Soft Metals shows a ton of potential, and each track is polished with care, but it is hard to overcome the album's mostly simple pattern.

Her well of inspiration has always been deep, with songs about environmentalism, family troubles and small town gossip, but it seems now, when pressed too hard on the idea of maturity, Musgraves appears all too shallow, and no longer the three-dimensional character we loved and craved so much.

An ambitious concept, but not fully executed, Top Ten Hits Of The End Of The World is stuck somewhere in-between.

While Róisín Machine is probably the most straightforward album she’s made, and is clearly within her wheelhouse, it just leaves a desire that she had pushed things even further, as we know she’s capable of doing.

The project is full of snappy, polished pop-R&B songs that never go too far astray in quality but can be a repetitive experience when considered as a whole.

By cause and effect, the music submissively ambles between full-on 80s throwback mode and stylish juxtapositions of different sensibilities, sometimes frustratingly so for those inclined to want to feel or hear something new. More often than not, The KVB are simply great at reconfiguring their core influences in fresh ways instead of blowing it up into an all-out pastiche, which isn’t an easy thing to do when your music summons such a specific set of atmospherics.

Algiers are unpredictable yet methodical, driving with eyes closed and reacting to the wheel’s vibrations instead of making it shake.

The levels of electronics that come in and out subtly, but skilfully, on the album's best songs are an indication of how much time Jason Drake has put into them. It's just a shame that this shines light more intensely on the songs where he didn't.

With this mixed bag he's likely cemented his reputation as a MC that was blessed with a sack of classic beats for his debut, now just a rapper like the rest of 'em.

FIDLAR are still young, and they sing about what they know; never on the album do you feel like they’re presenting themselves as anything other than what they are, and this is why the album is enjoyable despite its repetition and simplicity.

Self-Surgery is punchy and full of potential, but that’s mostly what it rides on. It’s a quick fix, but its depths are easily plundered.

The first half of SHYGA! contains most of the sharper hits, while the guitars on the second half are allowed to roam looser and longer.

Instead of going out with a nuclear bang, Megadeth serves lean sides that won’t clog the final tour’s setlists.

This album will make for a perfectly amicable spring soundtrack, but in terms of a long-term shelf life it's be hard to imagine Candy Salad making it through the sweat and debauchery of the summer festival circuit in one relevant piece.

Despite leaning into a slightly different, more openly bold anthemic sound, the album is consistent with what may be expected to come from the band. Per usual, each lyric is written with clear intentionality. Where the band has gone astray and allowed themselves to drift is in the instrumentation.

Extinction Level Event 2 is just too ambitious for its own good. Yet, for all the lazy sequels and cash-ins in a genre rife with them, it’s hard to fault Busta Rhymes for striving a bit too hard to go that extra mile.

As it stands, the record is too disjointed as a whole body of work, and you get the sense that when you return to it at a future point it’ll be to pick out the peaks and entirely ignore the lows. Such is life.

What comes reverberating out of Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was is Bright Eyes’ deep desire to create beautiful and ambitious music, which they’ve certainly done – even if the results aren’t as essential as what’s come before.

Songs Without Jokes is a perfectly satisfactory addition to McKenzie’s musical career. He’s garnered enough clout behind his credentials to be able to release an album like this: inoffensive, perfectly likable in passing, but a few steps from his best work.

This is an artist that certainly knows how to kick it in, but you spend most of your time waiting for it.

Fair play to them for expanding out on Kids in L.A. and finding appropriate inspiration, but I dare say that the emotion that brought the couple together seem to be their deepest well of inspiration.

Glasgow Eyes isn’t far off being a great record, but those drops in quality aren’t just blips, they’re chasms.

With some great tracks, and some tracks that are only just okay, Brilliant! Tragic! is definitely worth listening to at least once or twice this summer.

There's half a very good album here, the rest is just a few clever musicians having some fun.

Rhye has always specialized in making the kind of dance music that operates at a cool temperature, feeling sexy and sensuous without going full dancefloor. ... Milosh does it again here, and makes room for some nice textural and instrumental details, but as Home closes with another heavenly choir piece, it accidentally suggests something about Rhye: maybe it’s time to try some new tricks.

Joy’All feels so light that, despite some of its heavier themes and perfectly-enjoyable atmosphere, it sounds like it’s a couple seconds from simply evaporating, effervescent, like the bubbles from your Jack & Coke.

They’re churning away in a place that sounds comfortable to them, and not outdoing themselves or any expectations of them at this point in their career. In other words, no big changes – but you would never expect that of them.

The Dream doesn’t feel like a failed attempt at reaching new heights of popularity. It feels like a lot at once, but in a way that makes one want to give it another shot.

Lady Gaga could probably do well with paring down a bit, perhaps finding some weird way to meld the ethos of Joanne with the sleek electronics of Chromatica. She is a very talented pop songwriter and a strong vocalist, but sometimes her ideas sometimes get the best of her, and Chromatica is emblematic of that, in all its highs and lows.

CAVE have clearly done their homework in terms of musical influences, but I'd love to hear them spend less time droning in their footsteps of their forebears and more time actually crafting something new.

You see parts of what should be interesting music throughout, but Radical Optimism seems more interested in never failing to be good than in succeeding at all at being excellent.

The record too often seems unsure of itself, the band uncertain of their ability to make this style of music conform to their rules rather than vice versa--a shame considering how talented Craig and Drennan are when it comes to melody and song.

Overall, Ceremonials leaves everyone's opinions of Florence + the Machine in stasis; if you loved or hated her before, you'll still feel the same way, if you were unsure, you'll still be unsure.

Tinsel and Lights is at its best during its most Christmassy moments, which in the context of everything else, feels a little ironic, as Thorn sounds like she's trying to avoid the holiday for the most part.

Sundowner bears some resemblance to Morby’s 2016 release Singing Saw. That album excelled in creating a wild and compelling atmosphere because its songs — with their choral support, varied instrumentation, and grittier production — rose to the occasion. On Sundowner, Morby’s storytelling isn’t just the album’s centerpiece – it’s an overcompensation.

Grande’s immaculate outer shell both physically and artistically reframes her personal struggles through artifice, communicating relatability to her audience. Yet the lack of grit, grunge or goo keeps Positions distant from the listener, sitting far away, somewhere in the dark.

The first Mall Grab album is decidedly too busy and scattered to be much of anything but a letdown for most fans.

With Indian Yard, there’s a feeling we might not yet know the full identity of Ya Tseen, but a future release without such reliance on partnerships will surely enlighten. There’s enough thoughtful layering and earnest emotion (“At Tugáni” is where he shows this most, notably in a song named after his son) in Indian Yard to merit further exploration.

The entirety of Freeze, Melt is meditative in the most inoffensive sense; there is no gravitational force – no push and pull to the songs for them to have any more impact than a gentle breeze has on a vast, surging ocean.

Instrumentally, every song here is impressive, but the singing is pushed to the fore on the majority in an attempt to instigate a hook, which is only occasionally successful.

There is a feeling of contrivance in some of the songs here, but genuine joy and abandonment elsewhere.

They’re a nostalgia trip of intertextual references. Ö will no doubt frustrate some, and delight many others. It is, after all, just a ride that doesn’t need to be taken too seriously.

Though Ulven sounds in a better place, she’s still not free from the worry and anxiety that also comes with elation and joy. It colours her music as much as the kitschy stuff does here.

The album does offer some nice expansions on themes and compositional ideas from his debut. But, all in all, too much of Moondust for My Diamond gets lost in its own glittery haze.

As it stands, Beak & Claw gets an A for effort but considerably lower marks for execution.

Repeated listens, indeed, prove it to be a perfectly serviceable, enjoyable offering. But there’s always that nagging feeling, once the DJ has packed up the gear and the dancefloor empties, that there could have been something more.

In changing the dynamic, The Mysterines get a little lost.

It’s surprisingly how unaffecting and mediocre most of it is.

No, it doesn’t match the divine polish or emotional architecture of Ray of Light – few records ever have. But that’s not the point. This album isn’t about rewriting history; it’s about finishing a sentence left hanging for 25 years.

The record pleasantly showcases Kesha’s impressive vocal range, emotive delivery and riff performance, but the final song is a spark that serves to highlight the unevenness of the album.

So, for now we're left with another Noel Gallagher album that continues in the same trend of most of Oasis' output, trying to be something greater than it is. But hey, at least it's better than Beady Eye.

While Comedown Machine drags itself through a number of dead zones (most notably the dud pair of the title track and “50 50”), there are moments where they recapture some of what made them a great band.

Westerman may not have found his footing with his debut record, but there are enough parts to the whole that should keep listeners looking forward to what he does in the future.

The Shadow I Remember is a confusing exploration of Baldi’s hopes and dreams, which don’t materialize at all. There’s so much to unpack in his words, but he makes it hard to care about them.

As much as Mice Parade’s previous releases seemed to be insular statements, Candela is simply stretched too thin, with too little of Pierce himself in the music.

Off the Record, despite a few promising tracks, never provides a strong enough reason for listeners to do anything but go back and admire what he accomplished with Kraftwerk.

The fact that TANGK captures a band boldly going out of their own depth doesn’t take away that IDLES come on a little too strong too often, compelling you to swipe left more often than right.

This is a batch of super simple songs, with super simple melodies, and super simple lyricism. At this point in their career it seems like there isn’t much else to expect from them.

Some of it drags (looking at you, “You’ve Won This War”), and the lyrics, melodies, and sounds don’t always land. At times you can practically feel him straining for it all to Mean Something, but Butler remains a powerful and important voice in music, even when a particular album doesn’t fully succeed.

Although working your way through the album can feel like trudging through the shit-stinking mud in the tunnels beneath the streets, there are glimpses of lights that break though from the surface, like manhole covers left exposed.

Host is a consistent record in its drive towards freedom, and both sound and lyrics embody that. At times this really allows them soar, and at others there’s the struggle to go it alone. It’s great to see Cults taking risks and pressing forward, but more than anything it makes you long for their past.

As a whole, the album's sound suggests that of a band on auto-pilot, one that's not so much invested in recording new material as it is in simply going through the motions of recording new material.

Much like a good wine, the album mellows out and becomes better.

I know the band can write damn good songs and they have proven that before and prove it here, but until they address the main problems (the still heavily reverberated vocals for one) or really venture out into something different (there is life beyond pasting snippets from philosophy lectures) I think history will keep repeating itself for these guys.

At its worst, The Tunnel and the Clearing sounds akin to lovely if too-inoffensive loading screen music. At its best, it’s bewitching and intriguing. Overall, Schott still has much to give, and much to offer this particular genre of minimalistic abstract pop, but she may need to do more next time around to take her considerable skills even further.

It’s a considerable improvement over the absolute mess that was Love is Dead, at the very least, but they’ve taken a step a bit too far into their past to bounce back fully.

Believer’s songs push and pull against each other, and the end result leaves one feeling like not much ground has been covered. It’s bolder than most new albums in recent memory, especially coming from a label as big as XL, but too often their sound comes off as a bizarre experiment. They are capable of more.

Caravan Château is undoubtedly a sonically interesting album to partake in. But Izenberg’s compositions don’t always lend him any favours. They are considered, and everything feels deliberate (despite how sporadic it may be presented to be), but sometimes they don’t wander in any direction that makes for engaging listening.

On Gimme Some, Peter Bjorn and John abandon the experimental sound they'd been developing over the course of the last few years in favor of flavorless alt-rock that falls short of the bar set by Falling Out.

By itself, Mountaintops is a big, dry album that doesn't move you anywhere.

If anything, A Very She & Him Christmas can feel like a wet blanket at times, like a party that just can't get off the ground.

Poster Girl is a step forward in a somewhat more concise direction for Larsson, but it could have used some fine-tuning to fully commit to its vision. She has created an album that is unapologetically romantic and fun but lacking in consistency production-wise.

Instead of charm you've got big dramatic gestures at every turn.

To put it simply, Is This Hyperreal? suffers not because the band made a bad album, but because this is the fourth time they've repeated the formula.

It remains a frustrating record, though, since it does show Tegan and Sara attempting to pull away, ever so slightly, from the sickeningly shiny days of “Closer”, but they get in their own way in their efforts to be edgy or forward-thinking.

Judging from these recordings, it’s unclear where Secret Machines are heading. Their strength lies in dynamic live shows, and those are postponed until further notice. Awake in the Brain Chamber possesses the clean-cut sound of a mainstream rock album that can sell large quantities, but it lacks the wild abandon and unique inspiration that leads to fervent adoration – the qualities that made their debut album into an underdog classic of the era. But the potential remains.

To his credit, he once again proves why he’s esteemed at the former via the blunt insights of “TMVTL”, but the “run that verse back” Benny is all but absent on Everybody Can’t Go. Once more, there’s nothing necessarily wrong with that, but he doesn’t seem sure how to replace that energy with conviction. Even The Alchemist gets dragged down by the pursuit of safe material.

God Forgives is consistently, pleasantly underwhelming: the plodding R&B-rooted efforts aside, there's nothing much to complain about.

It gets bogged down in the doldrums somewhere between the personal and universal, and ends without truly having reached either shore.

The record sounds tired, dreamy, and wasted in the daylight at five in the afternoon– it tries to be breezy, but instead still feels like 99 degrees of heat.

For those who regard May Our Chambers Be Full as a contemporary gem, The Helm of Sorrow will occur as one of rock’s anticlimaxes. One shouldn’t ignore the winning elements of this release and how the contributing artists’ gifts are alternately put on center stage, but if Chambers is the benchmark for this combo, then one has to point out that what rendered it near-perfect; namely, the seamless synthesis of styles and energies, is on the whole absent here.

The tracks are still unmistakably Sonic Youth, but in a period where each album had a particular feel and tone, these tracks feel too disjointed to sit together too well.

The most frustrating thing about these eleven songs is that it sounds as if Lidell is shackled by the aesthetic, and it’s totally self-imposed. He’s capable of more.

While Major has a good solid handful of inspired moments, none of this material comes close to approaching the plane as that Fang Island were operating on before.

They start off well, though, with a trio of solid tracks.... The remaining tracks on the album are equally inoffensive, but they don't have the same half-minded unassuming appeal to help them glide along, and too often there's one too many head-in-your-hands cheesy lines thrown in.

Surprising title be damned, High Off Life can’t seem to help feeling like a rerun – albeit an enjoyable one.

What hurts The Don Of Diamond Dreams is how they get ahead of themselves with minimal regard to where they’re going.

It’s clear that Williams had fun here, that he was able to embrace some of his contemporaries and heroes. But it never feels like a classic record, a necessary record, a weighty record.

Junior Boys’ track record shows that change is good, but here it feels like the tiptoe before a more significant step.

Sticking to a playbook can be a great approach, but Diet Cig seem to be always aiming for “proficient”, while the “exemplary” boxes languish unchecked.

If Wilson and crew are trying to invoke a riot, then Easy Eighth isn’t the best manifesto – but it does at least fill the time fine enough until they figure out their cause.

Metalhorse, like a carousel in the conceptual bedraggled funfair, spins itself in circles for its own sake. It’s honest about its origins and inspiration, but hurts itself by not seeing that it’s repeating itself as it goes on.

Like Silica Gel, Sushi isn't a bad album; it's just disappointingly mediocre, and I expect better than that from the psychedelic underground's clown prince of Cool Runnings and backseat-of-grandma's-Oldsmobile Top-40 jams.

Toward the Low Sun staggers to get that momentum, though it does achieve atonement through progression.

Local Business isn't a bad album, but it doesn't completely pull itself off either.

Nocturnes rates better as an album that sounds better with time, as opposed to Hands’ sugar rush appeal. However, it also retains an uneven quality that can make getting through Nocturnes feel like someone trying to drag the party on a little too long.

As an album, it's ultimately too bogged down by its professionalism and erraticism to come together very well.

There’s so much talent and story hidden behind the mask, but this album isn’t Orville Peck at his truest.