Denmark’s Broken Twin take the lead in the latest of theartsdesk’s regular round-ups of the new music coming in from Scandinavia. Debut album May is melancholy. Minimally arranged, with lyrics addressing the pain brought by the passing of time, bleakness in the form of metaphorical references to weather and what happens after death, this is an affecting album.

Good Morning, Midnight is the 1939 Jean Rhys novel portraying an alienated woman moving through the present while being confronted with, but not necessarily recognising, her own past. In the book, Sasha Jensen wanted to be acknowledged but also unseen. Good Morning, Midnight the album is the first by Becky Becky, the new persona of Gemma L Williams, who previously recorded as Woodpecker Wooliams. She said goodbye to that guise at a show where she performed naked. The novel's alienation reverberates throughout the album.

Howling Bells have come a long way in the 10 years since they settled on a name and direction for their musical project, both physically - the four-piece uprooted themselves from Sydney, Australia to their adopted hometown of London to record and promote their self-titled debut album - and philosophically.

The first thing you’ll notice about Sharon Van Etten’s Are We There is how crystal-clear and clean it sounds. “Afraid of Nothing”, the album’s opening track, fizzes with hope and expectation like the long tail of a firework from its giddy opening lines: “you told me the day that you showed me your face we’d be in trouble for a long time - I can’t wait”.

Oasis: Definitely Maybe

Declaring that your new album can help conquer insomnia seems, initially, self-defeating. If it induces such a calmness that potential listeners drift off to sleep, then there’s the potential it may never be heard in full. Yet this is what lies behind Matt Berry’s fifth album. It was written and recorded at his home studio in the small hours while he was suffering from insomnia. He wanted to create a music which would still his mind so set to devising his own therapeutic soundtrack. Music for Insomniacs is the result.

At last night’s Eurovision Song Contest, host country Denmark submitted “Cliché Love Song”, a weedy Bruno Mars-a-like designed to ensure they did not win for a second year running. It came ninth. While understandable that Danish national broadcaster DR would try to duck the expense of staging the extravaganza in Copenhagen again in 2015, they could have displayed some imagination by choosing an entrant that was certainly not a winner but had some worth.

Josef K: The Only Fun in Town

Although the trademark aqueous shimmer is still recognisable on Life Among the Savages, the sound of San Francisco’s Papercuts has changed since 2011’s Fading Parade. On his fifth album as Papercuts, Jason Quever has kept arrangements more sparse than ever yet everything has a distance. His world appears to be one of permanent dusk, when melancholy is inescapable. Life Among the Savages is the sound of outside looking in.

Two potential obstacles need navigating while considering Frank. First, despite what it initially seems, this is not an account of the life and times of Frank Sidebottom, the giant-headed character created by maverick musician Chris Sievey. Second, the attitude towards mental health issues exhibited by those close to Frank in the film makes for awkward viewing. Beyond these health warnings, the presence of Michael Fassbender and Maggie Gyllenhaal in this eccentric, touching film makes it more than a curiosity.

As Frank, despite being masked by the disconcerting, big-eyed, blank-faced papier-mâché head of Frank Sidebottom, Fassbender (pictured below with Maggie Gyllenhaal and Domhnall Gleeson) projects child-like wonder, intensity, single-mindedness and vulnerability to such a degree it doesn’t matter whether facial expressions can be seen. The film hinges on this extraordinary performance.

In essence, Frank follows the trajectory of the standard eccentric artist biopic. A tortured genius with a singular take on their art is recognised as such by those close to him and a small audience. After word gets out, a brush with the mainstream ensues. That proves impossible to cope with, so retreat is followed by a form of redemption.

Sievey died in 2010. He initially attracted some attention with the Beatles-inspired new wave-pop of his Manchester-based band The Freshies. After adopting the persona of Frank Sidebottom, he was booked to play London in 1987 just as his keyboard player dropped out. The entertainments officer of the college where the gig was taking place stepped in with no notice and then joined the band. That new member was future journalist Jon Ronson, who co-wrote Frank. The film loosely draws from the experience with Domhnall Gleeson as Jon (pictured below), the Ronson analogue. That is where the real story of Sidebottom/Sievey and Frank the film part ways.

In the film, there is no Sievey and, despite the name and head, Fassbender's Frank is nothing to do with Frank Sidebottom. The new Frank does not step out of character. The head does not even come off in the shower. Our Frank has a manager who knocks him out cold during what appears to be a manic episode. His band members –  including Clara, Gyllenhaal’s always-coruscating, sociopathic, violent yet charismatic keyboard player who won’t admit to being in love with Frank – are an odious, off-the-shelf sneery, self-obsessed, tedious lot exploiting him by riding on the back of his unique vision. He hones these no-talents by rehearsing them relentlessly in a cottage, as Captain Beefheart did with the contrastingly accomplished Magic Band in preparation for recording Trout Mask Replica.

Into this world steps eager-to-please, naïve and unworldly nice-guy Jon, who has ambitions to be a songwriter. He wants what’s best for Frank, but pushes things too far. Jon even uses his savings to pay for the recording of the album when the band’s money runs out. His internet exposure leads them to play the Austin, Texas music industry showcase South by Southwest. It’s an instant disaster, so Frank flirts with making his music mainstream. The few Americans aware of Frank think the strange behaviour seen on the internet is a put-on, and don’t realise it’s not showbiz flannel. The film’s truly intense final moments linger long after the credits.

Frank is a cautionary tale about fragility pushed too far and taking advantage of others. It is wholly more successful than the last film adaptation of Ronson's written work, The Men Who Stare at Goats. Fassbender was courageous to take on the role, and it may well come to be looked back on as among his greatest performances.

Overleaf: watch the trailer for Frank