It would be fair to say that the Toulouse-based Sed Non Satiata, full-time sceamo shape-shifters and part-time Orchid impersonators, are on a roll. Their 2004 debut Le Ciel De Notre Enfance, whilst unabashed Envy-bait, was a potent concoction of abrasive delay-laden guitars and impassioned shouts and screams, stitched together by soaring crescendos and clever pacing.

It was admittedly exciting to wait in fevered anticipation alongside tens of thousands of people for the album stream on YouTube to begin, but in such a circumstance, you can get yourself tangled up in the delusion of grandeur. Afterwards, it struck me as odd that Boards of Canada would take this route. Since when has their music been intended for instant gratification?

Kato’s scattershot 2012 debut Came With Nothing / Left With Nothing was a noisy, relentless amalgamation of what seemed like so many styles and genres, stifling you from every which way with dozens of sonic arrangements inspired by early hardcore, sludge-tinted post-metal and European screamo.

Ever since the idea to create a music site was batted about in the latter half of last year, the ultimate aim of Noted was quite clear: to promote and provide exposure for the best new and lesser-known bands. We knew that there was an untold amount of music out there, begging to be listened to, and we wanted to tap into it as much as we could. It’s why we’re proud to allow user submissions – we’ve received some really great stuff and formed a number of friendships. However, whether it was malicious or not, this service got taken advantage of. We were tricked, an artist robbed, and we never want it to happen again.

To the uninitiated, the words that surround Mets straddle a wiry line somewhere between grand concept and pretentious extravagance, but to the band, Mets is the result of a painstaking and laborious effort that took years to craft, with a cohesive narrative built around the collective identity of human beings and where every facet and every detail has been meticulously fussed over until it satisfies Vasilis Dokakis’ lofty standards.

When The Guardian bizarrely proclaimed that Jon Hopkins was the next Brian Eno, I’ll admit to rolling my eyes a little. Cynical perhaps, but I’ve never understood the slightly morbid insistence on replacing one person with another — not least when Eno is still alive — just because some artistic similarities are shared and they’ve worked together in the past.