Sucker Punch does much as the name suggests. It’s full of swooping, dramatic choruses and clean-cut vocals, where almost every song is a potential radio hit--only that’s not a bad thing.

Her first record as Self Esteem allows her songwriting skills to flourish in all their flawed glory--at once assertive and vulnerable, her take on pop flirts with high-end glossy sonics but still holds roots in the slow-building atmospherics that fuelled her past work, as well as some leftfield R&B influences.

While it’s about as colourful as the phantasmagoric cover art suggests, it might have sounded a bit more grounded if the band weren’t given the keys to so many synthesisers and effects pedals - and Kevin Parker’s heady production only makes it even woozier. Beneath all the superfluous sonic meddling, though, it’s still a voyage worth beholding.

TEEN’s sonic approach is chaotically diverse throughout and this very much feels like an album of two halves; when it captures the alienation and isolation it strives for, though, it soars.

While the heavy beats and hooky vocals guarantee fruitful foot-tapping rewards, there’s also an abundance of obnoxious sound effects lurking around every corner. Snapped Ankles revel in this kind of chaos, though, so as far as they’re concerned, it’s mission accomplished.

Her straight-forward, down to business flow is all part of removing that mask. It’s an unflinching look at what such a sudden rise can do to a young person, and the anxieties that the public never see.

It’s a great--albeit mis-matched--collection of songs.

There’s a power that comes from laying fears and anxieties out, admitting that answers can’t be immediately found. Cannily similar to the progression of The Japanese House’s music over the past few years, this exact approach has led her to a magical debut.

In short, Silences is the sound of an artist grown tremendously in confidence and hitting her stride.

They’ve crafted a terrific out-and-out rock record.

Strange Creatures limps and sags habitually, never quite succumbing to Drenge’s wishful potential and ruthless attempts at crafting the idyllic garage-rock their previous releases showcased. It’s a shame when the promise never quite delivers.

While single ‘Angel’ uses the simplest, scrappiest riffs and Beth’s sonorous tones to make something more than the sum of its parts. Du Blonde continues to be one of UK guitar music’s best kept secrets.

An album that values intensity and tenderness in equal measure, You Will Not Die is a multi-faceted and fascinating introduction.

It’s pleasant, and there are intriguing touches to be found in the Jacco Gardner-esque keys of ‘On Your Own’, but there’s an intrinsically grating quality that’s hard to shake.

Unpacking messy feelings over delicate guitars, Crushing may have been born from a place of confusion, but Julia Jacklin’s voice sounds clearer than ever.

It’s dark, atmospheric and shoegazey--and as a sonic canvas it works well. But several of the songs struggle to say anything that’s not already been said elsewhere on the album.

Methyl Ethel have reached great new heights with this stellar effort.

RY X is a talented guy with a singular vision, but Unfurl's title is misleading--it’s a little too tentative to have fully done so.

Woman’s Hour have created something truly special in these final throes.

Old, but new at the same time, the seemingly limited palette of Buoys is single minded and direct. A stunning, if hushed, indirect hit.

Sunshine Rock does exactly what it says on the tin. A rock album that sparkles; a taut collection of Bob Mould cuts that fits timelessly into his ever-expanding legacy.

Tip of the Sphere is Cass McCombs’ most elegiac and profoundly literary album, a eulogy for the end of times and a mass articulation of the absurd world of modernity.

At the heart of Quiet Signs remains Jessica Pratt’s acquired taste of a voice and her penchant for dainty instrumental work, but the record’s palpable atmospherics might be enough to win over previous detractors.

Pursuit of Momentary Happiness manages to harness even more of the band’s unpredictable live energy while careering between boggle-eyed riffy bangers and booze-sodden self-reflection in truly inimitable fashion.

The trio deliver at once their heaviest, catchiest, most decipherable and least predictable album.

Despite their identity being so closely interwoven with synth-pop, some of the more striking tracks here see Broods moving away from the keyboard, and reverting to more traditional instrumentation.

Olympic Girls is Tiny Ruins diversifying their sound and, in the process, unlocking something new and palpable. Simply by moving further out, they start to let us in.

All the right ingredients are there, but the recorded format makes it fall short it from becoming a flowing, cohesive album.

Five feels like an exercise in softness of touch, maybe the most reserved White Lies album to date; there’s less bite than usual in Harry McVeigh’s vocals, and where previously the guitars would be spiky and nudge towards post-punk, there’s languid, melodic riffs on the likes of ‘Finish Line’ and ‘Denial’.

The group expand on the sorts of themes and sounds that have made them so distinct to the ear while incorporating new layers of heavier krautrock, as well as melodic folk to further engineer their trademark sound.

While not a record that’s likely to raise their star, Stuffed & Ready is one that shows a band resolutely ploughing their own furrow without compromise.

There’s a gorgeous familiarity to the record, but it’s also one peppered with adventure.

Whereas their earlier tracks were more simple, now their music is a multidimensional, multi-faceted affair, full of fragile introspection and meandering guitars.

Over four songs and just twelve minutes, it packs enough punch to inspire air guitar, desk drumming, shower singing and wanting to start a band just so you can try and shred like these three. Truly fantastic.

A profoundly human listen, which sees the band bow out proudly, for now at least.

Like Syd Barrett or, more recently, Euros Childs before him, White Fence continues to make the peripheries seem oddly accessible.

Each soundbite from Highway Hypnosis is heavy and layered, every track an earworm.

The most important aspect of Future Ruins and Swervedriver is it shows that the band still have something to say and prove. They’re in it for the long haul and, hopefully, back for good to document all our future ruins.

Rat Boy works best on this record not giving the fans what they want--but something new.

Highlight ‘By Myself’ sings of relapsing after getting sober, but is set over a simply joyous ska-tinged musical romp - musical and lyrical contradictions are all over Almost Free, but it gains its power from dancing through the hard times with a massive grin on your face. The musical experimentation of the record continues throughout.

A ten-track album that combines both of their styles to create something that doesn’t sound quite like either of them.

Assume Form keeps that same desire [as The Colour In Anything] to break new ground, while taking it to the red line and managing to not outstay its welcome.

The resulting back-and-forth between herself and Ellery - her honeyed tones set against his unmistakably raspy roars - is enthralling, and holds up regardless of musical backdrop. There’s low-key moments of genuine menace (‘Black Sun Rising’, the disquieting churn of ‘Serenity Says’) and some major key nods towards anthemic territory, too.

A transitional work perhaps, but whichever fork in the road he follows next, you feel he’ll continue to adapt.

It’s not a record that jumps out on the first listen, but The Unseen In Between works as an effective relaxant.

The sea change in Sharon’s personal life has given rise to a tidal wave of ambition in her music; that she has harnessed it so masterfully surely confirms her position as one of her generation’s most compelling voices.

Deerhunter have often dealt in lofty, intense blows, but on album eight, they provide a breezy distraction from the chaos outside, and it’s most welcome.

The record finds a way of making her atypical pop sit comfortably in the mainstream, offering something genuinely new. Coming a long way since sitting adjacent to Pharrell in the studio at NYU, Maggie Rogers has certainly found her own voice.

Their fifth album is anchored by thudding, motorik beats that create a dancier base on which James exorcises his deepest demons, and it’s an even more intense form of communication.

There isn’t much range across the record; the last few tracks merge into one. Which is disappointing given Peter’s track record for one, but overall there are plenty of highs and the downsides should be sorted by the next installment.

Lyrically, it’s a scattered series of ruminations on the end of an era, with anger, guilt and sadness all permeating its fabric. Musically, though, it expands the singer’s palate, transmitting these feelings via new, punchier textures.

The band put their flag in the ground as the most intriguing musical voice we have, creating a bombastic, immaculately put together portrait of modern life.

There’s not much in the way of stylistic cohesion, either, and you wonder whether that’s simply because the creativity was flowing out of the almost-fully-reformed lineup or simply because Billy felt confident in following his every whim.

At this point Mumford & Sons know exactly what they have to do to keep the Spotify streams rolling over, and Delta feels like an exercise in box-ticking, no more, no less.

Across the record, all prop each other up to create something that’s more than the sum of their parts. In this case, three in a B.E.D fits just fine.

It’s powerfully honest and refreshingly unfiltered, beautifully crafted and distinctive. Most importantly of all it carries the legacy of Tom Searle, and of the remaining Architects members, forward.

It’s when they come together on closer ‘Ketchum, ID’, an ode to the state of Idaho and the detachment of constant touring, that boygenius really comes into its own and sees the project become more than the sum of its parts.

Take a step back from the ins and outs of the record and Simulation Theory stands as a ridiculous, bombastic stab of maximalism from one of the world’s biggest stadium rock bands.

Paying homage to songwriting ancestors, there’s an unmistakable Americana twist across much of the record that on occasion even turns to Nashville-tinged country. Yet Bought To Rot is pulled together by consistently bestowing valuable life lessons.

The last couple of Dinosaur Jr. records in particular have been praised from all angles for their consistency, but J Mascis is continuing to fire out hidden gems under his own name, too.

Paul’s commitment to trying new things is to be lauded, but it does mean Diagrams lacks cohesion; it feels less an album and more a collection of ideas, some thrilling, others less so.

At times, No Tourists feels like a companion to their debut. That was the night out and this is the morning after’s hangover. While this isn’t vintage Prodigy, it gets pretty damn close and gives hope there is still life in the old dog yet.

Individually the likes of ‘Time Will Be The Only Saviour’, with its creeping strings and weighty sorrow, or the Rizzo-quoting ‘There Are Worse Things I Could Do’, are tender, sad things, but as a whole piece, Yawn can wind up a claustrophobic listen.

This second LP Crush Crusher sees her grab all the promise of her 2016 debut and years at the heart of her hometown’s DIY scene and turn it into something great.

While ‘Big Fish Theory’ saw the rapper centre stage, relentless and omnipresent, on ‘FM!’ he lets us tune in to a calmer world, one which he dips in and out of when he pleases, filling in the blanks and staying in the fast lane.

The one constant success of her sound is her ability to jump from one song to the next in a way that rarely seems jarring; it’ll serve her well to keep the multi-faceted nature of her sound from here on out.

With Fudge Sandwich, Ty breathes new life into an already solid collection of rock songs, and he is an ever-mutating musician on this album as he is in real life.

‘Hanoi 4’ is a driving, groove-led funk workout, while ‘Hanoi 5’ pits all kind of warped gurgles against a nocturnal jazz saxophone. They’re stranger, more direct beasts without the foil of Ruban’s soft vocal and often all the more ominous for it.

From micro passages like the 30-second ‘An Audition’ to the 14-minute swell of ambient vocal track ‘A Chorus Of One’, he successfully contrasts optimism and tenderness with hopelessness and terror, with an impressive breadth of emotion being evoked across each track.

Despite the album’s beginning in confusion, Saturn sounds genuinely uplifting throughout with her impressive vocal range being the focal point.

Unusual yet distinctive, Aviary may alienate some but you can’t fault the depth of Julia’s grand vision for her work.

[Missing U's] Thudding kick drum pounds away underneath defiant lyrics of heartache, and it’s as affecting as she’s ever been. It’s the rest of the record, though, that really excels, pointing the way forward for an artist changing her tune.

Yes, there’s nothing of the size or scale of ‘Lean On’, but in unapologetically treading her own path, MØ’s beginning to carve a new identity all of her own.

The Anteroom is surely How To Dress Well’s most exciting work to date; it might, in time, unfurl into his most poignant and vital, too.

Last Building Burning is Cloud Nothings embracing a harsher component to their sound--almost recalling the likes of recent Oh Sees releases--which has grown into something unsettled, bold and reckless.

She is as captivating as ever, but the rougher edges have been removed slightly giving us a more polished, and immediate, album.

Not consolidating or scaling back their ambition in the slightest, mewithoutYou continue to be one of indie-rock’s most consistently fascinating voices, and on ‘[Untitled]’ they’re as weird and wonderful as ever.

The opening three numbers shine, showing a refreshing sound bursting at the seams with positivity, but the lack of variety means that, by the end, you may feel slightly bludgeoned by it all.

A record that’s an unapologetic, brilliant melting pot like little else.

Iit feels like a natural extension from what’s come before rather than a bold move forward, but you can tell Santigold had fun making it all the same.

Accordingly, he’s lent the whole affair an electronic flavour that doesn’t really work. In some cases, that’s because it’s crashingly outdated.

Love Is Magic feels like a victory lap. Frequently boundary-pushing, side-splittingly funny and anything but safe, John Grant’s fourth LP is a rip-roaring thrill ride that’s immensely danceable to boot. Magic really does work in mysterious ways.

Kurt takes a leaf out of Courtney’s book and wears his heart on his sleeve, searching for introspection and delving into his deepest and most personal lyrics to date--about love, loss and everything in between.

Vitriola is a fiercely political record, but one that seldom feels trite; married to the aggressive tone of a band back to make a point, it’s a razor-sharp lament of America in 2018.

Jassbusters is the album of a musician who has been around the block a bit, knows what he wants and more importantly how to get it.

It may not have the depth of some of their counterparts, but it easily makes up for it with refreshing, confident fun.

Fall Into the Sun is the best Swearin’ record yet; that Allison and Kyle have not just reformed the band, but actually brought the creative best out of each other in doing so, is a powerful advert for reconciliation.

Subtle swells of synth and strings back up the album’s most emotionally intense moments, but her vocals can do the job on their own, especially on beautiful highlight ‘cradle’.

Her tenth studio album might be written about Cat Power’s own journey, but it also doubles as an essential compass for finding your way through the dark.

It’s powerfully confronting, unashamedly angry, unrelenting and it’s long. Yet throughout, the band’s mastery guides the album. The ebb and flow, often squeezed into the running time of a single track, is as beautiful as it is disarming.

Quiet River of Dust won’t be for everyone, but you can’t help but marvel at its ambition.

Barry Johnson’s vocals remain huge, and riffs are still catchy, but in trying to expand their palate, their identity might just be starting to slip.

The Joy Formidable have made the statement they needed to with AAARTH--it’s an album of compositional daring and fierce experimentation.

Full of lilting indie-pop, often swelling with trumpets, string sections and a sense of wistfulness, European Heartbreak sounds nostalgic for a dream, the realisation of which has long since passed.

After Saturation's freewheeling spirit and an insatiable appetite for fun, Iridescence had to confront the past nine months, and make a statement as to how the band move forward. It does so emphatically.

It remains to be seen whether The Art Of Pretending To Swim will gain Villagers hoards of new followers, but fans of the Irish five-piece will put their fourth record right up there with their best.

Chris is a second album that thrives in the realm of the uncertain, throws perceptions on gender, sexuality and expression comprehensively out of the window, and cements the status of Héloïse Letissier as a true star.

The power gained from its creation can be felt in the way the band crash their way through its nine songs, and will undoubtedly also transmit to anyone who presses play.