It may demand time and focus, but for those interested in a hip hop album that seeks understanding rather than any immediate gratification, this is a quiet, restrained, and uniquely giving world.

Aesthetically, it may be polarizing compared to the hit factory that was her debut, but Happier Than Ever stands on its own as a powerfully flawed, overstuffed, but meaningful exploration of what it’s like to live as both a teenager and a superstar in ways that none before her felt comfortable saying.

Animal is a beast worthy of its own spotlight and attentions. The genre-crossing is much less surface level, as the duo creates grander and grander platforms for Marling’s commanding voice. The whole thing is far more theatrical, full of slow building ballads and cresting climaxes.

She’s carrying the weight of her experiences on her shoulders, but that’s not stopping her from enjoying the thrill of a new crush. She’s confident enough in herself to make the most of this, and every, moment.

Life, and Another expands her palette tenfold with different hues and tones that would typically go unnoticed on an experimental record. The result is her most engaging work yet.

It’s taking what is inherently a complex form of music – and is still highly technical in the hands of these players – and makes it into something for all to enjoy. It’s the kind of album that ‘purists’ will possibly scoff at for its accessibility and poptimism, but you get the feeling that Thackray wouldn’t want them as fans anyway. All she wants from her listeners are open ears, open hearts and open minds.

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.

Spiral is an album to experience as a whole, to be swallowed in and transported by.

Despite the label hopping, the independent releases, the decade of time spent away, Wavves still hasn’t changed much.

Taste of Love is one of TWICE’s most cohesive and dazzling albums thus far. It’s fun, mature and makes a great contribution to our current pop-sphere with its retro-sonic aesthetics and escapist feel.

I ultimately feel that the original version, in all its hypnagogic glory, retains a certain charm as an unstreamable lo-fi curio. By removing all elements save voice and organ, we have what is essentially a different album. Whether it’s better or not, another Alice Coltrane album is nothing less than a gift.

This is a delicately sincere and softly stark album, and arguably Fretwell’s best. It’s certainly his most intimate, but after all that time away, he’s no doubt figured out exactly how he wanted to say what he wants to.

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.

Sling may not offer many universal rallying cries or rousing choruses from artists that break through in similar fashion as Clairo. But it does compel you to lean in and listen a bit more closely to what Claire Cottrill has orbiting around her inquisitive mind. Sling is an intimate, tender heart-to-heart where muted confessions finally have their day.

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.

Vince Staples is certainly not an easy album to tap into, nor a particularly fun one, but for those interested in a piece of art in which the barrier between the creator and onlooker is veritably nonexistent, to the point of shared claustrophobia, look no further. ... Staples’ scars have never been more visible: he’s practically put them on display for the world at large. If that’s not bravery, I don’t know what is.

This tendency that Williams has of interweaving her inner emotional climate with the breathable aura of nature was on magical display through last year’s debut album, I Was Born Swimming, and it’s something she hones further here.

For a genre replete with posturing, it’s beyond refreshing to receive an album that so readily wears its heart on its sleeve, especially from a band so esteemed: with so much to potentially lose. Modest Mouse have made gains simply by being themselves. This is comfort food for the well-worn soul.

It’s rare for an artist to be so bold and blatantly fighting their fears on a debut album, but Lady Dan’s bravery is what gives extra life and depth to her songs.

A Color of the Sky is now a beautiful summer record, perfect for consumption during long-awaited family reunions and Saturday brunches.

Home Video is undeniably a Lucy Dacus album; one that’s a reflection of not only the rise of her star but of the ever-growing liberation that comes with emotional vulnerability.

While the album doesn’t colour outside the lines as much as previous efforts (though the chuggy, restrained grunge wash on “Cheers” is a welcome outwards venture), that’s no bad moment here.

This is rager music, the fun and frantic rock anthems that the weirdos and the geeks who have grown into successful entrepreneurs and innovators can dance to while the quarterback from their high school bags their groceries.

Fatigue, for all its many-sided intrigue and snatches of moving beauty, can be a bit like driving by a series of natural wonders at 150mph – too fast to truly appreciate what’s there. There’s a purposely otherworldly vibe to these 29 minutes, but the moments when Cheek the artist is most nakedly visible in the constellation are when Fatigue feels most successful.

Call Me If You Get Lost finds Tyler freer than he was on IGOR. He’s managed to combine talents in front of and behind the mic, while amalgamating the serious personalities he used prior with the humor that trademarked his early work. He’s displaying lessons learned here.

Maybe not every song here is as fully-realized as her best material, and maybe there are a few too many slow-moving ballads – but this doesn’t lessen just how delightful Planet Her ends up as a whole. It’s the type of pop album there should be more of: both playful and psychedelic, rich in intelligent production, and filled with charismatic and chameleonic performances.

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.

Surviving as they have, Hiatus Kaiyote sound livelier than before. Every inch of Mood Valiant drips with love and togetherness for the band, with no single contributor stealing the show for very long.