The results are mixed, but what’s certain is that Mild High Club have broken ground and laid new foundations with their most nuanced and exploratory material to date.

There’s still a fair amount of self indulgence, and the rare occasion on which you wish he’d stuck to the old habit of micro length tracks (‘HER’ being one such example), but on the whole it’s a well selected body of work.

A return-to-roots record that works most successfully when it rebels against itself, Jamie T's vision of revelation isn't something to be easily shrugged off.

Between Waves is an album created by a man who knows what he’s doing; and that’s the problem. He could create satisfactory albums till the end of days, but he’ll need to rip up the rulebook if he’s to grab people’s attention in this fickle age.

It demands your attention, but more importantly, it deserves it too. This is the sound of an artist in complete control, full of confidence and dazzling flair.

While Innocence Reaches won’t go down as their best, it’s refreshing to see that Kevin Barnes and Co. are continuing to reinvent themselves with some of their most anthemic, accessible, and socially pertinent singles to date.

With their frantic live performances and a solid set of tunes behind them, the sunbaked stoners are on to a winner with this ten-track wonder.

It’s less of a seismic shift from their debut, and more of a progressive tweak towards something much bigger.

Blossoms have produced an album of perfectly structured songs accompanied by strong lyrics that tell many tales to the large cult they seem to have already acquired.

And The Anonymous Nobody is still an impressive new installment in what has been a largely-unblemished career run.

The band's melancholic core remains intact on a record that's best listened to through headphones in a big coat while crying. What is noticeable in its absence is any foray into flat out, ear-grating noise á la 'Doe Deer' or 'Alice Practice'.

A premise so potentially sprawling is over and done with after 35 minutes. As the conduit probably has his next spiritual plain and energy source in mind, it all adds to the enigma.

While by no means poor, this album does little to advance the reputation he has already secured, as one of the UK’s most reliable rap suppliers.

Rock-hard and sloppy in equal measure, Boy King is a creature of base instinct from a band of high intellect more used to drawing their songs from their frontal lobes than their testes (even if their lyrics often suggest otherwise).

Instrumentally, the album maintains the similar Owen tropes we’ve come to love and expect.

Warm On A Cold Night is essentially a pick-up line delivered in Andy’s charmingly unfinished croak, wrapped in sensual synths and slick basslines.

Their sound is by no means unique, and it’s not hard to detect some Metronomy and Jungle in there, but they’ve certainly raised their game to the point where they sit at the same table as their arguably more illustrious peers.

Less one-eyed compared to, say ‘Omega: Alive’, far less experimental than the last ‘Nighttime World’, ‘Victorious’ still leaves open the interchangeable nature of where Robert Hood starts and Floorplan ends.

The backbone is Allen’s afrobeat vibe, on top of which ten Haitian percussionists have piled on the voodoo grooves and chants. Pretty krautrockarama.

[Patience] boasts several colourless, uninspired tracks.

Apocalyptic, transcendental and drenched in a sense of pure epic-ness, here we get that wonderful rarity of a soundtrack that doesn’t just match the artist’s usual output but one that stands as some of its best. Grab your space boots and take the ride.

He should be commended for going light on the MC features--the bluntly-titled ‘Grime’ is proof enough that he can hold his own on a beat.

With a running time of just under two hours, The Glowing Man may prove too punishing for some but those willing to invest time in its fiery depths will discover yet another remarkable Swans album.

Typically for Gainsbourg, there's a real mix of things going on here, from relaxed fun laced with irony through to quirky takes on love songs full of the louche suggestiveness befitting of the most ardent romantic.

The Dreaming Room is an enormously frustrating record, as Mvula clearly has it in her to be an incredible artist. But at this point in her career, she remains a orchestra in need of a conductor.

The whole set is neatly balanced and a joyous listen.

That a record so dark and ripe with nuance can also harbour such blatant pop sensibility belies the duo’s young age while serving as a testament to their rampant eccentricities.

A great album and a fascinating document undoubtedly, but there’s no need to spend your hard earned on a boxset when the original does everything you need already.

The variations aren’t as wild, but that doesn’t mean you don’t notice them, the Glasgow zeitgeist keeping things moving as a supreme technician (ever the perfectionist, this final cut apparently took five takes).

There’s nothing on this release to suggest that Clams Casino has ascended to the next level. In its own right, it’s further evidence of Clams’ special talents but for those who have followed his career closely, it’s hard not to think about what could have been.

Undoubtedly this is a record which grips you, taking you on a journey and making you unwittingly invest all of your emotions just from one simple press of a button.

This album demonstrates that the desire disappeared long ago and that they were simply prolonging their career to delay the inevitable. For Hot Hot Heat, the fire has definitely gone out.

This album unfortunately lacks the depth of both the Mediterranean and the Pacific.

This isn’t download territory--it’s a journey, and if you buy a ticket, you have to put the time in to get to the destination. But what a destination.

MSTRKRFT themselves have quit trying to mask anything about their sound or approach, electing instead to deliver the turbo-aggressive noise record they’ve always threatened to make.

Sonically and lyrically, Shura is at her most urgent and incisive.

IV marks a refinement of the BADBADNOTGOOD sound and as ever is filled to the brim with gorgeous melodies and impressive digressions.

More than simply a side project and definitely not just a collection of cast-offs, Oddments Of The Gamble is a remarkably cohesive listen for something assembled over time and without restrictions.

By working with a producer who sought him out and by letting the songs lead the way, he has delivered a timeless album.

This is still an intrinsically Maxwell record, but he navigates familiar tropes through friction and distressed noir-soul, the cohesiveness of the record all the more commendable as a result.

It still stands tonally a much stronger package than his last two releases and is filled with far more highs than lows.

The Bride is a stellar soundtrack to the complexities of womanhood within the institution of marriage, a triumph of raw intensity.

He has vision and ambition beyond the scope of most of us and he is able to bring it to fruition. Long may he find new fans for his challenging but deeply satisfying work.

Soft, smooth and a breath of fresh air, if Liquid Cool is on the menu, I’ll have a glass too.

It’s not always entirely successful and moments of cliché are peppered across this album, but the moments of success are plentiful and Ali Shea’s distinctive voice ensures that Daydream is an endearing statement of intent.

Martha are everything you want a great pop band to be: students of their trade, people with something to say and the vocabulary to do it, a distinctively joyous sound and a grand sense of humour.

Some of the record suffers from being a little noodley--‘Shadows’ being the only standout example--but this can be forgiven both in the face of the scale of the task at hand and the otherwise great aplomb with which it’s been tackled.

The departure comes with tracks like ‘The Bee’, itself a pastiche of the trip-hop genre, while tracks like ‘Melifer’ fuse the distinctive Plaid sound with pretty Balearic guitar melodies to keep things interesting.

There are a few moments that feel oddly dated or too by-the-numbers, but otherwise, this is an engaging return from the gothic dance-rock four-piece.

Summer 08 is the banger-filled record Mount has always wanted to make, for fun, and we’re very much glad that he did.

If Hynes had truly wanted to create an album about black identity as opposed to his own identity, he would have included the powerful ‘Sandra’s Smile’ and focused on the matter across all 17 tracks. He would have made a record dedicated to togetherness rather than individuality and it would have been equally excellent. Instead it becomes an underdeveloped aspect of what is otherwise an expertly tailored and politically-charged work of pop.

The frustration bubbles under the surface for the listener, that, competent and effecting as this album is, it could have been so much more. Here’s to next time.

The first few tracks revel in the heady days of a budding relationship, all stolen kisses and duvet-cloaked promises. But as the seasons flutter by the untenability of their situation gradually dawns on our two lovebirds.

There's parts of On Desire that feel all too familiar, and there's parts that simply don't work. For every negative though there's a melody or lyric that makes it shine, and for that, the band are worth sticking with, at least for the time being.

Breakin’ Point is a technicolour blur worth your time.

After sinking your claws into this offering from PAWS one thing will become certain, their ramshackle approach to delivering scuzzy punk rock drenched in delicious distortion is enough to make anyone short of breath.

At worst, it’s forgettable--at others, it’s actually annoying in its repetition.

Raw, rambunctious, rollicking and rowdy, Spring King’s debut offering is further proof that the future of rock ’n' roll is achingly thrilling.

Faraway Reach is a happy place full of group hugs and big shiny grooves.

Ripe with subtle nuance, Fading Lines is an exquisite debut. Seemingly simple yet running far deeper than cursory listens reveal, it’s a record that sticks with you long after the closing notes of the aptly titled ‘White Fuzz’ fade out.

The songs sway with gravitas and hit home whether you’re wrestling with innate and confounding dependence (‘Crack Baby’) or trying to pilot your own mental health (‘Happy’), Mitski feels dedicated to those who, for once, just want to set their own pace.

Alpha divides its time between striking out, tempering aggression and giving time to think and go deeper, walking the line between something to respect and invest in. For a producer with as marked an evolution as Dear, that’s pretty clear cut.

Unpredictably diverse and unexpectedly personal, this album sees Bugg managing to maintain the relatable style which won him so many fans in the first place, while taking the necessary risks that allow him to grow as an artist.

This carefully constructed and cohesive record really is a big deal.

If you like your pop with a bit more bite to it, then Tegan and Sara are everything you’re looking for.

Unmistakably catchy piano riffs and heart wrenchingly honest lyrics form the basis of the record much like Odell’s debut, however by amplifying the intensity on the new tracks proves that maybe, just maybe, more is more.

The brilliance of The Getaway is in its subtleties, which define their most intimate and expressive album to date, and suggest that, after 32 years, the Chilis can still keep us guessing.

Occasionally Rae slips into serviceable, insipid pop, but it’s a minor grievance in a record that takes her from monochromatic to technicolour dreaming.

Delicately beautiful, this is a real trip.

A collection of pulsing synths, bouncing beats and empowering vocals, X-Communicate may have seen Kristin Kontrol strip away her former image, but it’s left the singer’s sonic presence stronger than ever.

Much like Philadelphia’s Hop Along the group have managed to infuse occasional explosions of guitar with an emotive heart too often missing from the scene. It’s big, it’s clever, it’s Big Thief.

In its relentless fixation upon youth Light Upon The Lake seems to have stumbled across the timeless.

Although uncompromising in it’s vision and delivery, Stranger To Stranger ultimately, serves as another fine testament to Simon’s craft and ingenuity as a songwriter.

Here everything seems whole and fully realised, the sound of a fleshed out band sure in its own identity rather than the end result of a prolonged mixtape crush.

In carrying on from their debut and giving it a more personal feel, Folding Time tweaks into a malleable multi-purpose listen.

The Yard Work Simulator may not be everybody’s cup of tea to listen through from beginning to end, but as a piece of work it is more unique, exploratory and interesting than many others that will be released this year.

Fitzpatrick latterly allows breathing space by lessening the intensity to a measly 85% or so; the beats keep rolling to a ubiquitous clatter of hi-hats until you’re flintstoning your dancing shoes and moving Zombie-like to the less than subliminal command of Session Restore’s ‘Speak Out’.

For all its touching and personal lyrical matter, Next Thing undoubtedly boasts improved production and more developed song-structures, as well as a more fluid use of warm synths and punchy snare drums.

All Our Gods Have Abandoned Us isn’t a sonic leap into new pastures, rather it’s the sound of a band nailing their sound and operating at the very top of their game. In a genre as crowded as metalcore, Architects have managed to craft a sound that’s instantly and recognisably Architects.

It’s a record that’s brimming with potential but which still has tonnes of room leftover for further improvement, which is exactly what the first entry in any band’s budding discography should be like.

It is the very definition of a grower, simply because there are so many little things going on in stark contrast to her elegantly sparse previous release.

It isn't just the narratives that feel more mature however, the entire composition does. Something which stems from its two individual halves.

Down In Heaven is a great, hazy summer album.

Cut And Paste is a well-crafted slice of guitar pop in and of itself, but it largely functions as a placeholder album that succeeds in stoking into life the flickering embers of a dying flame without ever truly reigniting the pyre.

While British Road Movies can’t quite match the shock of the new provided by The Long Blondes’ early material, it’s a strong and confident comeback, and better than we’d any right to expect from someone who hasn’t been involved in an album release for over eight years.

It probably won’t satisfy those who still yearn for a return to their ‘90s alt-rock beginnings but it’s a good starting point for newcomers. For the rest of us though, what this all amounts to, in the end, is another fantastic Radiohead album.

It’s a record stacked with an adeptness of touch from a production standpoint, a modern tapestry that weaves in and out of genres defined by black artists of past.

The unerringly loyal will find enough here to sate a hunger for anthemic bobbins drenched in atmospheric production, but there’s little to match the handful of magical songs for which he is known.

Driven by crispy drum machines and shimmering synths, Lanza’s second full-length Hyperdub offering is instantly more direct and relatable than its predecessor; cloudy reverb is replaced by sheeny production.

Her history and significance is rooted in rebellion--but that’s easy to overlook with a record this diluted.

It’s a collection that proves Moby’s a gifted, mature songwriter.

There's still a level of discontent that quietly rumbles along beneath the bass, but every cloud has a silver lining and it seems that Eagulls might have found theirs.

While some tracks do begin to sound alike, the effortless cool that drips from the more fleshed-out and established cuts provides Nosebleed Weekend with more than enough substance to make up for them.

It’s an exemplar of her adaptability, and in a music realm stacked with mind-numbing, homogeneous house numbers, Katy B still occupies a lane of her own.

Unfortunately their laudable desire to sound like the future rather than the past seems to have backfired, leaving ‘Paradise' a crop of good ideas that wear quickly on the ears. On the plus side this overly polished sound might help convert at least a few godforsaken You Me at Six fans onto real punk (that is, if real punk will have them).

This mini album sees Wire once again looking askance at modernity via cryptic cynicism, bassist Graham Lewis's obtuse lyrics reaching new levels of vexatious impenetrability.

Views packs much less of a political punch than Bey’s must-hear epic, and at 20 tracks, Aubrey for the most part provides a rather overweight and lethargic waltz through his musical comfort zone.

Ultimately The Impossible Kid is an album that will reinforce whatever preconceptions about Aesop Rock you already hold. However, it’s also worth noting that this is most probably the least cryptic and most honest of all his records.