As ever with this band, it’s sure to be an idiosyncratic but beguiling direction, although there’s no hurry with so much to pick over on this thoughtful latest outing.

While New View is not especially novel, it still has some fine songs at its core.

There are times where the album is inconsistent; the beats aren't as addictive on 'Rhythm Is All You Can Dance'. The album is at its strongest when it bravely introduces seemingly incompatible music styles to each other.

Largely The Anchoress’ arrival on the scene is a textured and lovingly crafted treat, bursts of melody, backing vocals and tweaked samples making for a lush soundscape.

A more immersive, majestic and ultimately engaging release than album one.

It ultimately falls between two stools - not giving a true portrayal of a Villagers live show, and failing to mix-up tracks enough to justify this ‘re-imagining’ of older material.

At the centre of Panic At The Disco’s best album yet is Urie himself. The charisma and eccentricity of the front man, matched by his jaw-dropping vocal acrobatics sees Urie finally become the ringmaster of his own circus.

The music lacks the meditative quality of similar works like those by Philip Glass. In place of this, tracks like ‘Sunshimmers’ and ‘The Amazon: The Highlands’ produce a warmness that makes the album an agreeable experience, an experience that does not ensnare the listener’s attention.

A remarkable return to form by one of rap’s finest wordsmiths, it’s Pusha’s most focused and cohesive solo effort to date, and one of hip-hop’s strongest long-players of 2015.

In their bid to capture the essence of their bluesy, garage rock, Cage the Elephant have effectively managed to lose the quirky personality they once had, and whilst Tell Me I'm Pretty is far from a homogeneous record, the tracks do have a tendency to bleed into one another, particularly on repeat listens.

Every Baroness album before this has featured huge shifts in style, this being the one where they take the best of each to create a propulsive, thrilling whole.

There's a great Rick Ross album in here somewhere. If only the boss had abstained from some of his extravagant habits and used his editing sheers more cuttingly.

If Deenmamode tempers his idiosyncrasies just a little, allowing his music to breathe better, the results can be even more profound.

This is an album that continually surprises. Rarely has the bleak mid-Winter been so inviting.

It’s clear that Coldplay retain their thirst, their passion for making music--it’s merely a shame that it results in such polite noises.

It's a real shame that out of 18 songs whittled down from a reported 462, the album has just three consistently good songs.

Despite the continuing theme the mixtape is no way disappoints, exuding a level of excitement and appreciation of a body of work that Erykah display’s both through music and her own style.

YACHT have consciously positioned themselves as intelligent conceptualists, not wanting to adhere to what's expected of them, and that makes for an interesting amalgam of deep themes set to brazenly outlandish pop styles.

Partly because it's so painfully eager to please. Sonorous sermons that really should hit home--delivered in an unseasoned multilingual mishmash of tongues (Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, English)--are unflattered by the ersatz backdrop of cheesy latin pop, dire orchestral muzak and (heavens preserve us) Meat Loaf-esque '70s prog.

Hyper, aggressive, silly and just-bloody-gorgeous, it's a perfect microcosm of the album as a whole.

These are mostly decent songs but the lyrical landscape feels wearily well-trodden and it’s hard not to just want a bit more from an artist with the freedom to risk anything.

Despite the more upbeat sound to 'Bite Mark' TRAAMS ensure they still pack enough punch to really sink their teeth into their slightly frenzied and disheveled (but completely hooked) listeners.

Riot Boi is a trailblazing record very much in the now. It's bombastic, and transgressive.

It looks to be a strong move in his transition to adulthood and proves there's far more to him than being a pretty face for schoolgirls to swoon over.

As a document of four years of on-off collaboration it is fascinating, and for fans of either artist it's pretty much essential.

For the first time, it's Bleeker's most mature output yet and solid terra firma for fully realizing the group as a band in its own right rather than a mere side hobby.

As with most of Numero's releases to date, there are moments of gold in amongst plenty of enjoyably period music and it's best consumed in one, immersive and overwhelming sitting, accompanying book to hand.

Many Moons is more than a mere side-project, and a solid debut album for any season.

This teaser [is] no doubt just the beginning of a new strain of avant-footwork coming our way in 2016.

What he delivers doesn't disappoint, and it's a tantalising glimpse into where R&B might be heading in 2016.

Art Angels is boundary pushing, it’s listenable and it’s Boucher’s most ambitious and most consistent work to date.

Having listened from beginning to end scores of times, it always retains its singular charm.

It's one young man's proper opening salvo cast as an entire genre's dying breaths. But for a last gasp, it sure sounds vital.

Like acid (which, again, he never touched) this record is illuminating, often inaccessible, often scary and most people would hate it. But it's still one hell of a trip.

The band have managed to capture their live energy with ease here, and in part due to this, and the album's relentless level of glee, it can become a tiring listen. However, one can't help but admire the band's enthusiasm and the gusto in which they've gone for these songs.

The main problem with this is that her voice is too wispy to hold its own versus the maximalist rave-pop of the day.... On top of this, Delirium just hasn't got the songs.

Making Time is a solid album, but it's elevated even further by the presence of closing track, 'Dedicated'.

It's as much math rock as it is noise rock, delightfully unpredictable in places ('Weasel Bastard', 'Power Ballad'; and yes, the latter is the furthest thing from a power ballad you could possibly imagine), precise and purposeful in others.

Ultimately, as a standalone record, Nothing feels somewhat incomplete.

The album is a sun-kissed trip with layered overdubs, shimmering guitar inter-play and a sense of wanderlust, a warm departure from the celebrated lo-fi debut LP.

Elaenia is one of those rare albums that crosses genres and audiences with ease due in thanks to the sheer craft that's gone into its seven tracks.

Bleeds isn’t a flawless album, but it is diverse and imaginative.

Beach Slang play with the kind of heartfelt abandon that you could imagine translating to wider audiences in a similar vein to The Gaslight Anthem or, going back even further, The Goo Goo Dolls. For now, the no-hopers have a voice, but you get the feeling that it won't be theirs alone for much longer.

Yes, the production is razor sharp, the beats are skewed and often very loud which makes them feel important, but in reality, it's all a façade; an image.

Whereas 'Hey Go' claws at cabaret crushed velvet, and 'Officers Club' funks Scruffily, 'Manalog' is the sole, slightly noodly odd one out on an album of big punchlines, defrosted drum breaks snapping necks like breadsticks, and foibles for the eagle-eared to pick out listen after listen

It's a damn fine record and manages to avoid treading exactly the same ground its older sister did.

It's a truly incredible album, a special album and a rare album.

Lyrically fascinating, charmingly vulnerable and compulsively danceable--this is how to do a debut.

Organic, intimate and well worth adding to anyone's collection. Grab that jumper and enjoy.

If it feels just a little patchy in places compared to its predecessor, it's hard not to be jerked into life by this band's approach to the dancefloor's dark bidding. Just don't over-think it.

He might ramble sometimes, but his ramblings are like the songs of angels.

Hurts have always been pretty unabashed about their mainstream ambitions, which is fine, but as they explore them further, it becomes easier to strip away the affectations and see them for what they truly are: a cheesy pop band.

On bygone albums he has displayed his own level of assertiveness; this is strictly a diffuser of pent-up situations, perfectly balanced between the background and forefront of your get together.

You might think punk bands berating the patriarchy is uninspired, but The Spook School do so with spirit, vibrancy and clever honesty, demonstrating how candid discussions of gender and sexuality in pop culture is still worryingly subversive.

Clark's biggest triumph is in managing to splice his previous influences together in a cohesive and pleasing manner.

It's bonkers and wild.

CHVRCHES are a still a terrific alternative to the barrage of mind-numbing EDM and soulless euro trash of acts such as Icona Pop that permeate our airwaves and devour advertisements. Another heavenly and peerless collection from the Glaswegian synth-poppers.

The real issue is that in a genre filled with imitators, many whom Deerhunter no doubt inspired, we need a bit more bang for our buck. When the oddities on this album ride so high they should have let complete weirdness take over.

This is thoughtful music for thoughtful listeners, and it is all the more rewarding for it.

Deafheaven have managed to craft a lengthy, complex offering that could be considered the antithesis of their lauded second album, but also proves to their doubters that they're here to stay.

Money, manipulation and vaguely unhappy mediums haunt the album's lyrics, though indistinct phrasing and a blearily subdued vocal mix make these themes feel like peripheral, subconscious murmurings.

It's pure, carefully conceived theatre, at a pace that you can never predict, without being an emotional descent that spirals over and over until you're wishing it'd buck its ideas up.

Radwan Ghazi Mounmeh and his cohorts have managed to make a record which communicates across the bounds of culture and time.

The album is a bold, idiosyncratic collection of songs crafted under intense time pressure after producer John Congleton insisted that Grant have all of the material ready to go before entering the studio. Such a challenge certainly seems to have focused the mind.

Funky, frenetic and fast, Zipper Down is not for the pretentious listener.

The most curious thing about RUFF is how its narrative seems to hint at a band running out of energy and inspiration, and yet the music itself would say otherwise.

Like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, La Di Da Di too often feels like a soulless automaton tearing around on autopilot. If only it had a heart.

This is Hey Colossus' best LP yet--by some distance.

It's a record which feels like a grower but never manages to click.

Like a lot of compilation albums, C-ORE struggles with coherence, but still makes for a tantalising selection box and entry point to the DMG project.

His latest LP is an endearing collection of slow-burning, dreamy arrangements, which find the singer wistfully contemplating the shifting nature of identity.

This may be the sound of an artist working with a formula: a formula that is certainly an effective, endearing one, but a formula nonetheless.

Sadly much of the rest of Music Complete is by-the-numbers New Order, and revisionary as opposed to revolutionary.

Even an all-star cast can't save Caracal from its restrained atmosphere and overly polished production

The Curved Line is a robust collection that finds McKeown going from strength to strength.

Dodge and Burn is a sassy ball of madness coming at your ears at 120mph and, while it might not be the most together record these peeps have recorded, it succeeds due to its pure will to do so.

The whole set comes off like a collection of Future songs--with some Drake verses clumsily tacked on as an afterthought.

Many fans will still be happy with the change that Beauty Behind The Madness has brought but some will surely feel the album has nothing to offer except immediate accessibility for the short attention of the mainstream.

Out of something very, very old has come something deliciously new.

Higher Truth is by no means groundbreaking but it's damn solid and doesn't truly contain a bad number.

There is a risk that we might take such quality for granted. Just one listen will remove any such complacency.

This is a splendid debut.

The whole album somewhat lacks the same energy, punch and pure magic that The Black Keys have.

It's impossible to shake the notion that here is an album that might just prove to have longevity--to be a loved collection of stunningly written and presented pop songs.

Musically, the pop-punk sound has been largely abandoned (save for, perhaps, recent single 'I Don't Like Who I Was Then') in favour of something more forceful and nuanced.

Catchy riffs and partying aside, this new FIDLAR record actually gets pretty deep.

Like a lot of their back catalogue, Keep The Village Alive is an enjoyable and solid, if unadventurous rock record anchored, as always, by that tremendous voice.

While it's lovely to have them back, this album is more of a pleasant addition to the Mercury Rev catalogue than a defining moment.

The career-spanning retrospective Alone and Unreal: The Best of the Clientele serves as a potent reminder of just how discreetly revelatory the group's primary method of operation has always been.

A comforting return rather than anything revolutionary, it is nevertheless a welcome addition to his formidable catalogue.

Anthems For Doomed Youth will bring more joy to the fans than the naysayers may suspect.

The folk troubadour's sixth studio release has been presented as his "defining statement" and it's true, the Wessex boy has delivered something truly wonderful.

In fairness, we have heard the duelling solos, galloping Guitar riffs and Dickinson’s operatic Rock vocals all before, in that sense there’s nothing particularly new in form of style (but that’s no bad omen). Upon The Book of Souls the band do, however, sound tighter than ever, offering a raw atmosphere that makes the album sound as though it was almost written in order to be played live.

The band's strengths are here in abundance, but they are reimagined, twisted into new shapes and given a visceral intensity that is utterly irresistible.

Artistic development and risk-taking is to be applauded. With risk, though, comes the possibility of mis-steps. Sadly, here, this is what it feels like Tamaryn's done.

No, No, No is as sweet but as filling as an after dinner mint, and sadly it's probably dinner this album should accompany.

What saves the record from being a lacklustre, sotto-voiced tribute act is that, strikingly, Briana herself is a cookie-cutter Northwest coast hippie.

It's easy listening, while thankfully having nothing whatsoever to do with the much-maligned genre of the same name--and the sort of fascinatingly layered album that appears demanding and austere from the outset but is in fact home to a set of beautifully realised songs.