In drawing together all his disparate styles in to one distinct context, [Wolf] might have created his most accomplished album yet: albeit one that is a little too long, and rather in love with itself.

For an overwhelming portion of this Ryan Adams-produced record, La Sera just sound a bit too polite, and lacking in the smirking mischief of previous releases.

Documenting her journey with clarity and confidence, ‘Monthly Friend’ is an accomplished album that shows off Zoe Mead’s command.

As a whole, it feels slightly temporary and detached, largely thanks to its uneven pacing and experimental streak.

Manhattan would thus far be a brilliantly joyous record, buzzing with intention and vitality. Unfortunately there are a pair of oddball transgressions that ruin this.

'My Head Is An Animal' doesn't disappoint. Endearing, exciting, and downright enjoyable throughout, it is one of the finest debuts of the year so far.

Flynn and band are happy to be a little old-fashioned, but it can be fun to join them.

It's just so inoffensive and pleasant sounding that it barely registers.

‘End of the Day’ feels like a long, slow goodbye to her old life; elegant and, given the context, elegaic.

Though different in style and construction, they all succeed in doing in giving you the chills, in a whole new way.

If you pick and choose your way around the collection of jumbled songs on offer, maybe you’ll get the opportunity to revel in some speedy, sunny chimes for a little while, until that inevitable sundown, at least.

There’s an abundance of over-excited jitters that keep you bouncing to each wildly mercurial moment. ‘demon time’ is an undeniable rush to your systems, and a deliciously futuristic one at that.

On White Women, even the dodgy in-jokes are drowned out by astute songwriting.

To put it in an alcoholic analogy; their sound may be like a fine wine, maturing as it gets older. But they’re sure as hell not going to hesitate in sprinting to the nearest wood and necking the whole damn bottle.

For Toro y Moi enthusiasts, this will be nothing new, but for the rest of us 'June 2009' is an altogether pleasant blast from the recent past.

Best Coast will never win over the cynics who like their music to sport a more assured style of intelligence and invention, but for those who fell in love with the sunburnt stoner of old, there's plenty more to revel in, here.

Whimsical songs about stormy weather and journeying across the United States are sweet enough, but Max Bloom’s virtuous desire for simple arrangements and affected naivety is often to his detriment, sounding pedestrian at best.

Esben And The Witch's second LP is a thrilling, goosebump-raising collection of songs that will be in heavy rotation for the rest of the year (and beyond).

Between The Walls is wonderfully unhinged; it just still needs a little more structure.

Producing a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion, A Moment of Madness offers bawdy, top-of-the-room choruses on each of the first six track

V will go down a storm with committed Bronx fans, but is curiously subdued in places--which, in the current climate, feels like a little bit of an opportunity missed.

Accordingly, In Dream is an uneven affair; fabulously ambitious in places, and weirdly subdued in others.

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.

These huge, glorious, shining songs--are a step in the right direction.

Jungle have largely played it safe here; the feelgood alt-funk of ‘Heavy, California’ could sit seamlessly alongside anything from their debut, while the ominous nocturnal strut of single ‘Happy Man’ is just ‘Busy Earnin” Mk II.

Just Tell Me That You Want Me does suffer from the lack of coherency caused by the inclusion of so many different artists and styles but fortunately, when the subject and the songs are so good, this matters little.

Formation’s greatest achievement is not just in making a floorfiller record with genuine variety and depth, but that All The Powerful People sounds entirely, only like them.

Messy, complicated, capable of star turns, it’s clearly a record Gonzalez needed to get out of his system.

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.

You can't help have a smile on your face when you listen to the excellent harmonious vocals of 'Sore Tummy', featuring Alice Costelloe, or the hilarious lyrics of the riff-tastic 'Pony'.

The fact that Words To The Blind doesn’t really make any kind of conventional sense, though, is perhaps the point of the entire endeavour. On their own terms Bo Ningen and Savages have succeeded.

An album trying to survive under the harshest conditions, Angel Guts: Red Classroom is a properly thrilling listen.

A bit of a mixed bag.

Idiots is the wonderful sound of The Electric Soft Parade belatedly coming of age.

Echolocation is a bleak affair, but it does have a number of impressive melodies and a clear sense of the liberation that music elicits in the band itself.

There are moments that long for something that once was, but those moments are fleeting. In its own terms, PersonA is largely an impressive album but there’s still some way to go yet.

Positivity has no bounds, and in Galore this London duo has successfully created a prescription for crummy moods, rain soaked commutes and even the slightest hint of misery.

Fixion is not a traditionally cohesive record. It does not flow as whole, in fact it is all over the place, joined only by a sense of sonic darkness. But for a chameleon like Trentemøller, creativity is his cohesion, formula the enemy--and this is his most creative, experimental record yet.

‘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.

They’re an easy punchline, in fairness--perennial whipping boys, probably deserving of a break at some point--but when they continue to churn out nonsensical self-parody, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ continued stratospheric success is nothing short of baffling.

Endless Flowers is an amazing effort that deserves a place at the top of its genre. This album deserves to be heard and loved. Do yourself a favour and get yourself a copy once it hits the stores.

As has become customary for The Leisure Society, Hemming's lyrics and gift for storytelling once again stand out, his wonderful couplets and warm voice helping to lift many of the weaker moments here above torpor.

What it lacks perhaps in originality, it certainly more than delivers in getting, keeping and rewarding the listener's attention.

They pair their trademark hard-and-soft contrast – a sound which, in hindsight, could be deemed proto-hyperpop – with a litany of references that bring to mind Dua Lipa’s concept of ‘Future Nostalgia’, or a reverse Back To The Future Part II, in which Alexis and bandmate Derek Miller present an imagined late-21st Century past via a vivid 2025 lens.

Dude York are doing absolutely nothing new on Falling, but when they do it this well, the throwback is a welcome one.

Overtly joyous and bulging with emotions both past and present, this album displays Best Coast at their most content.

Dignan Porch are slightly less effective at a less sprightly pace, veering too close to the point of collapse on 'And Are Now Not', but this is a fine exercise in pearly, bleary eyed acid pop.

Crusher has a way of alternating organically between pop songs and darker stuff without sounding inconsistent.

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.

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

The record spans from spoken word to ‘70s funk and ‘80s glam rock, dabbling in balladry and power pop. It may not be the most polished or serious piece of art to emerge from the pandemic, but it’s impossible to deny the sheer amount of personality and unashamed frivolity bubbling out of ‘Transparency’.

His voice is stunning, a far-reaching, emotive vibrato evoking Roy Orbison that keeps the often surface-level nature of his lyrics from reaching full saccharine.

‘Polari’ is a feat of punchy alt-pop that embraces the resilient and immortal histories of the queer community, encapsulating Olly Alexander’s alluring, informed artistry as a solo performer.

This album is dizzyingly uplifting, as camp as a weekend at Butlins and effortlessly iridescent.

They might not have returned to their hardcore roots, but Ceremony have veered off into an abyss of misery of despair again, and they’re back on track because of it.

A long time coming, the record is fully worth the wait, Dominic flexing his musical muscles in a genre-blending debut that sees him dip his toes into rap, hip hop, pop, rock, emo, and more. A sure-to-be-beloved album amongst Gen Z-ers.

This isn’t a band going through the motions, it’s a band going through a violent and explosive rebirth, a return to form that’s almost unparalleled.

You Can Do Better is a perfect execution of a well thought out plan.

For the most part he minimally relies on keys and strings, but the effect creates a much more powerful setting and as a result, it's difficult not to be dragged into it.

It’s almost as if the record has been pieced together from three parts: first, a series of demos (which may indeed fit with the record having begun its life during the singer’s series of low-key fan-booked gigs throughout 2020); second, a handful of tracks that posit Elias as a scratchy, troubadour Mick Jagger (a look which suits him completely, pun intended); and third, a pair of gorgeously-recorded and perfectly delivered cover versions (Spacemen 3’s ‘Walking With Jesus’, retitled ‘Sound of Confusion’, and Townes van Zandt’s ‘No Place To Fall’). Unfortunately, these follow a series of tracks on which Elias tries on others’ identities a little too obviously.

Unusually consistent while still admirably varied, Chaosmosis is one of the early delights of the year.

There is a willful lack of originality on the album in so much as at times it has such a faithful synth-pop sound that you'd be forgiven for thinking it's a 1980s reissue.

Whilst work on Radiohead’s ninth album may soon become priority, the assurance with which this album has been constructed shows that this is no trivial side project.

Specter At The Feast runs out of steam before it runs out of songs. Not a terrible album, just one lacking in inspiration.

The strength of All We Need is in how he filters the madness into a slick, easy-flowing record. If one album changed his life, he’s taken that knowledge to make something intentionally cohesive.

For every track that falls short, there is another where they hit a sweet spot.

By recycling the same guitar and drum effects, it comes across as a poor man’s reworking of ‘Broke Me In Two.’ That only leaves you desperately wanting to return to the gems that frontload this curiously unbalanced album.

Gone are the house influences that underpinned his 2016 debut, and in are scratchy demo-sounding guitars, crisp production and gorgeous flourishes of string arrangements. House still lives on in some of the beat arrangements, although it’s presented through more natural-sounding drums which, when stacked against the lo-fi instrumentals, births something fresh and inspired.

This is a feel-good hug of an album, which will transport you to the care-free, peace and love West Coast in a matter of minutes.

Gallery is an enjoyable offering from Craft Spells.

It’s definitely a progression from her last album into a more profound and polished sound.

It’s a charming and defiant debut, and one that encapsulates the GIRLI mindset, heartbreaks and all.

There’s a solid background of obviously skilled musicianship on fifth LP ‘One Man Band’, but even on the snarl of ‘Never Taking Me Alive’, it all feels very safe.

It's a strong album and shows once and for all that Paul Banks doesn't need Interpol, Interpol needs him.

Megaplex is a bright and breezy romp that’s impossible not to smile and tap along to. And even when the breezy nature of some tracks is taken so far as to on the ephemeral, you can almost guarantee that what follows will pack enough of a punch so as to make up for it.

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.

For such a madcap, experimental pop act, this is a reasonably cogent collection of songs, and one that serves as a decent follow up to their last 'proper' LP, 'Paralytic Stalks'.

It's so well constructed as pop music the only thing you can really say is that there's not much diversity.

If you are a pre-existing fan then you will find much to enjoy here, but more importantly if you are a sceptic who thinks pop punk is a baser pleasure reserved exclusively for the under 16s, you could do a lot worse than check this album out.

These are pretty, sweet, gorgeously simple songs, some not fully formed, which have come, been and gone.

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

Intimate and involving doesn’t necessarily mean that the record is engaging, however, and some tracks wash over without an impression, ultimately making this feel like little more than an indulgent side-project.

For all its ambition, however, it occasionally leans a little too heavily on the cliched conventions of certain genres, particularly pop and dance. ... Nonetheless, its ambition and creative concept can still be applauded, and there are some hidden gems to be found

Their deep sea dive of a debut gradually evolves into a rich and colourful source of escape, like a coral reef excavation with the occasionally grizzly-toothed white shark thrown in for good measure.

So while there's nothing vastly wrong with From The Hills Below The City, there's also nothing vastly right.

On Relaxer, alt-J sound utterly, wonderfully like no one but themselves.

In turning around a painful and difficult period in his life, Ben Leftwich has managed to paint a picture of redemption and growth that’s graceful and honest without drifting into self indulgence.

Much here sounds as though it could have been unearthed from the treasure trove of old demos the singer sporadically unloaded circa 2004; great for the die-hards, fairly inconsequential for everyone else.

It’s all pleasant, but feels inessential and - at times - dated, not least because the lower-tempo tracks veer dangerously close to sounding like chillwave. Domestication has not robbed Sébastien of his adventurousness, but the killer instinct that defines his best work is missing here: ‘Domesticated’ is a meandering listen.

A bleak and wilfully impenetrable album.

There’s no doubt that the record’s production is second to none and Garratt’s talent is as obvious as an Uber driver’s Sat Nav, but his USP is somewhat dimmed by hours and hours of carefully chosen layers, vocals and everything else in between.

He hasn't quite perfected his talents, but it's far and away the best work he's done as Gambino yet.

In a sense it presents itself as an evolutionary rather than revolutionary development, in this case one which takes its predecessor's penchant for the instant and injects an enormous dose of FM-friendly American power-pop from days of yore into the mix.

[Anxiety] retains all the best things about her debut while expanding on both her sound and style.

If we're honest, the first half of the album, title track aside, is slightly cringeworthy, both in terms of music and the production. But the whole record is redeemed, beautifully, by the last three tracks.

Still Corners’ dream-pop takes on a nightmarish hue with snatches of ominous electro and brutally honest lyrics. Their time away has served them well on this new record.

‘Hotel Surrender’ must surely be one of the most cathartic records of the year. From the laid-back cool of opener ‘Oh Me Oh My’, it seems the Faker brand of chill beats is back. The self-production adds to the organic nature of the record, and is often quite bold, with strings and saxophones aplenty.

Though Electric Würms may not be breaking boundaries any time soon, they’re doing this on their watch and no one else’s.