The blistering debut is a collection of delightfully pungent tracks, delivered in all their unashamed, reckless glory.

This is a joyous, unique and tender album.

Ending with an attempt to find hope amid despair on ‘Darkest Hour’, ‘Faith’ is tailor-made to thrill their mass army of fans, balancing fresh ideas with that glamorous melancholy.

Never straying too far to their admired soundscape but enough so to still be refreshing. ‘IWH2BMX’, ‘Get It Til I’m Gone’, ‘Nocturnal’ ooze confidence.

A record that has moments of brilliance but by virtue of trying to be a novelty record, actually comes closer to being a rehash of their previous work.

Music and performer as one, it's hard to know where I Break Horses begin and their walls of sound end. Vocalist and Swedish nephilim Maria Lindén is a calming apparition, yet indeterminate when overpowered by the huge celestial sheets of Fredrik Balck's new wave order.

While that constant jollity could become irritating, it manages instead to be endearing.

You could argue that ‘X’s’ is Cigarette After Sex’s most consistent album of the three released so far. While the Texan band deliver their famed reverbed sound, similar lustful lyrics and reveal little desire to move the dial, the overall standard – more so when comparing each record’s weaker moments – is far raised.

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.

The hallmarks of Simian Mobile Disco are present - huge beats and house loops take centre-stage - but many of the tracks just feel like they're missing a vital component.

Krell’s fragile innocence and tenderness remains as touching as ever, though, with a string of grand, sweeping numbers occupying the album’s heart that underline his power to galvanise the deepest depths of the soul.

I have seen the future of dreamy pop, and its name is The Maccabees.

This is an album that finds progress in small gradients. Subtle in its evolution, Kings Of Leon treat ‘When You See Yourself’ as a means to re-engage with their early bite, yet remain unwilling to cede their place at rock’s top table. As a result, it’s neither the complete break some yearn for, nor an attempt to re-capture the commercial power that emanated around ‘Only By The Night’.

There's clearly a lot of promise here, but drenching everything in reverb and letting blast on the arpeggios doesn't equal a fully realised record. The band's musicianship is certainly accomplished, but the listener occasionally needs a reprieve from its sheer wall of jangle.

At first listen the slower pace may not appeal to everybody, and that’s fine, but at a time where everything seems so unsettled, it works great as a listenable stress ball.

As debut offerings often go, there’s a fervent desire on Mind of Mine to stretch so far and wide that the cohesiveness of the record is lumbered as a result. The tracklist could have been refined to ten good tracks (most of which are on the bonus edition).

Khruangbin’s is extra special. It's not as reliant on electronics and is a treasure trove for those whose record collections happily travel the world and don't stick purely to English. Turn the lights down low, kick-back, and enjoy.

For all its crystallised pop production, ’Ricky Music’, can’t help but feel flat. More concerned with evoking a feeling and mood rather than say anything explicit about the sadness, confusion and joy that Maine has experienced in the creation of the record beyond broad stereotypes of sadness.

Although largely a strong body of work, the album’s borderline moments of geniune greatness--'Hate On', 'Dark Ear' and 'Mr. Mistake', the latter of which is surely the most sonically soothing track to reference a nuclear winter--aren’t replicated with any real consistency.

This one will grow and reward with every new listen, as you get to know the troubled character behind the barbed words.

For all its forward thinking, the combination of shoe-gaze and synthy electronica leads the record inevitably back to the 1980s, mirroring the haunting sound that M83 have perfected so well.

Each track possesses its own surge of mind movement propelled by the depth of eclectic sonics, psyche and contemporary wording.

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.

Never boring, never dull, this is a glowing, fire-breathin’, thunder-clappin’ ghost train of a record.

It’s not a bad record – the highs more than justify your entrance – but with a rumoured follow up on the way, perhaps it’s time for Future to break a few of his own rules once more.

After listening to ‘The Future Is Your Past’, and last year’s ‘Fire Doesn’t Grow on Trees’ they feel like the start of a golden age of The Brian Jonestown Massacre.

‘7 Piano Sketches’ feels slight – a bookmark, rather than a tome.

While tracks like 'Beautiful Wreck'--springy, satisfying and by no means a misfit within this gripping offering--seems quite bland in comparison to the rest which boasts a bold sound, the album remains fascinating, never misses a beat and keeps you listening through to the end.