Portishead's Third has been a long time coming, the result of a lengthy creative topor following 1997's dark, distinctly underrated album Portishead. Importantly, though, they've shaken it. While the core trio of Beth Gibbons, Geoff Barrow, and Adrian Utley remains, this is quite a different band to Portishead's 90s incarnation: gone is the slo-mo turntable scratching and smoky jazz feel, replaced by heavy, brooding rhythms, vintage-sounding electronics, and spindly guitar. Still present, though, is that sense of emotional fracture and deep gloom. "Silence" opens with a dense drum loop which suddenly falls away to reveal Gibbons' voice, cold but magnificent: "Wounded and afraid, inside my head/Falling through changes". "Nylon Smile", meanwhile, is a fine example of Third's occasional folksy edge, an acoustic song reminiscent of Leonard Cohen that, around its midpoint, lifts off on a propulsive electronic rhythm, Gibbons holding one clear, hard note as synthesisers bubble beneath. At times, it's a harsh and foreboding listen: the electronic drums of "Machine Gun" might put off the listener hoping for smooth dinner party fare. But Third is a brave and forward-thinking return, and one great enough to justify its lengthy gestation. -Louis Pattison.

Many a critical evaluation of Icelandic quartet Sigur Ros has resorted to stock imagery of molten magma, omnipotent ice fields and burbling hot springs-and reasonably so. There's no disavowing the geophysical heartbeat which invigorates the very soul of this most supernatural of bands. Takk may well be Sigur Ros's most stimulating interpretation of their habitat yet-verdant serenity to pregnant anticipation to brutal paroxysms of volcanic thunder via icicle-like celestes, howling electrical winds of curving guitar feedback and hymns seemingly sung by castrato pixies. Strange and overwhelmingly beautiful. Some may think of Sigur Ros as a permafrosted Pink Floyd (circa Zabriskie Point) and while it's facile to say as much it's an honour certainly worthy of them. There's a seamless, symphonic poetry to Takk where the exultant "Gong", the euphoric choristry of "Hoppipolla" (like the Beach boys turned into snowmen) and the National Geographic panoramas of "Glososli" blend with intuitive homogeneity. You'll wish you were here. -Kevin Maidment.

In Silico might be the second album from Pendulum, but it's their first as a fully-fledged rock band. Of course, this Australian dance collective have paddled in these waters before: their debut album Hold Your Colour was a muscular collection of hard drum'n'bass and slamming breakbeats that, for all its synthetic construction, displayed firmly rock sensibilities. On In Silico, though, hard-riffing guitars are pulled right up in the mix, and the band's production core, Rob Swire and Gareth McGrillen, lead from the front, reaching for the microphone and making clattering loops the bedrock for a suite of anthemic rockers. Comparisons to the likes of Enter Shikari and The Prodigy are not too wide of the mark, capturing something of Pendulum's fairground waltzer adrenaline and polished, metallic aggression. Beyond straightforward rush, though, some interesting ingredients find their way into the brew: storming opener "Slowdown" imagines an unholy synthesis of DJ Hype and Muse in full progressive rock-out mode, while the elegiac "Propane Nightmares" commences with a Mariachi trumpet serenade. Dance connoisseurs will probably complain Pendulum's beats lack a certain finesse, but if you like your dance music a) fast and b) hard then In Silico has all bases covered. -Louis Pattison.

Hot Chip have always been the sort of band happy to flaunt their intelligence, but the smartest trick they pull on Made in the Dark is to show a little wisdom, too. 2006's The Warning was a fine record, albeit one sometimes difficult to take seriously thanks to its taste for pop pastiche-here's the Prince track, there's a 2-step garage track-or the occasional ironic wisecrack. On their third album, though, it's satisfying to report Hot Chip sound like no one but themselves. That is, shuffling, synthesiser-smeared electro-pop with a gooey emotional core and, in the shape of Alexis Taylor, one of the greatest white-boy soul voices since that of his hero, Green Gartside of Scritti Politti. "Ready for the Floor" sounds halfway between Detroit techno and the soundtrack to a Nintendo RPG, Taylor's clear, honest vocal reaching out hopefully: "I'm hoping by chance/You might take this dance", while the album's title track is a slow piano ballad that finds him laid blue over the ruins of a love affair. There is mischief, too of course: take "Wrestlers", a dinky R&B track where the group show off their knowledge of wrestling slang. Even when they're ready to rumble, though, Hot Chip show off the sort of emotion and elation we've rarely seen since the glory days of New Order, and that's high praise indeed. -Louis Pattison.

Seventh Tree unveils an Alison Goldfrapp quite different to the one we saw on her career highpoint to date, 2005's Supernature. Whereas that album was grandiose, glammy, and almost aggressive in its brash, thrusting sexuality, Goldfrapp's fourth album is no less sensual, but rather more subtle in its approach. Recorded with longtime collaborator Will Gregory out in rural Somerset, Seventh Tree feels like an attempt to fuse the pagan folk of cult English horror classic The Wicker Man to a lush backdrop of woozy electronics and a restrained orchestral sweep reminiscent of '70s-era Serge Gainsbourg. In practise, this means much of Seventh Tree goes where earlier Gainsbourg disciples such as Air have gone before: chilled-out, soporific electronica with a light organic edge. Luckily, Goldfrapp remains a compelling enough figure to keep matters on the right side of ethereal: the gorgeous "Clowns" imagines the Cocteau Twins' Liz Fraser guesting on some long-forgotten Nick Drake out-take, rustic folk with an all-but-indecipherable vocal and an undercurrent of desolation, while "A&E" shows Goldfrapp's pop urge has not deserted her, uplifting electronica with a warm, bucolic twist. -Louis Pattison.

An astonishingly intense and ambitious album, Elbow's Cast of Thousands is relentlessly experimental. Having toiled for 10 years over their spellbinding Mercury-nominated debut Asleep in the Back, the maverick Bury five-piece-who were initially hailed as the new Radiohead-have produced a worthy sequel in a comparatively short two years. While mirroring their debut's melancholy tone, this album's romantic lyricism and uplifting harmonies inject a fresh dynamic. From the first bar, Cast of Thousands is enthralling. "Ribcage", an exquisite rousing treasure, builds on a languorous and fragmented melody into a cohesive climax while Garvey listlessly intones (with a flat mic taped to his larynx) the charming mantra, "When the sunshine/ throwing me a lifeline/ finds its way in to my room/ all I need is you". Meanwhile, the London Community Gospel choir's spiralling harmonies echo Blur's "Tender" in its lo-fi, mellifluous majesty. But the majority of the album is far less grandiose with the haunting "Snooks (Progress Report)" and "I've Got Your Number" bristling with an unnerving intimacy and brooding dialogue. It's an enchanting return that finds Elbow stretching from despair to lovelorn tenderness. -Christopher Barrett.

Don't call Santi White an R&B artist: on her debut album Santogold, this former music biz A&R and pop songwriter for hire is challenging race stereotypes and playing fast and loose with genre, mashing up dub, punk, and electronics to make an energetic, anger-fuelled music that blurs the lines between the dancefloor and the moshpit. Comparisons to MIA hold some water, especially on the bullish "Creator" (it's worth nothing that Santogold features production turns from sometime MIA collaborators Diplo and Switch). For the most part, though, Santogold's debut follows a quite different path. "L. E. S Artists" is stirring new-wave pop that builds to grand, tearful choruses reminiscent of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, while "You'll Find a Way" and "Say Aha" are propulsive ska-pop numbers that hark back to its creator's previous band, Bad Brains-influenced punks Stiffed. But it's not just skilful genre-skipping to recommend this record, though: White is the rare vocalist that can sound empowered and vulnerable within the space of the same song, and it's her force of character that places Santogold ahead of the pack. -Louis Pattison.

On Version, British-born, New York-bred DJ Mark Ronson cocks a sideways glance at some of the bigger UK chart hits of the last few years, plus a couple of old favourites. Formerly producer for an all-star cast that includes Lily Allen, Christina Aguilera, Robbie Williams, and Amy Winehouse, here Ronson has cajoled some of his famous mates into repaying the favour. The result? An album of A-list karaoke that at times, struggles to transcend its novelty, but nonetheless throws up some fun reversions. The uniting factor is Ronson's band - a live-sounding band augmented with trumpets, saxophones, piano and strings which, to its credit, puts enough of a stamp on the material that no single artist steals the show. And that's quite a feat, as there's some big names here. Lily Allen tackles the Kaiser Chiefs' "Oh My God" with her token gum-chewing insouciance. Amy Winehouse proves The Zutons' "Valerie" was always meant to be a strings-swept Motown stomp. And Tiggers and the late Ol' Dirty Bastard tackle Britney's "Toxic" (although few Wu-Tang fans will be surprised just how far ODB wanders off script). But the most significant misstep? Robbie's take on The Charlatans' "The Only One I Know", an unexpectedly drab remake that serves best to remind you how good the original is. -Louis Pattison.

The debut album by Salford's The Ting Tings comes hot on the heels of their No. 1 single "That's Not My Name", a nugget of pop gold that comes on like a genetic splicing of Toni Basil's "Micky" and The Knack's "My Sharona". The bulk of We Started Nothing follows a similar formula, navigating a path between the smart, angular indie of CSS, Bonde Do Role, et al and the pop mainstream. Here and there, they pull it off perfectly: the stutter-rap of "Fruit Machine" sees vocalist Katie White leading on some poor sap with sultry charisma and lip-gloss sass, while the excellent "Shut Up and Let Me Go" is snappy dance-punk in the spirit of Blondie's "Rapture" or Tom Tom Club's "Genius of Love". Elsewhere, they branch out with mixed results. "We Walk" builds from quiet flourishes of piano into a surprisingly steely manifesto: "Smash the rest up/Burn it down/Put us in the corner cause we're into ideas", sneers White. Rather less good is "Traffic Light", a light, jazzy number that employs a number of somewhat forced driving metaphors to describe a relationship hit the skids. Still, it's a debut with promise, and a string of good singles is nothing to be sniffed at. -Louis Pattison.