from the opening track “Xanadu”. The joy of "The Movie Songbook" is how the mood can instantly change within a couple of songs. I find this great to listen to in the evening or at night. One second you could easily be singing along while working, typing or whatever you’re up to; the next you're listening quietly to a passionate and resolute track with the lights off hoping the atmosphere will mellow from the darkness. Once you've had a moody, solemn moment it jumps back to bouncy, rhythmic music and vocals which are fondly performed. Spiteri can really hit the high notes. And there are some exceptional piano pieces in the work which you should keep an ear out for. If you love compilations of famous movie songs performed by someone who knows the films, enjoys the work and can sing exceptionally well, Spiteri is rather fantastic for the job.

The Chieftains do Mexican. You might think that this weird combination wouldn't work, but, more often than not, it works perfectly. There are tracks which are predominantly Irish in feel, tracks which are predominantly Mexican / Latin and (I hope you're keeping up with me so far) those which are a mix of the two. And it's the latter that works the best. The opener 'La Iguana' is an absolute belter, as are 'Persecución de Villa' and 'Canción Mixteca'. There are one or two low points (I could do without the Liam Neeson narrative),but overall it's well worth a visit.

And I utter this with not a small dose of abashment but I want to get it out of way first: it *does* sound like middle-aged divorcee torch-country. There, I’ve said it. Steel guitars,cymbal brushes, a touch of keyboard demo-mode samba. But then we know full well that this is k.d.’s remit. The important point here is that I still want to listen to her, because - by God - no-one in the world sings like she does (i.e. like melted, high-quality chocolate being poured over a mahogany Steinway that was hand-shaped by James Bond.) Happily, this 4-disc retrospective of 25 years also contains the stuff I adore, namely the Cohen/Siberry/Young covers. Lang’s sumptuous vocals spin out such recondite lyrics and quirky melodies into almost mystical incantations, leaving anyone within earshot helpless with delight.

Released in February without any fanfare this album has really surprised me. As the younger sister of Shelby Lynne and the wife of Steve Earle I guess it is natural to expect quality but with this release you get it in bucket loads.I saw her support Earle on his last tour of the UK but at that time she was supporting her covers album. This time all but one are her own songs and they are without exception excellent. Certainly any gloss that the Country music industry tries to apply to artists has been removed from this release and what you get are raw, heartfelt songs with a backing band of great quality. Mostly ballads they are nonetheless powerful songs none more so than the title track which I have had on repeat play for the last few days.

Formed from the dying embers of Canadian post-rock collective Godspeed You Black Emperor, A Silver Mt Zion deal in extended songs with pretentious titles in an orchestral style. Klaxons they are not. Oopening with 15min symphony, "There Is Light", Efrim Menuck's strained vocals remind of Arcade Fire in the midst of faux pomposity. The quieter moments wouldn't sound out of place in There Will Be Blood. What follows is a mix of love songs, post-metal ambient soundscapes and Native American inspired vitriolic rants. This is alternative music in the truest sense of the word.

Autotune and teenagers with annoying inflections, unfortunately, but to dismiss it on account of that would be a mistake. Life is hard in the strictly regimented world of American high school where you're either a football player, a cheerleader or a social outcast. Luckily, for those with a desire to perform, there's the Glee club - led by the Panglossian Mr. Schuester - where no-one will judge you. On top of the fantastically choreographed routines, there are fake pregnancies, unwanted weddings, genuine laugh out loud moments and the inimitable cheerleading coach, Sue Sylvester. It has all the hallmarks of a show adored by the kind of people who use the phrase, "OMG!", without a hint of irony, but it doesn't take itself too seriously and, though not exactly demanding television, it's utterly absorbing.

The words ‘Break-Up Album’ tend to prepare your ears for the musical equivalent of inhaling a kilo of Dairy Milk washed down with a bucket of red wine in front of Love Actually. And it’ll probably be just as vomity. However, Eels - purveyors of fine, square-peg music for 14ish years – have here assembled a charmingly rough, guitar-led journey through the raw, bemused, ‘what the F- just happened?’ of a disintegrated relationship. The confused, emotional schizophrenia of the recently-binned dictates a fluctuating pace; the twinkly, Super 8 footage sounds of remembered happinesses in End Times, to the up-beat jung-jugga-jung-jugga guitar of Gone Man, via some garage rock and a soupcon of swing. Eels fans will also appreciate the most sentimental-sounding track on the album being gruffly undermined with lyrics about having to piss in the backgarden because the female subject of this album has locked herself in the bathroom. Again. Groovy, raw, untidily lovely.

Theorin's second novel is, like his first, set on the Swedish island of Oland. 'The Darkest Room' is wonderful and tells the story of the haunted wooden manor house on Eel Point and its 2 lighthouses. Juxtaposing the house's chequered past with that of its current occupants (Katrine, Joakim and their children) the book is a skilful mix of ghost story and crime thriller. When Katrine drowns, a chain of events is set in place involving policewoman Tilda, her 80+ great uncle Gerlof, three burglars, Joakim, and past residents of Eel point. Much like 'The Turn of the Screw’, the reader is never sure if the ghosts exist or not, and it is to Theorin's credit that he leaves it to the reader to decide. The house's cruel past exerts a malign influence on current events and although the drowning appears to be accidental, it soon transpires that other forces are at work related to the death of Joakim’s addict sister and a hidden room in the barn. This marks Theorin out as a name to watch.