We get a less focused effort, with peaks and troughs in its quality. Yet the best tracks off the album are better than any of the band’s previous work. It’s just a shame that the weaker songs fall below the standard The 1975 set for themselves.

Concepts (‘Little Sis’, schmaltz aside, laments a distanced sibling), and grime-horned hammers (‘New Banger’, ‘3 Wheel Ups’ with Wiley and Giggs), put familiarly uneven album flow in a nutshell.

It might be a lot more po-faced than the insouciant antics of the recent Venetian Snares album (‘Traditional Synthesizer Music’) but it's certainly no less engaging.

It’s an essential purchase for anyone vaguely interested in music with a soulful pulse.

With its Krautrock-tinged rhythm, backwards guitar and soaring chorus, it suggests that this rested and revitalised incarnation of The Coral still has plenty to offer. Having grown tired, their enthusiasm is audibly restored.

A sprightly ten-song set which could easily stand up to anything released in the ‘80s.

All discussion of technique aside though, there can be no doubt that with Brute, Al Qadiri has invoked her own personal brand of protest in a world in which discussion over that right has become ever more charged.

It’s a confident and powerful statement, and one that underlines his complete and utter dominance of the genre at this moment.

On occasions it’s a disappointing walk through ‘hardcore by numbers’ routines peppered in clever imagery and breakneck instrumentation.

The misstep is in the execution, resulting in sound that bears little resemblance to their previous efforts. At best, Limitless is an overly ambitious re-invention. At worst, it’s a terribly misjudged collection.

They've escaped the dirge and have now come up for air--and we're all the better for it.

If Plaza doesn’t wholly satisfy from start to finish, it’s more than a mere transitional album. Call it a pathway forward that’s anything but straightforward, and is all the more beguiling because of its asymmetrical digressions.

So long as you can tolerate the musical hopscotch that a Barry Adamson album always represents, Know Where To Run is probably as good an introduction to this peripatetic musician as you're ever likely to need. Just make sure to expect the unexpected.

Ambitious, anthemic and at times, gut wrenchingly emotional, At Hope’s Ravine is a staggering piece of work.

Macklemore remains unsure of himself throughout, lacking the rapping skills and natural charisma needed to get things onto a surer footing. In the end, it’s a sadly fitting album title.

Without it being a slight on Wood’s performance, it also adds to a beneficiary mix of vocal viewpoints, aimed at tightening the Orchestra’s hold over main stages and secret, more intimate tents out back.

While Loop The Loop isn’t a retro record, neither is it futuristic; it’s not a singer-songwriter album, nor is it an electronic beats record. One thing it does qualify as though, is a hugely enjoyable debut album.

When it’s good, it’s very, very good, but for most of the time it’s really quite bland.

Throughout the record there's the vague notion that Funk is taking a swipe at the synth fetishism that's made modular systems achingly hip again in recent years. Traditional in essence it may well be, but it's done with arched eyebrows and a knowing smirk.

Brash and bold, its juxtaposition of fragile synth lines and uncompromising slabs of aggression make for a compelling, if not occasionally familiar, listen.

At times you wish their sound was edgier, that they'd go in the direction of their zanier peers Hot Chip and BadBadNotGood. Despite that minor criticism, their unique, funky take on pop is rarely less than fascinating.

Meet The Humans is not just his best solo release to date, but also arguably the finest album in which he has been involved full stop. Capable of moving and energising its audience in equal measure, Mason has refined his art to a remarkable extent.

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.

Albanese joins a select group of modern classical artists able to offer so very much without the need for words.

Century Plaza sees all the greats of the synth-pop and original electro shown respect, if a little too closely at times--but damn, it’s some somber fun.

Again Future marshals the glittering soundscapes expertly, his tuneful flow reining in the beats while imbuing all the fragility, heartsickness and aggression that make it the most impressive instrument in rap right now.

It might not have had a huge single to push those extra sales, but it feels real, it feels soulful, and it’s a representation of Rihanna that she will hopefully still be proud of 15 years on.

Begin may be more of a reverential piece of art than a novel creation, but there is enough substance here to surmise Lion Babe’s future promise.