Trying to pin down The Method is like attempting to bottle buttered fog, but one thing’s certain?there’s madness in there. This four-strong crew met six years ago when promoting (and DJing at) their own eclectic club night and a similar, anything-goes philosophy underpins their debut LP. It’s hip hop, but also absorbs rock, electro-funk, orchestral lounge, punk and nu R&B. “Baby You’re So Funky” is Beck gone big beat, while “Sexy Potatoes” makes like Barry White guesting on 3 Feet High And Rising. Elsewhere, Beastie Boys, Happy Mondays and Prince breeze by. Bewildering, but (almost) brilliant.

Karl Bartos

Contemporaries of Sebadoh and Pavement, San Diego’s Trumans Water missed out on the acclaim awarded their lo-fi rivals on account of their unwillingness (or inability) to write a hummable tune. Instead they practised a kind of freeform artcore that took Beefheart and the wilder end of Krautrock as first principles. After seemingly releasing an album a week, they dropped off the radar completely?until now.

Not much seems to have changed in Trumansworld. They are still as scratchily psychedelic and wilfully obtuse as ever, with ‘songs’ like “Meteorites And Troglodytes” turning rock on its side before pushing it over a cliff and recording the resulting din. Hints of melody surface now and then, but the group never allow it the upper hand over their patented harmolodic rock.

Elusive cult figures on the German techno fringes, Dopplereffekt are frequently namechecked by electroclash front-runners such as Miss Kittin, despite having carved themselves a unique niche in electronic music which nods more to avant-garde ambient and classical music than disco sleaze.

A couple of the six lengthy tracks on their second official album nod to dancefloor rhythms and structures, but they are bookended by great buzzing clouds of sculpted, pulsing, highly textured machine noise rejoicing in titles such as “Niobium Resonators” and “Higgs Mechanism”. Whether precious high-art boffins or playful postmodernists, there is a dedication to purity and originality here which other techno acts pay lip service to but rarely deliver.

Favourites of both Fugazi and the Super Furry Animals, Dead Meadow have a reputation for bone-crunching volume at their live shows. That doesn’t translate here, but their riff-sprawling heaviness does captivate. “I Love You Too” and “Everything’s Going On”, for instance, emerge midway between Black Sabbath and Pink Floyd and make testosterone aggression sound hazily dreamlike. Singer Jason Simon’s airy vocals are stoner-rock incarnate, but their gloomy acoustics show they’re not one-dimensional riff-mongers. Still, best experienced/endured live.

A survivor of the Great Electroclash Fiasco of 2002, Merrill “Peaches” Nisker’s second album is a triumph of style and content. Performance artist, potty-mouthed rapper and sexual assertiveness lecturer, Peaches also makes pretty useful music these days. Fatherfucker pillages Missy Elliott, Suicide and “Justify My Love”-era Madonna, and even outfoxes the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (notably “Kick It”, a duet with Iggy Pop). All her talk of dicks and tits, meanwhile, is funny rather than provocative.

A British duo lurking behind a remotely beautiful moniker, Aurelie’s music ranges from Eno-esque piano pieces to the likes of “Mariposa”, with its lush swathes of guitars and effects that ghost in and out like changes in climate. The exception is “Divisible By Three”, which is practically Mot

From the all-star fable casting Ole Bob as Jack Fate?”a fallen rock legend well past his prime.” They said that, not me. This includes several exotic covers of his songs, from an Italian folk version of “If You See Her, Say Hello” to a Japanese “My Back Pages”. “One More Cup Of Coffee” is tackled, amusingly to some of us, by Turkey’s recent Eurovision winner, Sertab Erener. There are also four new songs by Bob: a new version of “Down In The Flood”, a new “Diamond Joe” (not his ’92 song of the same name), “Dixie”, and a bluesy “Cold Irons Bound”. Diplomatically? A must for Dylanites.

Featuring the first new material from former My Bloody Valentine fulcrum Kevin Shields in 12 years, this is a bit special. Air’s soundtrack to Sofia Coppola’s 1999 directorial debut The Virgin Suicides proved to be one of the most durable of recent years (and it’s been simultaneously reissued by the same label), and this?for her new film?comfortably matches that for understated, dreamy grandeur. Shields’ four contributions are everything you’d hope for, and MBV’s “Sometimes” also lends a grungy kind of grace.

The film, shot in Japan, “contemplates unexpected connections” and stars Bill Murray and Scarlett (Ghost World) Johansson. It’s a love letter to Tokyo. Quite how the music interfaces with that notion remains to be seen, but it’s all very spectral, brittle and beautiful. Air themselves offer a new track, “Alone In Kyoto”, and Death In Vegas are remarkably restrained on “Girls”. There are also distracting, delicate wisps of things from Squarepusher, Phoenix, and the more-interesting-than-their-names-might-suggest Brian Reitzell and Roger J Manning Jr, whose “On The Subway” and “Shibuya” are wonderful. The set closes with The Jesus And Mary Chain’s ’80s indie landmark “Just Like Honey”.

But it’s the Shields numbers everyone will be gagging to hear, his decade-plus of reticence having firmly established him as the Syd Barrett of shoegazing. How to describe these sonic equivalents of near-invisibility, which somehow hint at every emotion under the sun? When MBV were at their peak every review was either dauntingly highbrow or freakishly over-effusive. It’s hard to resist similar impulses this time around. Perhaps I should just give you the titles?”City Girl”, Goodbye”, “Ikebana”, “Are You Awake?”?and say that if for too long you’ve been pining for Isn’t Anything and Loveless like a war widow, a strange dark joy is about to re-enter your head.

This melancholic accompaniment to the David Gordon Green slow-burner draws succour from the nocturnal chambers of alt.country’s heart. Will Oldham’s “All These Vicious Dogs”, Sparklehorse’s “Sea Of Teeth” and Mogwai’s “Fear Satan” are more than willing to cry into your beer. David Wingo, whose lyric yielded the film’s title, couples with Michael Linnen for three tracks; Mark Olson and Paul Jones also peer for clouds among the silver linings. I’m writing this on the hottest day of the year, and it sounds inappropriate. But, rest assured, there’ll be times when it sounds entirely right.

Probably the year’s sexiest record. Mellow, who made it, are half-French and have links with Air. As if that wasn’t enough crazy cosmic links, it’s from top video director (Strokes, Moby) Roman (Sofia’s brother) Coppola’s debut, a cross between Barbarella and Breathless. This slinks and purrs like a baby tiger trying to work out if drowning in baby oil is an acceptable pastime. Hung up on ’60s cheesiness and Gallic guile, it’s like Moon Safari on a mission to Mars. Only it keeps getting caught in the bedroom. With Modesty Blaise. And a young Anna Karina. I’m projecting now. Anyway, stupendous.

Tim Burgess moved to LA nearly five years back, so perhaps it’s no great surprise that?several thousand miles from The Charlatans’ creative centre back in Manchester?he should decide to make a solo album, if only to fill the days and sate creative urges.

I Believe, thankfully, isn’t some ex-pat LA rawk record. Sure, he’s pictured on the CD booklet sitting in the Mojave desert wearing a Stetson and strumming a guitar, but that’s pretty much where the LA rock fantasy ends. What we get is brisk and breezy, a gossamer-light summer confection that references Burt Bacharach, Philly soul and The Beach Boys, while retaining Burgess’ wide-eyed charm.

Recorded over a 10-month period, grabbing time in between Charlatans commitments, the album opens with the title track, slow-burning and sexy, but serviceable enough to draw you in. The resolutely chirpy, horn-driven “Only A Boy” gives way to “We All Need Love” with Burgess riffing on “Sail On Sailor”‘s lush orchestrations (he later revisits classic Wilson turf on “Po Boy Soul”). The second half of the album is the most consistently rewarding. Kicking off with the haunting “Be My Baby”, it leads into the bluegrass pop of “Years Ago”, while “Say Yes” is an intoxicating blend of soaring strings and smoky horns and “Love To Spend The Night” recalls the elegant, intricate arrangements of baroque Bacharach.

Just as Wonderland was a departure from the Charlies’ sound, so I Believe finds Burgess eagerly exploring new directions. Light, but likeable.

Very frisky, this one, being mainly deviant, hyperactive electronica that makes most of Raczynski’s contemporaries on Rephlex sound sedate. As with most of his albums, Renegade Platinum… is distinguished by a punk spirit which compels him to enjoyably screw up his most accessible tunes with either splattery noise breaks or cheesy nursery melodies. As usual, too, there’s a frightening intensity that underpins all the pranks and old-school rave references?it’s worth remembering that Raczynski’s last LP, Myloveilove, was a series of lo-fi confessionals. Renegade Platinum… is less appealing, but the apparent desire to add emotional valency to a haywire musical form makes it more subversive.

There are few wittier and more engaging live performers than Loudon Wainwright. But you really have to be there, as the second live album of his career proves. Despite five new songs, a star band that includes Van Dyke Parks, Richard Thompson and Dylan sideman David Mansfield, and split-second timing worthy of a stand-up, So Damn Happy never really ignites. And when you hear the audience laughing at visual jokes we can’t see, the effect is not so much engaging as infuriating. One that requires the DVD treatment.

The NGDB formed in summer of ’66 as a notional way of “not working for a living”. From McCabe’s Guitar Store origins to the present day represents a major skive. Jeff Hanna remains as a link to the old days, and nowadays the Nits function as a repository for Americana. Special guests on this latest include the Scruggs family, Doc Watson, Willie Nelson and Tom Petty (adding vocals to “Goodnight Irene”), Johnny Cash and Emmylou Harris. Adept at all manner of stringy stuff, from country blues to bluegrass hoedowns, Hanna’s hombres kick over the traces like past masters who might still teach the young ‘uns how it’s done.

No time for rest in Godspeed’s Montreal enclave, as the collective’s myriad spin-offs continue to fight the capitalist hegemony with sad tunes and very long titles. Mt Zion are ostensibly the pop wing, adding vocals from guitarist Efrim and?new here?a massed choir to the usual thicket of slow guitars and chamber strings. It’s debatable how necessary his croak is, since Godspeed’s great gift is to disseminate radical politics by musical implication rather than explicit polemic. Nevertheless, this remains marvellous music:at once complex and direct; unfashionably serious; uncommonly moving.

When she’s not collaborating with the likes of Arbol and Piano Magic, singer Suzy Mangion writes intimate torch songs with multi-instrumentalist Michael Varity. Recorded at their home studio in south Manchester, The Magic Lantern starts with a lush vocal harmony, then proceeds to take the listener on a slow waltz through 60 minutes of late-night laments, melancholy folk ballads and fairground instrumentals. One minute Mangion sounds like Joni Mitchell crooning over a Wurlitzer, the next she’s whispering like Vincent Gallo’s long-lost cousin over a fragile score of guitars, chimes, strings and loops. Either way, the results are never less than mesmerising.

The 2001 debut Time Is Of The Essence by Steve Webster and Toby Jenkins aka Fort Lauderdale was an unexpected lysergic treat, drawing on ’60s whimsy and smooth Air-like pop. This marks a move away from the arch electronica of the debut and introduces more guitars, echoing The Squire Of Somerton’s Transverberations solo LP of last year. It’s loveably unhinged, with several tracks carrying an unexpected heaviosity.

Like The Streets and Ms Dynamite, Un-Cut describe their music as “the soundtrack to growing up in modern Britain”. Fans of their Futurecut project may be disappointed by the lack of jungle on their debut, but “Skin II Skin” and “No Way” prove they still have one eye on the dancefloor. The former’s like The Neptunes getting jiggy while the latter layers seductive soul with digidub. Elsewhere, singer Jenna G gives Mary J Blige a run for her money, and producers Darren Lewis and 2D fuse widescreen R’n’B with wigged-out funk and nu-soul.