On Never Exhale, DITZ sound like they’re running on a treadmill at maximum speed, and in a bid to keep up, stumble into knee-jerk turns to some less-than-exciting tendencies perpetuated from their first release.

It would have been easy for songs to have come out overwrought and overproduced here, but instead we have a record of community, of gathering friends around to sing, play with, and support you.

The Bad Fire gives plenty of more ground to walk with and more layered depths to explore. It’s likely to stake some real estate in plenty of rotations worldwide, for those hoping for a follow up to 2021’s As The Love Continues that delivers on the same level. It’s ready for you.

As long-term fans are treated to a new classic that can both match and expand on the greatness of her previous work, new fans will be treated to her genius at its most accessible.

The 10 tracks that make up DÍA‘s streamlined 33 minutes and 47 seconds channel that volatile orientation honestly, not forcing itself into a deliberate linear sensibility.

The narrative arc – so expertly disguised when the album started – yields a release with surprising character and soul.

In a world that coerces you to doomspell yourself to bed-ridden misery, I’d like to manifest some positive thinking here: Who Let The Dogs Out has all the ingredients to break that aforementioned loop and move the needle further – with each track managing an infectious balancing act between cheeky humor and righteous rage.

At this point, for better or worse, this is what we can expect from the band: shades of what came before, a glint of the glory days, and a workmanlike determination to soldier on. Kapranos admitting he’s got the fear, it seems, doesn’t change too much.

It is achingly beautiful and uncompromisingly hardcore. This might be too much to take, or too painful, or too frightening to you. But don’t worry: it is happening to everybody.

Even if GNX may be regarded as a “lesser” entry in Lamar’s mighty catalogue by many (if there even is such a thing as “lesser” in brilliance), it is a love letter to black culture. It never dodges a punch, never compromises. It’s both as far from the mainstream as a rap album can be, yet Kendrick’s most populist work. It’s a muscular and physical record, occasionally reserving the right to be as however banal as it wants to be, right before turning around and tearing into the culture.

The two divergent halves of the album never intermingle and propose two very opposite visions for what Underworld aim to achieve, yet there’s not really a single bad track here. Still, the tension remains, and can never quite dissolve.

It improves on its predecessor, is chock full of quotable lyrics (“I’m three words away from absolutely fucking ruining your life”), and even where it stumbles, it still manages to pick up the pace soon after. Perhaps best of all is all the ups and downs Gartland captures.

Tension II is a fun continuation of what has been Kylie’s renaissance since 2020’s Disco album. It is not wholly without flaws as stated above but still manages to solidify that Kylie will always be someone we just can’t get out of our heads.

Rediscovered domestic happiness imbues Night Palace with a newfound ease, which has yielded his most diverse and longest record to date.

Being an EP of three full songs, the whole affair is very scant and acts more as a teaser, and it’s not like every choice works perfectly; the endings of the songs, in particular, feel a bit unceremonious, and the songs themselves could have likely been developed a little bit more. But by revisiting the original getup that helped put him on the map, Vernon reaffirms what many may have forgotten amidst all the wizardry: that all he really needs is his heart and his guitar.

It’s imposing, ominous, and enthralling in equal measure.

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.

Patterns in Repeat is another short album that feels like a glimpse into Marling’s household, a slice of her own domesticity to track her first years of motherhood. It’s another gift, for her child and her listeners, but more assuredly for herself.

The record is in no way a fall from grace of drop of form. It’s the uglier, more poetic and brooding cousin of the debut. A proof of sheer willpower, yet still a transitional work of a band growing comfortably into their future.

“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.

For a collection of semi-throwback electronica, the first half of the album feels very accomplished and prêt-à-porter. It works: the AI doesn’t get in the way, the tempo remains fairly steady, and its minimalist nature makes for a very tight package. “Over Now” starts the second half as a reminder that this is Caribou and unfortunately lets the air out.

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.

In the end, SOPHIE the record is a fitting tribute to SOPHIE the artist because of how well it highlights the ways in which she can never be replaced.

The songs reverberate stronger than those on the group’s more recent albums. Yet at the same time, Stiletto isn’t as epic as Girl with Basket of Fruit or Ignore Grief, and it’s not as varied as Fabulous Muscles. It feels at times like an experiment to imagine a different Xiu Xiu; one that find themselves on the top of year end lists, that are played in rock clubs, that reside in New York and wear shades. In this gesture, they’ve become more approachable, but also more distant.

Working with whimsicality as much as grief, Sparhawk reinvents himself, exploring inner landscapes and imaginary worlds, all while having a bit of fun.

Real Deal, suggesting an attempt to impress in the face of doubt, is the sound of a band recognising and overcoming their own shortcomings, while maintaining what made them great in the first place.

While there are moments where he undeniably soars, the overall demise feels down to a simple trajectory problem. The calculations are off, and as a consequence Ishibashi has found himself tangled in his own creation, being swept up by the wind, and dropping the grace he once emanated aplenty.

Five Dice, All Threes is so rich, in cross references, in musical allusions and callbacks to prior Bright Eyes songs, in ideas and notions and statements that it’s impossible to grasp them all.