Kodaline illustrate all the ingredients for greatness, with many a swooning chorus to invoke a thousand festival lighters held aloft.

‘The Death Of Slim Shady (Coup de Grace)’ doesn’t quite feel like an ending, but neither does it feel like a continuation. A mixed, often muddled album, it features some of Eminem’s best rapping in a decade – those fast, skippy-yet-intricate flows will never fail to thrill – but his pen is often blunted. It’s at once an effective piece of fan service, while also being a record that disappoints.

Part of the problem is that Diplo has never done subtlety. He’s in his element when blasting vuvuzelas onstage, working with cliff-edge drops and acres of bass frequencies. Out on the open plains of songwriting he often feels lost, resulting in some startling lyrical simplicity.

It's not truly terrible, but it does feel akin to a musical version of King Kong Vs. Godzilla, two monsters decimating everything in their path until there's nothing left, except the back catalogues.

Green is never going to be a gritty rapper--but even taken as a straight-up pop-rap record, Growing Up In Public is disappointingly tame.

A record of fireworks, but few surprises. The songs kept succinct, punchy, and direct; there’s no house production about-turns, no moments of revelation, just sheer, unadulterated Khaled. It’s like being strapped in to a rollercoaster – at points its exhilarating, at others terrifying, and by the end you’re eager for it to be over.

An often-insubstantial record, ‘Based On A True Story’ doesn’t offer much beyond surface. If Will Smith wanted to get his feelings down on tape, this album doesn’t come close; what emerges is instead a flailing, futile gesture.

Additions such as Kash Doll and Juicy J are perfect on paper, but beyond justifying their individual presence in the rap realm, do little to save a project which unfortunately suffers from the sophomore slump.

A brash dose of colour for a drab post-Millennial pop scene, she was the bulldozer through the critics doors. On ‘143’ however, there’s a feeling that the world has moved on – with Chappell Roan’s tour sparking Beatlemania-esque scenes of adoration and Sabrina Carpenter maintaining a stranglehold on the charts, you struggle to see where this playful yet unsatisfying record fits into pop’s firmament.

What's frustrating is that it's too damn enjoyable and not quite derivative enough to actively hate.

Too much of Neontwang feels slight, as if the band is still beset by identity issues, still confused by the prospect of what they could be. The transition, then, is still under way. When it works, Neontwang is a worthy return, the sound of a band taking risks in ways their detractors could never fathom.

‘TM’ feels like a classic BROCKHAMPTON record. Immaculate production, genre shapeshifting, and some of the cleanest verses from the group in quite some time. There’s no filler on the record either – just eleven tracks of pure BH instant classics.