The material here is as strong as we've come to expect from this band, but its pleasures aren't nearly as surface-level as even Kid A's. The best way to judge The King of Limbs in the long run may simply be to hope someone spurs Radiohead on in this direction.

Arabia Mountain is energetic, fun, loose, and immediate. Everything the Black Lips should be.

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.

It's the best album of its kind to come out this year and, perhaps even more significantly, Segall's best work to date.

Even though there are only three tracks here, and a total of approximately 12 minutes of music, Lout represents some of The Horrors’ most expressive, uninhibited, and memorable work – a potential indicator of what might be an entirely new trajectory for this band, including, perhaps, their best creations yet.

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

A sweet elegy to small group jazz, Sunday Morning Put-On almost demands you lay back and just let the standards do their thing. Without a doubt, they are in good, careful hands here.

Every track on The Universal Want has a warmth to it that is absent on most reunion albums.

Where I was expecting a great album, I've instead encountered one that's merely very good.

Despite the clear motives with the themes in the album, the instrumentation fluctuates in a chaotic manner that makes it very confusing to listen to at times.

He [Chasney] may have made a misstep by not allowing the album to have that singularly defining moment but after his last few records, Ascent is a step up in terms of direction and execution.

This is a damn good 10 track record, boasting noteworthy turns by its guests and laudable production, but for how long will it spin until the next one comes around? Curren$y has finally found the following he deserves; one can only hope he preserves his moment, rather than squander it.

There is so much to both genuinely appreciate and enjoy on Swing Lo Magellan that it makes you wonder why these have to sometimes be exclusive ways to experience an album.

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.

Yet another impressive and experimental addition to Dawn’s discography, Second Line proves that this prolific artist is not running out of steam or fresh ideas any time soon.

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

VOID is a twisting chimera of a record as it skips through post-metal on “I Cannot”, to post-rock on “Not Today, Old Friend”, to math rock on “We’re Small Enough”, while never once feeling like anything other than a KEN mode record.

Yes, this will drive some away, and allow critics to easily point to its messiness (as if NFR wasn’t all over the place aesthetically – something Antonoff’s production homogeneity cleverly disguised – same with Lust for Life, or the underrated Born to Die), but it is also rewarding and surprising.

Hand Habits’ music is the kind where there are no certainties; it’s all searching with the occasional discovery, but the detail of the journey is the beauty.

RocketNumberNine should be commended for the killer tracks that they’ve managed to pack into MeYouWeYou.

More variety would help his cause, but Holiday is a graceful, emotionally affluent debut.

Suuns are a great band that just get a little too bogged down by their own lofty ambitions. As such, The Witness is a serviceable post-punk album, one that ends up as an interesting listen but with little to pull us back to it.

The character of each new Low album is always a mystery until you hear it, so speculating on whether they’re likely to continue working in this manner is pointless at this juncture, but it’s good to know that ten albums in Low still have the ability to put together a stirring collection of songs.

What remains is a record that feels all too groomed, all polished execution and often not well thought out. Music to nod and tap your foot along to, then turn it off and move on.

Sun’s Signature is a wonderful record whose core themes of hope, splendour and faith in nature are something we could all do with right about now.

Though it’s hardly labyrinthine--these songs proceed in pretty much a linear fashion–Slow Focus immerses the listener in an aural landscape that offers so much to explore.

Devoid of meaty pop nuggets, Mythopoetics sounds like an unstable wormhole that travels from 2020’s critically-lauded The Caretaker to wherever the heck the Half Waif project lands next.

One thing that can’t be denied is that it opens up more with each listen, and if this isn’t a reason to keep returning to it again and again, then I don’t know what would be.

Foxing are aware they’re alienating some fans, but that makes it the kind of evolution one should admire and value. And with Murphy’s melancholic poetry persisting as the band’s heavy heart and soul, the genre’s most polarizing band, whether you like it or not, has reached yet another new level of boldness and grandeur.

Electronic Dream concludes like it was only meant to be heard once and then remembered in scraps like its namesake, but, thankfully, its starts over as readily as it ends.

There is nothing out and out original on Viscerals, and in many ways that is the appeal. If you like down tuned sludge/doom then you’ll find plenty here to get your teeth into.

Wicked City proves that Jockstrap have no shortage of creativity, as these five tracks have more than enough ideas to fill a whole album. So, it’ll be fascinating to see how they do approach a full-length, which hopefully isn’t too far away.

As fleeting an experience as this is, it’s still emotionally moving and deeply affecting. Within its ambition, and for those who are open to its fainting beauty, it contains entire worlds.

This kind of remaster campaign is normally reserved for albums that have had decades to sink into the national consciousness as is, introducing a shock-of-the-new, hearing-it-again-for-the-first-time element, and while the oldest of the Trilogy material has only been around for a year and a half or so, the differences in the new mixes can still be jarring.

Not only has her singing been pushed more to the front, revealing a clear and pleasing voice that had been tucked away all along, but her songwriting trades in clever metaphors in favor of blunt confessions that purposely work in contrast with the otherwise uplifting music.

Iglooghost surveys beyond the sensory, straining to activate neurons in unexplored areas of the brain. As a result, elements that shouldn’t work somehow end up sounding cohesive, vibrant and new.

If you take one thing away from this debut, take away the fact that it's thoroughly deserved.

Mordechai is still very much a psychedelic vista of an album, but the difference is all with the vocals. The bassist of the group, Laura Lee Ochoa, takes command, with her long, stretched-out phrases adding massively to their overall kaleidoscopic groove. The interesting thing here is that the vocals never take a front line, instead they’re always carefully mixed to merely assist the guitar or percussion, creating a fuller sonic experience for the listener.

Exister succeeds at painting a portrait of his despair in charcoal. Unfortunately, as a piece of music to consume it’s just too choppy and incoherent to elicit a feeling. In the end it’s a risky exploitation of his frail psyche, a destination already travelled to and not worth revisiting all that often.

What can I say? It's just a really f*cking good rock album.

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.

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.

As is, I Am Very Far is far from a lot of things, the biggest among these is the high bar that Okkervil River has never had a problem exceeding, until now.

Where Shall We Begin is as strong a debut album as we could have hoped for. It sounds incredibly considered and carefully put together, from each song choice to the instrumental arrangements.

House of Woo suggests an artist who’s still coming into his own without being afraid to play chameleon at the DJ booth.

On the canyoning, Weyes Blood-sounding brooder “Not A Love Song”, she seems to find peace within her place in a corrupted world, realising the illusion that its violence inherent can be captured or neutered. Squeeze opts to bathe and contort in it with visceral theatricality.

Biophilia is Björk, the sum total, and this album is her continued claim to the throne as the monarch of avant-pop.

The balance between these sounds is what makes it such a three-dimensional listen, as the percussion never overwhelms; despite building up torrential speed and power, this force is made beautiful by the spare-but-carefully-adorned melodic elements. ... The only moments on Contact that don’t open up a world of sensory exploration are the three title-track-come-interludes; “Contact (sukha & somanassa)”, “Contact (dukkha & domanassa)”, and the closing “Contact (upekkhā)”.

They’re still just about playing the game the same way, but with Hologram the trio sounds a bit more chipper than usual, which adds some flair that was noticeably absent for most of their 2010s output.

This is undoubtedly going to be a divisive one for long-term fans, with some holding it up as just as vital as anything else, while others will simply overlook it or just take a couple of highlights to add to their ‘Best of PG’ playlists. Whichever the case, whether you devour it or dismiss it, there’s no denying that it expands the mythos and majesty of Perfume Genius.

With this new record, Winter’s fortitude is on full display. It feels unabridged yet restrained, folksy yet contemporary, busy yet bucolic – a matter of perspective, a trick of the light.

Does the album need three spoken-word interludes and a therapising outro? Not really. But when those beats are descending on the last (proper) song “Turn It Around” and Idehen and his singers are singing about self-redemption, none of that matters – your face will be hurting from smiling.

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.

You'll find records this year of greater agency, but you'd be hard-pressed to find one that renders pleasure with such poignant lightness, control, and willful attention to difference.

In contrast to the self-aware grandeur and show of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, Quik's done much the same thing he did in '91: put out a great rap record, plain and simple.

What’s impressive here is how Cunningham manages to borrow from the thumping liveliness of bass music, the hyperactive repetition of glitch, and the uneasy industrial murk of something from the Modern Love label without sacrificing any of these styles’ appeal.

The end result is a quieted, more suppressed record that steps delicately from one note to the next and shines even more of a spotlight on the twin vocal sentiments of longing and crumbled romance.

The symbolism of this album, poetic and interconnected, is vital and immense, while the sonic background is (for the most part) disquieting and unnerving. More so than Haram and even the spectral Test Strips, Mercy captures a world that is slowly embracing the unbearable evil of switching channels that morph to dead static.

Pressure Machine proves a successful concept album for The Killers. ... The primary weakness of this album, however, relates to its uniform sound, where tracks bleed into each other. Regardless, this is a new evolution for the band who, this far into their career, have taken something of a left turn to create something that is lyrically and thematically captivating.

Benny and the rest of Griselda are a force so reliable and prolific that they should be boring by now. But The Plugs I Met 2 suggests that we’re just getting to know them.

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

2R0I2P0 is a fitting summative soundtrack to the end of the year that defined us all. Familiar in so many ways, yet unexpected and challenging in others, it’s the sound of the light at the end of the tunnel, of the enchantment within all of the mess.

Remember, Girls are only on their second full-length album and certain missteps should be expected. What we do know is that an album that misses the mark for Girls is far better than the majority of music we come across on a daily basis, and that Father, Son, Holy Ghost is, above all, a fascinating listen.

Change seems more concerned with how the music impacts on a subliminal level than how it actually ends up sounding. Without those inner blemishes out on full display, that magnanimous intent could only go so far.

Despite the varying shifts of the album, nothing feels bloated or outstays its welcome and that in itself is quite an achievement on a record like this. Direct when it needs to be, ethereal and gorgeously distant at other times, May You Be Held is not for the casual listener seeking instant gratification.

Most of Cooler Returns is an extension of what their last album was – that’s intentional. These aren’t meant to be revelations, or even to be taken as on-point analysis of a time or place. This is music for the soul, if your soul is literally craving a beer and a nap.

With The Great Impersonator, Halsey deftly wields the enticements of pop, all the while exploring ageless issues regarding self, suffering, and the pursuit of wholeness.

Sheer breath of freshness and youth.

This is a record that begs patience and understanding of its listener, but for those that put in the time required, it offers the most bountiful emotional rewards of Nandi Rose’s career yet. This is an album for being lost, as well as healing. Much like its title, it is what you need it to be.

I remember how the Fiery Furnaces are always willing to take chances with their music; I wish Eleanor Friedberger had done the same on Last Summer. Instead, she plays it safe, weaving interesting tales to the tune of surprisingly average music. That's fine, but playing it safe rarely makes for a good story.

White Denim's attention to detail is superb, but everything just fits together. It must be said though, that they aren't breaking any new ground at all, but sometimes that doesn't matter if the music is good enough to hold its own.

Where There Existed an Addiction to Blood seemed to take the listener down a spiral of harsh violence and vaguely interconnected moments of supernatural terror, Visions of Bodies Being Burned just feels lost.

Friends That Break Your Heart is Blake at his most pared-back and unflinching lyrically and could also be considered his most accessible album yet. For some, this dismal balladry might feel a bit too far removed from the experimentally-textured electronics of his first two albums, yet Blake has found a brilliant way to still be unconventional and accessible at the same time.

Overall, it’s a wholly engaging listen, texturally varied, and probably her most consistent record to date. Nearly every turn here, nearly every transition, feels right.

Shame is another great record from Uniform. Slightly more mature, perhaps even more confident, than some of the visceral slabs of pure adrenaline that marked their earlier releases, it’s a record that plays with extremes but with a command over the noise created. The overarching thematic intent of the record gets lost, truth be told, as the rush of sounds overwhelm the lyrics but this just gives you more reason to go back to it to pick those narrative elements apart.

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

Punk Authority sounds too accomplished to be the product of mere caprice.

There are a couple of lesser tracks on Nostalchic and it’s up for debate as to how well Howard sticks the landing on the LP format, but Lapalux is a singular talent and his debut is evidence of that even if the pieces don’t all quite click neatly into place.

We can chalk these relatively minor missteps up to inexperience or over-excitement at finally releasing an album, and when you consider the heights that Sorry reach at points on 925 then it’s entirely forgivable. Overall, it would be hard to call 925 anything other than a great success, and one that should see Sorry’s star rise even higher – that’s if the public can get on board with their slightly unhinged view of things.

Scoff at them for being a bit too obvious with their name but Fuzz and Fuzz deliver the garage rock roar we’ve come to expect from Segall and Co.

Mindlessly hummable and pure of vision, Howlin’ sounds just as good coming from your headphones as it does from Marshall stacks.

Be Strong is a rather exhaustive album when consumed in one sitting, but if you've got the fortitude to reach the closing track "The Church" during that listen, it can be a very euphoric climax.

Although he's using sounds and influences from many of the musical hubs on the Earth, from Africa to America and plenty in between, with them he has created aural scenery that is so serene and heavenly that it couldn't possibly exist on our busy and frantic planet.

Unfortunately, after years of anticipation, the reveal is an overtly tedious shell of everything Parker has ever charmed into existence. In fact, tedious may be an understatement.

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.

Deep States does feel a bit all over the place, but what works for it (as it does for everything Liddiard has been involved with) is the overpowering confidence with which it is performed.

Breathy vocals, immensely hooky songwriting and a brilliantly defined technicolor aesthetic established from the very beginning. Such description could have been thrown at Stereolab in the early '90s and at Broadcast in the early 2000s.

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

This, their most fully formed and digestible album to date, might well mark their breaking point to larger audiences and wider acclaim.

Don’t be surprised if you find your body moving to the pummelling aural assault you’re experiencing. You don’t have a choice in the matter now, so just enjoy your body’s movements. You see, the pain is in the struggle itself, so just let go and feel it. This music shows you that there is such freedom in letting go of control.

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.

“NO TITLE AS OF 13 FEBRUARY 2024 28,340 DEAD” is gifted with a uniquely poetic emotion that combines deep mourning with strength and willpower. Compare that to the aura of an album like F♯A♯∞, which is characterised by an apocalyptic sense of dread and hopelessness. This present tone is complex, and deeply intentional.

Head of Roses, also Wasner’s Sub Pop debut, is her most direct record yet, full of what is definitely her clearest, most emotionally stirring work to date.

Plum is a warm hug of a record. The kind you get from those types of friends you know you don’t need to keep in touch with all that regularly, but when you do it feels as though they’ve never been away and time goes all too quickly.

Slap as many abstract adjectives and kitschy references you want on it, you’re not going to pin The Turning Wheel down. Its ineffability can be its greatest strength.

It's definitely a taxing listen. But it's also one of the most cohesive and powerful records to come around in a long time, and it doesn't tire after multiple spins.

The Scholars doesn’t reinvent Car Seat Headrest so much as it lays them bare.

There may only be 26 minutes of material in Book of Curses, but the amount of unsettling ideas and reflections of modern disenfranchisement are more than enough for it to leave its impact.