The majority of Playing Robots Into Heaven is still very good, but the album is missing the skyscraping highs of past tracks like “The Wilhelm Scream” or “Retrograde”, and its cohesiveness is hampered by a few lesser songs that have slipped past the slackened quality control department.

Hard to categorise, and impossible to assess immediately, like all of Slowdive, everything is alive will ever blossom with time.

The dire gloom of the early years is gone, and the garbled mutations of Some Rap Songs and Feet of Clay have grown in clarity without losing any of their labyrinthine and gothic dynamics. Without calling a masterpiece just yet: this is a very special moment, both for Thebe and his fans. I leave the rest to Two-Face and the flip of his coin.

It’s outside the lines at times and consists of hues and shades you might not expect, but this is what makes Fragile Plane a fascinating listening experience.

Her vision of R&B is unfiltered and uncompromising. At her most modern, she is advancing her genre rather than watering it down for current tastes. Things her songwriting could only hint at in the work of others are here in full, and they make for a beautiful end product.

Everyone Else is a Stranger might hook in a few new fans, but they will find better work with further exploration into Lindstrøm’s discography. For everyone else, all you need to know is that it’s just Lindstrøm doing what he does best, which is no bad thing from space disco royalty.

A solidly realized full-length record, Radio Red is a welcome addition to an already outstanding catalog.

While Smiling spreaded itself thin at times, Owusu sounds more settled on Struggler and contorts his voice less.

There is plenty of fun and escapism of the sort that gave Jepsen her well-earned reputation in the popsphere, but in terms of her progression as an artist, its most striking tracks prove to be the ones that are more self-focused.

It’s Noname’s most convincing album yet – as a whole, it defies any attempt to be embraced as “mainstream” or “digestible”.

Brazen and charming, it’s the album of this summer.

This is very, very good – better than the rest. Analysis seems to make no sense when the art is so enormously enjoyable.

It’s at a crossroads between being many things: a moving resurrection; an impressive display of a talent we didn’t think we’d hear again; a slightly shambolic jam sesh; and more. Its coconspirator too often wears her sincere giddy passion for Mitchell on her sleeve (she may as well say “it came true” at some point), but it’s surely at least in good faith.

It’s a shame nothing about it screams new pop culture staple the way the movie does. There are fine moments, but the highs don’t rise enough to offset the lows.

They have managed to recapture the magic that permeated their best material and made it so imminently replayable. This is a bold move that should be celebrated, and more importantly, it should be emulated.

Yes, The Ballad of Darren is Dad Rock. Fairly enjoyable Dad Rock, true, and still a record hundreds of bands can only dream of making, but one that would likely fall by the wayside if anyone else had made it. Is this bad? Not really, and if anything, it proves that Blur can transition gracefully into old age.

While Clarke remains tethered to his sources, he still manages to flap his way toward the sun. In this version of the myth, his wings hold up, his father congratulates him, and the gods give him a brief yet sincere ovation.

My Back Was a Bridge for You to Cross, in turn, shows Anohni pivoting between stunningly direct and entrancingly oblique manifestos. A listener is left voyeuristically spellbound, striving to reconcile what they’ve encountered with the life they’re currently living.

The resulting album is at once a hodgepodge of ideas and a collection that is bound together by vintage synth tones NV and Deradoorian’s desire to explore the possibilities of their collaboration. It’s an entirely unpredictable but indefinably enlivening listening experience.

Overall, I Don’t Know is a formidable leap forward for bdrmm and needs to be seen as one body of work that veers this way and that, but always with a purposeful forward motion.

But The Greater Wings, for all its inevitable connotations, is not a downer. It’s a beautiful testament to life and to the people we love and that keep us going, physically and spiritually. It’s also a testament to moving forward with grace and strength, and rediscovering that longing to live.

Musically, the deft fusion of the delicate and the hearty reflects Harvey’s thematic explorations; the production is full of strange quirks, whether found sounds or unusual effects that are sometimes inserted and not repeated. The effect is that the music feels both hazy and alive, evoking the Orlam world in its strange splendour.

Once again, Sternberg’s irrepressible, impossibly human spirit shines through the darkness. This is the ultimate power of I’ve Got Me: the majority of songs here focus on negative experiences, but the feeling coming out the other end of listening to it is one of uplift and renewed resolve to make something of one’s life. It’s what makes the album sound both modern and timeless.

Taken as a political, activistic, and aesthetic hybridization, Reed and Nehill’s work is fiercely confrontive, a treatise on humankind’s penchant for cruelty, its evolutionary missteps, but also its opportunities for redemption.

It’s noteworthy that this latest record is on par with those two [Soundtracks for the Blind and The Seer] in quality, because it marks his largest leap forward in a long time. By imagining a future without himself, Michel Gira has opened up an eternity of possibilities. He’s let the light shine in – and that is deeply moving. He’s found peace.

With Feed The Beast she has neither progressed past that nor become a lost cause.

the whaler will make you furious; it will make you feel and assuredly interrogate your own heart. That’s emo music, and it is most definitely Home Is Where.

3D Country is a fun album, and it gives the band a more definable personality – even if it’s bonkers.

Boris’ expansive approach acts as a foil to Uniform’s tense restrictions, and it really shouldn’t work as well as it does. And yet it does.

Overall, it’s a wild, violent, voracious record, and one of the group’s best.

Sigur Rós have already proven themselves across their lengthy career, and now, they’re peaking their heads out yet again and making clear they shouldn’t be counted out.

This album finishes right when it needs to. Any longer and there might be a genuine risk of someone having a hernia from all the physical carousing. As it is, we leave this magical island fully refreshed and filled with self satisfaction.

The 10-song, 34-minute project crescendos, Powers perfecting his multifaceted craft while forging one of 2023’s more hypnotic sequences.

This collection of radiant jangle pop songs, burdened by nostalgic love and depressive yearning for something real, ultimately loses its luster. Everything else blends into one garbled, hazy murmur that ensues without much variance.

Squeezing 11 songs into 26 minutes is no easy task but somehow Feeble Little Horse manage to give each gem a personality and identity.

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.

In short, it’s an album so attuned to the dualities of life, that it ultimately says something profound and essential about how we exist and move through this world.

Double and triple albums naturally sprawl, yet there’s an unexpected compactness to PARANOÏA.

It appeals instantly with its impactful and unforgiving sonic palette, but feels much better when we delve in deeper and engage with the emotion of the words – and for that we must leave rationality at the door.

Thematic and lyrical motifs find repetition throughout the album like a musical director slowly pulling the strings together.

Space Heavy is ultimately King Krule’s most challenging work. It acts like a stream-of-consciousness but with minor guardrails to keep Marshall from spiraling out into truly wicked realms. The moments he does let go, like in the end, never feel completely satisfying.

But Here We Are is such an honest and raw record that it’s hard to judge but easy to feel and empathise with, especially if a listener has been anywhere near the grieving process.

Like its predecessor, Romantic Piano is soft and cosy, a small and dreamy soundworld to escape into for half an hour.

Ultimately, Tracey Denim lives and thrives in the shadows of past greats, but is unable to escape them.

For six albums now the twosome have been tugging along their listeners, perhaps even trolling them in some degree, and Everyone’s Crushed may be their strongest box of tricks to date.

End of Everything is not an obviously uplifting album, but it is in many places breathtaking.

Villagers may not hit the feels like All My Friends Are Funeral Singers did, but it’s nonetheless a prime example of an impeccable songwriter still operating at a consistent high.

Mandy, Indiana never lose sight of their aesthetic and existential north star, despite how convincingly they navigate despair.

ATUM is the most controversial and strangest of all Smashing Pumpkins albums: a record that defies expectations but often disappoints in how prosaic and calculated it is.

woods has transcended the line of being a great artist and entered the realm of genius. With Kenny Segal’s help, he has conjured a work that is wholly its own, both in the artist’s discography and in the rap genre.

Ákadóttir has made her own museum here, and each of the songs on the album are monochrome statues that we the listener get to walk around and view, but we leave the building indifferent to any real history and experience they represent. It’s like Night at the Museum, but without any of the magic.

They’ve built up enough good will at this point that they’re able to maintain a massive fanbase by coasting through comfortable records – and they could probably continue to do that for a few more years at least. But, if Berninger and co really want to rediscover purpose in their lives and work, perhaps it’s time to push themselves somewhere a little riskier.

All of This Will End can be regarded as a riveting bildungsroman, the 25-year-old De Souza reflecting on archetypal initiations and processing essential insights, all the while reveling in diverse instrumentation and a seemingly endless supply of hooks.

Artistically, well, it skirts as close (and intelligently) to blasphemy as a 21st century project could – and Portrayal of Guilt indulge in this act with glee and artistic sensitivity. That it may remain a ‘minor’ work in their discography seems unjust, but then anything that blossoms from the seeds laid here will likely be even more garish, more haunted, more graceful than this black mass.

It may have taken nearly 20 years since its resurrection, but Lawrie’s exploring new dimensions with his band that are far and wide; a subtle yet severe departure from its beginnings.

The vast majority of Ware’s fifth LP serves as a masterclass in following up a beloved previous album – taking What’s Your Pleasure’s core elements and stretching them into wilder and weirder directions. Now, that feels good.

Forever Means is not just a B-side compilation; these songs sound distinct from each other but somehow come together cohesively.

Multitudes is a lovely listen from front to back, and her most sonically and thematically consistent album ever. However, it may be a little too deceptively simple for its own good. The fact that so many of the treasures of this record come in the smaller details and choices is fine, but it does mean the album takes more time to sink in as a result.

This is a band operating at their highest, most infectious potency, and the end result is riveting.

Continue as a Guest hints at what a more purposeful turn could look like for the band.

The record often flows nearly-imperceptibly from track to track, creating a sort of ecosystem all its own, which harkens to its deep ambient undercurrents. But, hanging together as it does, like a morning mist, YIAN is a bit of a soggy, homogenous listen.

93696 is neither for the faint of heart, nor is it for those without the time to fully immerse themselves in the work as a whole. This is rapturous, though undoubtedly challenging, music from a band constantly moving into territory that few others could even imagine, let alone realise.

Though freer than the critically acclaimed Ungodly Hour, it is also less focused. Her performance rises to greater heights, but her music doesn’t always rise with her. Still, it is a work laden with potential.

It is Depeche Mode’s most self-aware album in a long time – and their most memorable. At 50 minutes and 12 songs, the album is lean and humble, paying respect to the band’s past while also returning to the tension that made their best material so enjoyable.

Del Rey’s longest album to date by some distance – and not without the occasionally questionable choice. But the best moments, which abound, solidify Del Rey as one of the all-time greats.

With His Happiness Shall Come First Even Though We Are Suffering, Mutinta completes her heroic triptych. Processing her own fury and the fury stashed in the world’s memory. ... Leaving us stunned, devastated, ecstatic.

If V betrays decadence, it doesn’t manifest itself as sprawl or poor editing – much less a notional narrative. Its languidness is actually its charm, a direct contrast to almost anything in UMO’s fidgety catalog save “Jello And Juggernauts” from the 2011 debut.

It never stands still and stops to rest – for better and for worse. It’s somewhat of a transitionary moment. Even if it remains to be seen what destination it leads to, there’s still enough interesting material here to fulfill its destiny.

While Fantasy is not a perfect return by any means, it’s a return that makes you remember M83’s power to combat the static void at the core of many of us. In place of that void, listeners are filled with the feeling that they’re part of something bigger and freed — free to fall in love with dreaming again.

This record – like most dark art – is not merely meant as an extreme experience, but a critique of structure that commodifies human bodies.

Though far from being a retread, Should’ve Learned bears some of the most evocative and affecting music of the quintet’s output thus far.

Radical Romantics offers enough detail, emotion, and vigour to tide us over until the next inevitable shapeshifting moment.

UGLY is surely his most intense, unvarnished, unrelenting personal excavation

nature morte is a wonderful, difficult album that requires patience and indulgence. The rewards are huge, though.

Cracker Island’s forgettable, milquetoast assembly line of tracks – though crisply and professionally engineered – proves that having it all shouldn’t always mean using it all.

It’s somehow arguably her most wide-ranging album (stylistically and topically) while also feeling remarkably of a piece; succinct even.

While Strange Dance is a rather nocturnal album, those broad and distant lyrics, aided by the atmospheric yet intricate instrumentation, mean there are many more moods and times that it can fit.

Food for Worms‘ greatest strength is to chronicle how incredible it can feel to be in the presence of this band, at this moment. It feels as if you could almost reach out and touch them, rip open their shirts and feel their sweat.

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

It’s one of the band’s biggest and best sounding records to date. The band doesn’t lack in sound traditionally, but Bayles’ production takes their grandest qualities and runs them through a meat grinder.

Another successful release from Khotin, an artist who, armed with just his laptop and a small home studio, has the ability to make you laugh, dance, reflect and space out all during the same album.

For those who can appreciate his brew of melodic honesty and sentimental openness, The Vivian Line provides one of the purest pop experiences you’re likely to have all year.

At times it feels maybe a little too familiar sonically or compositionally, but all in all, The Land, The Water, The Sky is a potent portrait of a musician who only gets more impressive with each release.

It certainly has a more present percussive beat than Eucalyptus, however its compositions are allowed to stretch out, with five out of seven tracks here passing the five-minute mark (only two of Cows’ 10 tracks did such). This approach lends 7s‘ centerpiece “Hey Bog” an epic effect, building slowly in tempo.

Each track on in|Flux has a soul and heart of its own.

It would seem then that Let Her Burn is Rebecca Black just flying overhead instead of victoriously soaring above the ashes.

The music, in all its messy beauty, hits like a sack of bricks to the head.

Albums like this are rare and special, highlighting pop’s capacity to sculpt our emotions and steer us towards something better beyond the horizon.

Because of the fractured, whimsical makeup of the album, it can become a bit frustrating for the listeners hoping to detect Half Pearl‘s beating heart. But listen close enough, and resolve is there beneath the rubble in the chopped jazz pop of “Wild Animals”, in which Liv.e struts to her own self-belief, untethered from other people’s expectations of her.

Norm plays with our emotions more than Wilds or The Neon Skyline did because Shauf’s writing from perspective of what could be considered a villain, and his impeccable storytelling takes liberties where others dare not.

This is far from a “safe” debut – her authenticity, vulnerability and innate ability to scribe the gory innards of her consciousness on to paper are entirely unique and intimately personal. It is not always the easiest listen and that is precisely the point.

Yo La Tengo feel more alive on This Stupid World than they have in years – which isn’t to say that their more recent efforts were lacking in any way. The songs here just crackle and spark with an innate energy and unpredictability not heard since 2006’s I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass.

Kelela‘s second album is a transformative work of art that merges house and ambient, soul and dance, and resides within interzones – like the titular animal, a mediator between the material world and the realm of the spirits. It’s a vast canvas of cultural expressions, emotional tones, erotic exploration and musical brilliance.

At its best, the album strums out a stark moment, like a voice calling for help. ... Where a little bit of focus is lost is when Karijord becomes almost incantatory with Dessner’s words, repeating phrases with ambiguous meanings but not coming out the other end with any greater sense of purpose (“April”, “October” and “November” in particular).

Furling is a surprisingly dense record, its sonic pallet feeling deep and widescreen, even in its sparsest moments.

They fire back in 2023 with their most direct record for some time, a collection of hard rock staples mixed with their punk roots that the band uses to pay homage to the legends of their city’s glorious music scene, and do so perfectly.

Any who listen to this record will enjoy it, there’s no reason not to. However, with more run time than ideas, the album runs the risk of having both too much and not enough to make listeners keep coming back.

Heavy, Heavy never buckles. As a testament to the constant, psychological stresses of being an artist in the 2020s, it is bright, inventive, vulnerable, and rewarding. Pressure making diamonds and all that… maybe there’s something to it.