An album with soul jazz, spiritual jazz, jazz-funk, electro-soul and many more genre-busting approaches incorporated across 16 wondrous pieces, aspects of free rhythms nestling next to vintage seventies soul sounds, all evolved effortlessly for the 21st Century. ... You won’t hear another record like it this, or maybe any, year.

Call The Comet doesn’t quite reach the heights it sets out to, as the execution on some tracks falls flat despite some interesting ideas. That being said, there are enough moments throughout the record to remind you that the Marr magic is alive and well.

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

SOPHIE manages to incorporate the personal without detracting from what set her apart in the first place, and it makes for a record that’s as affecting as it is thrilling.

It’s a road record to soundtrack a hazy journey across the outback in search of a lost love, contemplating the world whilst swigging on a beer. Hope Downs is far from perfect, but it has charm in abundance.

A record that spirits the listener along at quite a pace, its already relatively concise thirty-five minutes stirring a melodic whirlwind.

It’s fair to say Jordan has delivered an album worthy of its 90s indie antecedents, even surpassing some of these.

Heavily weighty with fiery doom and gloom, Lauren Mayberry masters the art of colourfully abstract lyrics.

It seems The Aces have achieved their goal however, to escape the indie clichés attached to pop bands using guitars, and have created a fully-fledged pop scorcher.

This record contains meticulous instrumental arrangements and clever storytelling. It is protest music without the cliché heavy rock sound and direct lyrics. Instead Maltese uses satire to place pity upon the world but mostly himself, all delivered with a wry grin and a sparkle in his eye.

While this might not be the most pivotal ‘sad pop’ record from someone who arguably coined the genre, it can stand toe-to-toe with the best of them and few albums have ever been as appropriately named as so sad so sexy.

While Lost & Found doesn’t feel like Jorja Smith’s magnum opus, it’s a brilliant first draft.

Sometimes its hard to separate the art from the artist, but Lily Allen has once again drawn upon brutally honest and painfully raw experiences from her own personal life to create an all-encompassing and emotive sonic journey that keeps your finger firmly on the repeat button. Absolutely nothing to be ashamed of here.

Ecstatic Arrow is kind of the sonic equivalent of the Barbican Conservatory, with its juxtaposition of undulating concrete and myriad verdant plants from across the world. And if you’ve ever been there, you’ll know it’s a very pleasant space.

It’s another marvellous addition to the Father John Misty catalogue, delivered from a songwriter that surely now deserves to be recognised as one of, if not the greatest, of this decade.

(04:30) Idler is his confident, self-assured follow-up. Sonically, Isaac appears completely comfortable in his slightly more refined new skin.

ye is by no means Kanye West’s finest moment, but it’s a reminder not to count him out just yet.

It’s a record that captures the anxious state of the world and shows a more fragile Gaz Coombes, far removed from the happy-go-lucky teenager who wrote ‘Caught By The Fuzz’ and ‘Alright’.

While producer Paul Epworth’s contribution is accomplished, adding a dynamism that maintains our attention throughout, the record seems to lack an underlying theme. Bay has been a bit too clever for his own good, and on Electric Light fails to latch onto a identity that makes him truly unique.

‘Bike Lane’ doesn’t quite strike the balance, and as such isn’t a highlight, nor is ‘Shiggy’. But they’re done so wryly, so knowingly, that it’s not a big deal and they don’t detract much from what is an assuredly sparkly album.

The resulting work is cracked but compelling, a real warts and all record that slaloms its way between moments of breathtaking romance and ugly reality. Occasionally its composition feels scrappy or unfinished, but this doesn’t particularly mar the experience of listening to it.

Longwave is a gently simple record but one which manages to exert an almost hypnotic pull.

A brutally funny, scuzzy and lacking-in-seriousness affair, it truly is one of the most entertaining New York guitar albums of modern times.

While ‘My Name Is My Name’ was a great album, this is a masterclass in design: in contrast to the 20+ track albums of this streaming era, Kanye’s ruthless editing ensures every song, every bar and every sample have purpose.

After the cheap--but definitely magical--thrills of her debut, this is a slow-burning triumph.

This isn’t a linear narrative, with our author bending the fabric of time to suck us deeper into the emotional life of the characters in his story. As devices go, it’s a sharp one.

44/876 is like a hilarious fever dream somehow brought to life. Not entirely awful.

Turner’s inconsistent seventh LP may not compare with the likes of ‘Love Ire & Song’ and ‘Poetry Of The Deed’ but a willingness to experiment paired with a deceptively simple message make it a decent, if unremarkable addition to his stellar back catalogue.