It’s everything you wouldn’t expect and more.

From start to finish, Vultures is a relentless storm of roaring rock royalty.

Love Songs for Robots is a thoroughly accomplished album that oozes musicality from every reverb-soaked pore.

While the celestial sound-effects sometimes make Saturn’s Pattern sound like the soundtrack to Lost In Space or a retro computer game, generally what you can clearly hear is that Weller is creating music confidently again.

For all his wayfaring tendencies, it’s refreshing to hear an album from Mattson that feels as though he’s found solace in something or someone, and the richer instrumentation never compromises the album’s overall sense of intimacy.

It’s another collection of decent, cheerful indie-pop.

Joanna Gruesome have adapted, honed and stretched their sound on Peanut Butter, and though nothing here sticks in the brain quite like ‘Sugarcrush’ or ‘Secret Surprise’, their tip as one of Britain’s brightest new hopes is more than backed up on this showing.

Eclipse falls flat too often--eclipsing, some might say, the stadium-worthy songs we know he can achieve.

This second album shows that there is more to their schtick than barely tamed chaos.

While Hop Along’s frontwoman’s vocal still acts like a pummelling, emotive and unmistakable instrument, Hop Along’s sound has expanded accordingly on Painted Shut to fully accommodate her storytelling.

Born Under Saturn is a record so vivid it threatens to become visual.

II is an advert to be a whole new generation’s Sonic Youth or Nirvana and on this performance, you’d be foolish not to buy in.

With new tools, they’ve taken liftoff from a proven formula when they really didn’t have to.

Fretboard noodling far outweighs any emotional or intellectual potency, and Heirs continues to leave ASIWYFA stuck between a rock solid live show and a hard-to-place recorded direction.

Granted, they may not be reinventing the wheel, but the duo feel reinvigorated.

While it perhaps won’t warrant an influx of new listeners, The Waterfall is an inviting record that will leave returning fans thankful for them not disappearing.

It’s unlikely they’ll stay still for any prolonged period of time, but for now Nai are tighter knit than ever before.

Mew have always been unpredictable, and with +- they prove, once again, that it’s all for the best.

The only thing holding the album, and the band, back from being outstanding is the lack of obtuse moments; as at points the piano/electronic drums/synth combo can wear a little thin.

For everything that's come before, For All My Sisters feels like another step up. [Mar 2015, p.71]

Whether it be these jacked-up moments or those hazy, sinking flurries such as the freakish downer ‘Merry Nightmare’, everything Scott has written on Sunshine Redux encapsulates all of his best qualities. This time though, those qualities are amplified, pristinely-recorded and have even caught the sun a bit.

There’s a bit of filler in the form of the relatively stagnant ‘Xmas In Japan’; but pretty much all of the other tracks are just great big fun dancefloor fillers.

With a good spread of melodies and hooks throughout, even if ideas do fly about like rice paper, it’s a strong development of a record.

It’s all the more joyous for its lack of shame. This is a major label pop album and that’s OK.

over again. A snarling, twisted, mischievous creation, Foil Deer is a leaping, high-spirited joy of a record.

The improvements from the self-titled album can only be comprehensively taken in with a full listen of Jackrabbit, but using a second album to slowly build and improve an already vastly promising sound--instead of attempting an erratic reinvention--is something Ludwig-Leone should be commended for.

Notes may be reached, riffs rinsed, stop-start moments choreographed, but nothing’s being reached for, on appearance, at least--it’s all so brilliantly effortless.

Though it may come across as an innocuous affair to some, Lucid Dreaming simultaneously triumphs as both a cohesive, introspective body of work and a bona fide pop record.

Overall Beat the Champ will no doubt prove a hit with die-hard Mountain Goats fans, however as a standalone album it lacks a coherent sound.

Even with the twisting and turning of different styles Gallows remain ferocious until the last drop.

Nevertheless for all the mature restraint and consummate mastery it can be hard not to miss the sheer energy and fury of previous albums, the restless experimentation.

Glitterbug is a tired album that lacks invention and makes the landfill indie tag even easier to attribute.

Trick manages to blend melancholy and unsettling weirdness with a strange, uplifting sense of hope.

They’re never going to reinvent the wheel, and there are a few moments (halfway mark ‘Missing You’ springs to mind) that feel a little too much. But there is something intensely satisfying in their sugary hooks and their handle on catchy, unadulterated melodies.

Fast Food is pretty successful in capturing the ups and downs of complicated relationships. The fact it manages that in a way which is neither hackneyed or predictable is near miraculous.

The overall ethos for this collection of songs is that less really is more. Leading to an absolute triumph of a record. Incredible songs, performed with honesty and passion.

Nestled in these adrenalised, highly evolved songs are bright pop hooks, showing that other artists could compete with Doldrums, but they wouldn’t be able to keep up.

Nothing within the album paves way for the future--instead, it feels like an exercise in honouring the past.

It’s chaos, the most extreme kind of hybrid imaginable. With that freedom, they sound more excitable and progressive than ever, like they’re chasing a pot of gold that contains endless truths.

Thankfully, it’s always Doyle’s intention to break down boundaries, even if he’s ticking verse-into-chorus boxes. As a result, music is the real winner.

A journey of self-discovery, confidence abounding like limits simply don’t exist.

This is a captivating record; a studied, precise and explorative showcase of songwriting, equal parts accessible and experimental.

Their magic remains as strong as ever.

After eleven songs of depth, colour and excitement--songs that grow more vivid with every listen--it’s always a shame to reach the slow decompression of ‘The End, Again’, but as the title suggests, it won’t be the first time, nor the last.

For listeners craving substance served side-by-side with flash, Lower Dens’ world is one worth exploring. The band may be at their most accessible, but they’re not about to make it easy.

With Primrose Green, Walker has created a mystical record, balancing idyllic sonics with moving sensibility.

Kintsugi sees their eighteen-year-in-the-making intentions fully realised, and--eight albums in--Death Cab For Cutie are born again; a little cracked, but all the more golden for it.

But by going through it all, by exposing all the pain, he’s created something beautiful and vital.

The uncompromising rave punk spirit that has driven them for over 25 years seems stronger than ever on a record that will delight old fans and capture a whole new era of angry youth.

Hessler has returned a man, sounding free of obstacles and matured by the events in his life. This doesn’t just come across in his lyricism, but sonically also.

It’s got moments of music that sound like life. And when the songwriting is interesting and the melodies evocative, what you need is something to keep up what they’ve built.

The clear direction and production of the album means that while those who enjoyed The Staves’ debut will not be disappointed, there is arguably less of a initial folk sound that was more apparent on their first record.

Consistently, Short Movie is wonderfully unlike anything she has ever attempted before.

It’s ambition that’s realised in every form that it takes, offering enough distinctive moments of euphoria to win you over first time round, and enough in each new listen to have you coming back for more.

This is a debut like few others. In fact, the only way we’ll ever get another record like Sometimes I Sit and Think, And Sometimes I Just Sit is if Barnett hits Groundhog Day. It’s beyond bonzer, mate.

While the form may feel familiar (think: a glitch-pop kissing cousin to Rufus Wainwright’s days as a balladeer, or a soft-shoe version of Patrick Wolf’s orchestral manoeuvres) a promising left-of-centre choice sets Fyfe apart from the pack of crooners.

On the evidence of To Pimp A Butterfly, Lamar’s work continues to place itself among the best.

Maze Of Woods occupies a different plain, a more embryonic one that finds its stand out moments in a subtler way.

Goon is gluttonously full of rich sounds, but it’s the running thread that counts: That voice, and its ability to sing about experiences like they’re universal stories, not a means of self-indulgence.

FROOT finds her at her most accomplished and intriguing.

It’s bruised and brilliant, idiosyncratic and anthemic, sloppy and heartfelt. It’s an album only Modest Mouse could make.

While mellow and downbeat at times, the subtle happiness could have been made more evident from the inclusion of ‘Paint A Smile On Me’.

Echo Lake have managed to take a slew of barely-original touch points and make something genuinely intriguing about them.

For the majority of tracks, they succeed in their goals. It’s only when looking back at the whole picture, somehow the pieces don’t quite appear to fit.

Fresh Blood is the kind of album that harks back to music’s glorious history but does so in a way that remains fresh and compelling. It’s an album of revelatory qualities.

For an album which features a list of impressive producers, it feels though one of them should have worked on the album as a whole to give Soft Control cohesion and the platform for Welsh to jump from.

Every song has its own character, with each one further clarifying Will as a great musician and songwriter in his own right, as though there were any doubts.

Expect Delays chugs along at a pleasant pace – ‘Bad Year’ is particularly cheerful, considering its title. If there’s a delay to be had, it’s probably the fact that it takes a few listens to warm to the album as a whole.

Resisting the twin urges to oversimplify or over-complicate where inappropriate, Vessels may have succeeded in making one of the smartest and most beguiling electronic albums of the year.

The apex of which Moon Duo head towards on The Shadow of the Sun isn’t reached and seemingly it burns out before entering a new atmosphere

Thieving like a magpie from his own box of tricks, there’s no denying that Gallagher is a songwriter from the very top of his class.

At only four tracks in length, Cheatahs’ contemporaries will struggle to compete with a record twice as long.

Ghostpoet has created a record that feels timeless in a way his scratchy bedroom productions could never have dreamed of.

Every song seems to journey through a multitude of genres and eras while remaining coherent.

After a debut that spent much of its time slinking like crawlers out in the shadows, it’s intriguing--if slightly disconcerting--to see Purity Ring in a warmer light.

Atari Teenage Riot have made this their most accessible album yet.

Through exhibiting effortlessly strong songwriting with infectious hooks and warm, albeit slightly corny lyricism, the other slacker from Canada has matured into an amorous connoisseur of alternative pop.

There’s little doubt that she’s not finished yet--We Slept At Last gives hints of an artist who could go on for decades, so long as she continues to transport everyday souls into different worlds.

What seems to work best--in the fact that it stands out from other pop-punk solo artists--is the more hypnotic, vintage cuts.

Far from snug or welcoming, the Gang’s overpoweringly thick-sounding ninth album is as refreshingly abstract as anything they’ve done before.

Despite the luxurious, audible excess, Dying is a masterclass of refrain.

It would be difficult for any band to return with new music after 35 years of absence but with Citizen Zombie the always challenging Pop Group have succeeded in returning with something vibrant, urgent and necessary.

The result is a rocket-fuelled silver screen roller coaster.

Dutch Uncles’ most direct and user-friendly album yet.

While each track is meticulously crafted, you can’t help but feel a sense of familiarity and perhaps repetition settle in the last half of the album.

Their newest full-length isn’t by any means leaps and bounds from what they’ve done before, but when they’ve got their brand of metallic pop so well-honed, why would we hope for anything else?

While ‘Take it to the Max’ sounds like Battles and Gold Panda had, well... a battle. These elements only enhance rather than inhibit, proving Deacon’s ability to find the best ingredients for his eclectic recipe.

If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late is by far Drake’s most dense and complex album.

Aalthough Great Big Flamingo Burning Moon is perhaps done little favours by its February release date; woozy summer drives are when it’ll really find its feet.

Like punk Doogie Howsers, MOURN use intellect and talent beyond their years to muscle their way in amongst the grown-ups and blow them all out of the water.

Let It Reign’s abrasiveness does little to deflect from its disappointing lack of ambition.

Given time to develop and augment their tribal leanings, Ibeyi could and likely will prosper--but in current form it feels a little to offer a half-hearted hand on something more sacred.

Transfixiation, named appropriately, demands a trance-like attention across its duration, but very little sticks once the ride is over.

‘Leaf Off/The Cave’ and ‘What Will’ are the strongest of the 10 new strands to this web, yet it is hard to assign priorities to what is a consistently good album.

For all its instant appeal, this is for the most part an album that eschews pop convention. After years of being synonymous with the prefix ‘ft.’ Charli XCX has found her voice.

The Idlewild comeback may not see them scale the heights of their previous output, but this album is certainly a heart-warming success.

On Scatter, Crushed Beaks find their a solid centre, as well as a gift for urgent, spangly melody.

There are moments on Coming Up For Air that lay claim to a genuine force, the kind who’ve earned their Chris Martin-endorsed stripes. They’re yet to truly claim their own territory, though, and any attempts to reinvent the wheel fall flat with an almighty thud