Alynda Lee clearly identifies with an inner gypsy. Deciding she wanted to become a musician, she fled her home in the Bronx and jumped across freight trains until she got to New Orleans, or so the story goes.

He's a mysterious little brat, this Zomby chap. Similar to like-minded sinister beats-man Burial, who kept his identity secret at first, Mr Zomby prefers anonymity.

Hollie Smith sure got something out of her system on her second album, Humour and the Misfortune of Others from last year, which scared many with its cathartic songs and tough playing.

This makes two albums in two years for super-producer and ambient master Brian Eno.

Tom Hanks directs and stars in this lacklustre romantic comedy he's co-written with Nia Vardalos, the writer and star of My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

Not the most promising band name in these tougher times, but this multi-lingual German neo-folk outfit don't go the 20-minute guitar solo route, but rather their name reflects their origins in a Berlin squat and their collective mentality.

Had Robert Hughes continued with his original aim of being an artist rather than becoming possibly the best-known art critic in the world it is a safe bet he would not have been a miniaturist.

I realise I am a bear of little brain who doesn't grasp the subtle smartness of post-modern personality-driven television. I need things spelled out to me in simple, non-ironic terms.

Just like the US in World War II, Captain America is the last to get in on the act, but still does more than enough to end the season with a bang.

He could have turned up and played some records - or whatever they scratch and mash-up tunes on these days.

The prolific and weird beat conductor Amon Tobin is back to wrestle and toy with your mind on album number seven. Since starting out in the mid-90s he's gone from using samples, to field recordings, and on ISAM he takes another bold new step.

If Charles Hardin Holley was alive today he'd be approaching his 75th birthday and would probably still be wondering why his fans are crying out "play the old stuff" at his shows.

From the literary suggestion of the band name and the chief songwriter here - Damien Wilkins - you could guess at some serious lyrical chops.

African Cats is a wonderfully filmed animal documentary aimed at a young audience.

A basement bar in Karangahape Rd provides an appropriate venue for a highly original variation on the classic "man walks into a bar" scenario.

Vivienne Plumb's new collection of poetry - beautifully designed by poet and publisher Helen Rickerby - reminds me that poetry books can feel so good in the hand. Plumb's poems have a chance to breathe on the page.

Isabelle Huppert has an uncanny ability to parlay her very distinctive appearance - flame-red hair, high cheekbones, a sprinkle of freckles and thin, sensuous and faintly cruel lips - into creating characters of astonishing individuality.

After years of failing to front at shows and hurling abuse at their supporters, Aussie band the Vines have channelled their raucous energy in this, their fifth album.

This debut from British pianist, arranger and jazz eccentric Greg Foat starts out brilliantly strange and tranquil, with the harpischord-driven Time Piece 1, and then it gets head-nodding and smooth on the title track.

A debut album that establishes this Louisiana-based five-piece as a more chaotic version of bands like Vampire Weekend.

Split between Britain and the USl, seven studio albums into their career and with songwriters Ian Ball and Ben Ottewell having released solo albums hardly seems to have damaged this band.

Not content with just conjuring up stylish grooves and skanking reggae lounge music, the dynamically dressed duo of Rob Garza and Eric Hilton have injected more overt political and social messages into their music in recent years.