An embarrassment of guests – from mentor Lou Reed to kindred spirits Devendra Banhart and Rufus Wainwright – serves to reinforce the notion that I Am A Bird Now marked the emergence of a rare talent. It also marked one of the few occasions when a Mercury Prize winner caused little to no disagreement. Tragic, brave and featuring a truly awe-inspiring vocal display, this might just be the best album ever made by an overweight, half-Irish transvestite. (Paul Harrington)

If Vaughan Williams' 'The Lark Ascending' is direct in its encapsulation of its listener, then Stars of the Lid are birds of a different sort. Where the Lark literally calls and climbs, appealing for your ear, 'And Their Refinement of the Decline' waits elsewhere. It might even be the sound of a meadowlark's slow decay, each disc and wing in itself. This music contains the quiet secret of modern life, like realising that above the horrid throb of streetlamps is a starry, starry expanse. These compositions never fail in removing the sense of impending future, with a sound that lingers and dissolves, as if it had never even touched upon the tender coil of your cochlea in the first place. (Daniel Greenwood)

James Murphy's project has two crucial elements to it. First there's insightful, cutting, often hilarious and only slightly sneering look at the music scene as displayed on his first single 'Losing My Edge'. Second there's quite obviously the music as best displayed on, well, first single 'Losing My Edge'. Almost five years later it seems the obvious crossover, but its more Murphy’s songwriting and that has lasted. 'Daft Punk is Playing at My House' may almost be an indie-dance novelty record but 'Never as Tired As When I’m Waking Up' and 'The Tribulations' prove this is a classic. (Pete Hurst)

Perhaps Doom's most successful solo work, and certainly his most accessible. This bizarre concept album about food sees Daniel Dumile giving free rein to his dark sense of humour, with the constant food metaphors serving as a jumping-off point for all manner of the oddball poetry he does better than anyone. There's something simple, enjoyable and – why not – nourishing about this album: the smooth grooves, great basslines, genuinely amusing skits and consistently excellent production make this a treat. (Tim Groenland)

Perhaps the sexiest album on our list; moody, deep and designed for late-night listening. Primarily the work of arranger/conductor/producer Jason Swinscoe, this genre-crossing masterpiece mixes jazz improvisation and electronica (with guest spots by such diverse talents as soul legend Fontella Bass and rapper Roots Manuva) in ways so seamless as to make it difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins. A beautifully sequenced and emotionally rewarding piece of work, the album flows so naturally it feels - like all the best albums - like a single piece of music. (Tim Groenland)

We all believed Sufjan was going to at least give his 50 states project a pretty decent shot, right? And we all thought he missed a trick by not disguising The Avalanche's Illinois outtakes as Wyoming, yeah? While he may have since said he has no qualms about admitting it was a promotional gimmick, the first state to be put to record, his home of Michigan, didn't need any selling. Finding haunted beauty in Flint, the city which had previously been painted so bleakly by Michael Moore on film, was instantly remarkable as was the somehow unique songwriting style that followed over the next 14 tracks. (Padraic Halpin)

This was the moment when it all fell into place, when the gentle building word of mouth surrounding an apparently incredible band from Brooklyn started to make sense. The moment when The National first started to become people's favourite band, the type to truly obsess over. Having the confidence to open your second album with a six-minute opus like ‘Cardinal Song’, a perfectly structured, written and delivered piece of goth-like-indie wonderment, was proof that this was a band stepping ever comfortably into their sound to explore the possibilities within. Though others may suggest Alligator and Boxer are the better albums from The National, Sad Songs’ eclectic mix of genre, structure and puffed-out confidence plead a very good case to make it The National's definitive release. (Paul Vickery)

When Stankonia came out at the start of the decade it seemed as if it might herald in a new golden age of hip-hop, where lyrical dexterity and musical experimentation came to the fore. Looking back now it's clear it wasn't but to be fair, it's a big ask for anyone to come with anything even nearly as inventive yet polished as Stankonia. While the follow up double album Speakerboxxx/The Love Below showcased their individual talents, Stankonia took the Big Boi and Andre 3000 playa/poet dynamic of their previous works to its artistic zenith. Taking elements of funk, soul, drum and bass while still sounding ultra modern, Stankonia stands as a stone cold classic which no hip-hop artist may ever surpass, including themselves. (Conor Graham)

Staggering on first listen, The Midnight Organ Fight still sends shivers through those initially flummoxed by it eighteen months later. Not many have captured the end of a relationship so brutally and candidly as Scott Hutchison has here, primarily because it’s told and played with triumphant underlying optimism. And the latter is vital too, for it has set Frightened Rabbit apart as a musical powerhouse. Expect the Glaswegians’ stock to rise sharply over the next decade. (Padraic Halpin)

Before Kings Of Leon realised their aspirations to become bland, U2-impersonating, stadium rock sell-outs, there was Aha Shake Heartbreak: the album that alerted the world to Caleb Followill’s incoherent Southern drawl. Of course, newly turned-on fans soon went on to discover the band’s 2003 debut, the equally superb Youth and Young Manhood, but it was this album that really cemented their reputation as one of the decade’s most significant bands. Say what you like about them, one listen to ‘Milk’ is all it takes to transport you back to a blissful time when ‘Sex On Fire’ was but a bad reference to the side effects of venereal disease. (Sheena Madden)

Effortlessly fluent and seemingly immune to the dead-ends typically inherent to the process of composition, Luke Steele has always flirted with a tendency towards frenetic over-expression. Though Lovers is unafraid to use its big guns—the choirs and murky atmospherics are always lying in reserve—it’s the studied pitch of their delivery, the discipline and honesty of its manoeuvrings around the twin themes of love and mortality, that really makes it worthwhile. (Conor Nagle)

There was a theory doing the rounds in the late Nineties that Primal Scream always released one good album (Sonic Flower Groove, Screamadelica, Vanishing Point) followed by one shit album (all the ones in between). This theory was smashed with the release of XTRMNTR in 2000 as they followed Vanishing Point with another stormer. It may have been the influence of Kevin Shields’ guitar keeping Bobby Gillespie from his worst Rolling Stones fascinations but what was released was political, heavy and commercially successful. Some would argue they haven’t come close to matching it since. (Pete Hurst)

Rejoicing In The Hands saw Devendra embrace the idea of an album as a piece of work, using proper production and recording equipment for the first time without taking anything away form the real cultural quality behind the bearded Texan's work.Instead the hired help added depth to his music which, while initially could seem like a rehash of old 60s folk, in fact contained far more lyrical charm and depth. An album so good that the most ridiculous-sounding of scenes, “freak folk”, was necessarily coined. (Stephen Mooney)

This is arguably the greatest British hip hop album of all time, certainly if we’re talking about the genre in its purest form, without the garage and grime influences that have come to dominate the scene in more recent years. It heralded the emergence of Rodney Smith as a true original with a big personality, something that is noticeably absent from most contemporary hip hop, certainly on this side of the Atlantic. And what’s more, with ‘Witness (One Hope)’ Smith had penned a bone fide urban classic, a proper anthem for disenfranchised British youth that comes complete with cheese-on-toast reference. A big record, and one that Smith has since built a career on. (Pete Hurst)

Nobody else over their past decade managed to came so completely out of nowhere like Mike Skinner did in 2002. Sure there were some Hip Hop, garage and electronic reference points but little in the way of real preference. Original Pirate Material put the turn of the decade aggressiveness of UK garage on its head, bringing headphone listeners on board and ultimately far broader numbers along too. Skinner’s debut still sounds as just as smart and just as humorous four albums on to place him deservedly among the great unique voices of British music. (Padraic Halpin)

So consistent has Spoon's output been over their second decade together that much of their 2000’s work, particularly perhaps 2002’s Kill The Moonlight, could have made it on here. However their decision in 2007 to team up with masterful producer Jon Brion had us wetting our collective pants. Ok so Brion only helped out one track, The Underdog (…but what a track etc), however he appeared to leave his chamberlain and horns section around the studio for Britt Daniel and co. to create a, relatively speaking, upbeat classic with. (Padraic Halpin)

So good it merited two versions on this, an introductory mish-mash to the work of Jens Lekman, 'Maple Leaves' is the perfect place to start with the Swede's work. There's the of-another-era sound, the charming vocals and those lyrics - so smart they'd put any poet lauriate to shame - peaking here when Jens mistakes 'talk about a fall' for a conversation about Mark E. Smith. The rest isn't bad either, a remarkably succinct piece of work for a collection of EP's and singles. (Padraic Halpin)

Karen O adorned the cover of NME back in 2003, eyes peering out from beneath her ‘60s bowl-cut, bright red lips painted haphazardly, her body covered in a blanket of sequins and glitter – and yet most people had no idea who she was at the time. Fever To Tell swiftly catapulted her among the great frontmen and -women around, delivering on the quality of the band’s earlier EPs and easily overcoming the hype that was building as a result. And while songs like ‘Rich’ and ‘Y Control’ satisfactorily ticked the more-of-the-same box, the divine ‘Maps’ pointed towards what was to come (see below) [Paul Vickery]

Nick Cave has been the discerning music fan’s equivalent of the boogeyman for quite some time now. Although the title track from Dig Lazarus Dig!!! saw the Bad Seeds move in an altogether more accessible direction, what follows on the album still holds fast to Cave’s deliciously sinister persona. From the nightmarish fairytale that is ‘Today’s Lesson’ to the characteristically glib ‘We Call Upon the Author’, Dig Lazarus Dig!!! may not reach quite as deep into the recesses of your soul as, say, Tender Prey or The Boatman’s Call, but it’s still sufficiently dark and wonderful to warrant it’s place on the list. (Sheena Madden)

Yeah Yeah Yeahs were not happy bunnies during the recording of their second LP, and that tension is immediately felt when Nick Zinner’s taught, punishing lead riff kicks in on opener 'Gold Lion'. It doesn't let up either, and the band-on-the-brink sensation throughout Show Your Bones makes for thrilling, edge-of-the-seat listening. Neither as spiky as their debut nor as synthy as its follow up, Show Your Bones nestles perfectly into one of the decade’s best catalogues from one of its most exciting bands. (Padraic Halpin)

You have the biggest selling UK debut album of all time. You’ve become ‘the band of the people’, a title previously reserved for the likes of Oasis; and the musical world's eyes are focused on what you’ll do next. Half expect you, like so many other young bands, to buckle under the weight of expectation, the other half hope you’ll come back brighter and louder than before. The latter were proved right when Favourite Worst Nightmare emerged the scarier, bigger brother to Whatever People Say I Am… Better riffs, stronger hooks and far heavier than anything they’d produced before, this was a huge “Up yours!” to those that said it couldn’t be done. (Paul Vickery)

Thom Yorke described this album as “like getting into someone's attic, opening the chest and finding their notes from a journey that they'd been on”. Which isn't far off: the more experimental sounds, jazzy rhythms and elusive melodies here create a fragmented, intriguing mood. Unfairly maligned on its release as an inferior companion piece to Kid A, this is certainly a darker, dreamier and more downbeat affair than its predecessor. But, while obvious high points may be at a premium (that is, if you ignore the mighty 'Knives Out' and 'Pyramid Song'), as an album Amnesiac is arguably more interesting than its Kid brother. (Tim Groenland)

Arcade Fire were faced with an awkward dilemma following the overwhelming success of their debut album, Funeral. Do they stick with the formula and risk a backlash for being too predictable, or experiment and risk alienating their devoted fanbase? In the end they walked the tricky tightrope to land somewhere in between. More grandiose than it's predecessor, yet brimming with genuine emotion and fragility, Neon Bible proved that Arcade Fire were not one-album wonders and cemented their position one of the most significant bands of the decade. (Conor Graham)

The Wisconsin wilderness, the tales of spurned love and heartbreak, the unkempt beard and lack of whorish publicity-seeking... Bon Iver quickly became the music press’s darling when he emerged from his log cabin in 2008. Unlike many flash-in-the-pan acts, however, Justin Vernon’s Bon Iver had the substance to justify all of the sycophantic fawning they were suddenly provoking. Fragile, primitive and candid,For Emma, Forever Ago is a moving collection of song-suites that more than lived up to the subsequent hype. (Sheena Madden)

When rummaging through a decades-worth of long-lost albums, there are those you thought were great, but now plainly aren't, and those that completely floor you far more than the even did first time round. Troubling the top 40, Grandaddy's cleverly named second album Sophtware Slump easily falls into the latter category. Sounding like it arrived in beginning-of-the-decade California in a time capsule, the electronic flourishes littered through their lo-fi country rock haven't been bettered by anyone who combined the two since. (Padraic Halpin)

Following up the career and indeed decade defining Soft Bulletin, The Flaming Lips pushed the kaleidoscopic envelope of ideas and sound further still with Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, remarkably their tenth LP. While Yoshimi is fundamentally about death and the finality of death, it's a joyful listen and contains hands down the greatest song about our mortality, 'Do You Realise'. It was the moment when experimental turned sentimental. Seven years on and approaching their fourth decade together, Wayne Coyne and co. are showing no signs of slowing down. (Stephen Mooney)

Ah, the curse of the uber-trendy. Franz Ferdinand feel very much like a product of their time, and just as one wouldn’t dare rock a Flock Of Seagulls cut into the office outside of Halloween, there’s a tendency to dismiss this record as the aural manifestation of skinny jeans and coffee jackets. That would be a mistake. While it never quite lives up to the pants-wetting promise of thumping single 'Take Me Out' (and in fairness, how could it), this is a smashing effort. Vibrant, driving and witty – this might be a record that shone for only the briefest of moments, but what a luminous moment it was. (Barry Glynn)

Emerging from a post-Britpop hangover, Manchester’s music scene at the turn of the century was a rich breeding ground for indie rock, and there was no band hungrier for acclaim than this Wilmslow trio. Having seen their previous incarnation as dance act Sub Sub come to an abrupt end when a fire in their studio destroyed years of work, the band’s determination to forge ahead as Doves soon reaped dividends. Lost Souls’ strength lies in the melodic interplay between Jimi Goodwin and Jez Williams’ layered guitars, with Andy Williams’ drumbeats providing a solid backbone throughout. (Eamonn Halpin)

PJ Harvey said that after experimenting with "some dreadful and unsettling, nauseous-making sounds" on her previous two albums, Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea was the reaction. It was when Polly Jean let us in a little. She gave up none of her intrigue but her fifth album was her most complete to date. She wanted the album to be her "beautiful, sumptuous, lovely piece of work" and through its lush layered melody, she utterly succeeded. (Padraic Halpin)

2004 was the year of the great follow up album, when the biggest buzz bands of the previous three years - The Strokes, Kings Of Leon and Interpol - dismissed the idea that second albums were for some reason difficult to make. It was more of the same from all three but none repeated the same formula as successfully as Interpol. They retained the gloom, the superbly structured songs and the nonsense lyrics to do what seemed impossible, create an album that could stand up to Turn On The Bright Lights. It was just a shame that, like their fellow school of the early noughties classmates, they missed the next time round. (Padraic Halpin)

Before we had blog buzz, there was word of mouth and Damon Gough was perhaps its last great beneficiaries. Building on some soon to be seriously sought after EPs, The Hour Of The Bewilderbeast inserted some ambition into lo-fi slacker music. Yet it's the more understated moments - the 'Fall In A River's' and 'Bewilderbeast's' rather than the 'Once Around The Block's' that win the day. The record of course went onto win the Mercury Prize and, one fantastic soundtrack aside, Gough never really recovered. (Padraic Halpin)

The list of influences appearing in Person Pitch's liner notes are as much a thank you from Noah Lennox as the regards to friends and family. It's a record of literal influence, though it's unclear, there are (supposedly) numerous samples lifted from other songs to make the basis of the album up. But who cares. This is a paean, a record of deep humility that underlines Lennox as one of the most optimist artists in work today. 'Bros' is a behemoth, dripping with Lennox's now trademark reverb vocals, a call that seems to resound down the ages. There are inflections of Reggae and Afro-Beat in 'Good Girl/Carrots', with words of some wisdom: 'Take a look between your notes/there's something good happening'. Person Pitch appeals to the good in its listener, but its most direct course is from the heart of Lennox, a man of a strangely steely exterior. Whatever this divine work of art can teach you, it's that things aren't what they seem. They're quite wonderful. (Daniel Greenwood)

An album that seems to grow in stature with each passing year. Veckatimest may be a step forward for the band in many ways, but there's a magic about Yellow House that's all its own. There's something about the otherwordly, folky textures and eerie soundscapes of this album – made before GB had become a fully-fledged rock band and arguably before they figured out exactly what they were doing – that remains utterly compelling. (Tim Groenland)

Great expectations have stifled the careers of more than a few great acts in the past. So when it came time to record the follow-up to Homework – an album that effectively still serves as a blueprint for sample-based dance music – Thomas Bangalter & Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo must have been feeling the pressure. But rather than stutter and fail, the Parisian duo decided to go off and throw an interstellar party. Discovery is the robotic disco soundtrack to New Year’s Eve on a space station, owing as much to the soft-focus schmaltz of Supertramp and ELO as it does to DJ Hell. Still guranteed to detonate any dancefloor or house party, it also gave this decade some of its biggest singles. (Paul Harrington)

Ryan Adams’ current status as a caricature of romantic precociousness and self-regard is so thoroughly frustrating to many because this album, his debut, exists as the proof that he is not only capable of crafting a rounded and cohesive album of songs, but of doing so free from the posturing and affection that has, over the years, become something of a default position for him. Inspired by a genuine sense of uncertainty and impermanence, Heartbreaker is, for all its acoustic modesty, a charismatic epic of American myth and metropolitan anxiety. (Conor Nagle)

"People think you buy a sampler and away you go, you turn into DJ Shadow or something,” said The Avalanches Robbie Charter of those who thought the Aussies were just mixing a few records together. If DJ Shadow arguably delivered the album of the last decade by perfecting the art of sampling, then The Avalanches pushed it to the limit near the beginning of this one. Conservatively estimating the number of samples they used at 3,500, they could never be accused of cutting corners. The ultimate labour of love – although we have been waiting almost 10 years for its rumoured follow up – Since I Left You soars because it’s not as gimmicky as it really should be. Instead it’s as heartfelt and intimate as anything released since. (Padraic Halpin)

Behind Animal Collective’s too-cool-for-school stage persona lies an almost unrivalled ability to move people through music. Adored by critics from the word go, for this fan there’s always been something academic about much of the band’s music, no matter how close to greatness they’ve frequently come in the past. All this changed, however, with the arrival this year of Merriweather…, an album that’s positively overflowing with a sense of joy and naive euphoria. The childlike playfulness is apparent in everything from Panda Bear and Avey Tare’s vocal sparring to the trippy magic-eye cover art. Bookended by two of the most gorgeously uplifting songs you’re ever likely to hear (‘My Girls’ and ‘Brother Sport’), this is AC at their most accessible and best. (Paul Harrington)

How does one describe a record like Agaetis Byrjun? It’s become commonplace to reference geysers and glaciers, as if this was some sort of national statement. Presumably if the Icelanders had hailed from Munich we’d be told instead that it was reminiscent of pigtails, weissbier and Gerd Muller. The truth is that this is a nightmare record to adequately convey a sense of. If at times it sounds like the birth of Spring, it also sounds like the end of the world – all subtle majesty and crashing chord intros. That might not sound like it should make sense but then, on this record, nothing seems like it should work and yet it operates with perfect balance, and stunning success. (Barry Glynn)

The album that sparked a million late-night muso debates, it’s easy to forget just how bold a statement Kid A made upon its release. Taking its cue from contemporary jazz, krautrock and obscure electro, and yet somehow still sounding like it was being beamed at us from another planet, it remains the definitive statement of turn-of-the-century ennui. At times unremittingly bleak, Thom Yorke and co. knew they’d be alienating vast swathes of their fanbase who are still to this day wondering where the guitars have gone. But the band’s reward has been to change the musical landscape with an album that even now sounds ahead of its time. Almost a genre unto itself, not only did Kid A mark the reinvention of Radiohead, it also represented a giant leap forward for the world of leftfield music. (Paul Harrington)

There are those of us who would forgive a band almost anything if they succeed in pulling off a decent approximation of vocal harmonies allied to pop sensibilities (in my spare time, I still defend The Thrills at parties). What elevates this Seattle quintet above the rest is just how successfully they transcend those criteria. This is a record born in the Pacific Northwest but with its parentage stretching across from California to the Appalachians. Just when things start getting maybe a touch derivative, another vocal combination seems to tip-toe down from heaven itself, and the record becomes not so much an homage to those who’ve trodden this ground before, but instead feels like a natural conclusion. (Barry Glynn)