Despite its curiously downbeat nature, it’s thoughtful and packed with intricacies waiting to be revealed. You’ll never want to leave once it sucks you into its gravitational orbit.

They stick to their guns, and they end up emphasising their rough-around-the-edges strengths.

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

While their move away from the genre isn’t quite absolute, this album proves that they possess enough confidence and ability to do just about whatever they want.

The startling openness with which Kate writes is nothing but warming.

While ‘Take The Sadness…’ may not be a bolshy, career-defining move, it is a shimmering, reflective gem, hoping to offer a little relief from the darkness.

It’s been four years since the band’s previous album ‘Rispah’. That period of self-reflection and resulting new energy is presented beautifully here, and despite the mantra of patience, is delivered with a sense of immediacy.

Whatever the lyrical content, musically every move feels like an affirming one. You’re never more than a short skip from something gigantic.

[Walk the River]is not for the faint-hearted but it's certainly for the soft-hearted - three albums along, they still feed our hunger for the big, the wild and the honest.

It’s a strange mixture of comfort and malaise, but it’s probably the most honest document of the past eighteen months, too.

The album’s title suggests consistency, but in fact, it is a thrillingly unpredictable musical journey.

A tense and absorbing record that creates its own world for you to live in.

Whatever the hell Bo Ningen are doing, and somehow it feels almost so natural it’s instinctive or involuntary to them, they’re doing it very, very, well.

At its best, ‘CRAWLER’ is fresh, bold and inventive in a way we’ve never seen IDLES attempt to be before.

Infinite Summer is the classic case of an album that’s so fully-melded, so self-composed in its identity, that you get the nagging sense of déjà vu, that you’ve been here before, and yet it’s something brand new.

It’s short and easily missed, but catch it and you’ll be able to feel the excitement, freedom, and, perhaps, relief of a band rejuvenated.

Comedown Machine has done the best thing The Strokes could have done.

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

The sound of two artists pushing each other forward makes for a fascinating listen. This isn’t just the sound of two polar opposites coming together and hoping something sticks. This is a group that have earned their right to be heard. They should be taken seriously.

A fresher and more enthralling take on the genre, ‘Life Under The Gun’ manages to evoke a sense of considered familiarity - nodding to punk classics such as Fugazi, Operation Ivy, and even, at times, Green Day and blink-182 - while still feeling fundamentally rooted in the present.

Rooted in its own creation, Night Thoughts is expansive and enchanting.

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.

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

With jubilant tie-dye riffs and squiggly guitar lines around every corner, And Now For The Whatchamacallit is every bit the celebratory psych-rock album it strives to be.

A showcase of his ability and the things he loves most (Romy and Oliver Sim’s guest spots are a vital part of the LP), it’s the most confident he’s ever sounded.

Saves The World carries the same weight as its predecessor, but breaks the dark-pop boundaries the band themselves created with their debut. It’s an exhilarating ode to self-preservation and to being your own number one fan.

Perhaps not the album that will secure the band’s legacy, but one that reminds their cult following that the boys can play hard as well as work hard.

Effortlessly jumping between belted choruses and wistful pauses for vulnerability, she orients herself around the conflicting forces of uncertainty and longing.

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

A beautiful stream of consciousness, Home is the sound of an artist, donning a cloak of creative freedom. It’s a look that suits her.

It’s the fuller pieces that really make you want to keep coming back.

With ‘Thirstier’, Torres has delivered her most varied set of songs yet; trying on so many different costumes suits her.

The energy of this debut is tangible.

A collection of the best of what has come before, ‘Draw Down The Moon’ finds coherence in its unashamed madness. It’s pulled together by Connor Murphy’s unique vocal performance, and the welcome dominance of drummer Jon Hellwig.

It might well be his most musically bold but thoughtful album to date, yet another stage in Obaro Ejimiwe’s fascinating evolution.

Masters of their craft, this grand exploration could probably go with some cutting down and honing exercised, but these are fresh faces heading out into the great unknown.

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.

This delight of an album might bend and warp reality, but it’s also a rare gem because underneath all of its trickery it still projects back a reflection of something completely grounded.

Four Year Strong sees the Massachusetts four-piece at their most refined, eleven tracks that not only succinctly sum up their fourteen year history but confidently remind the world at large that they’ve still got something to offer.

‘Abomination’ is a singular debut and quintessential cultural capsule - of both post-post-punk and gay modernity - from one of the UK’s most fearless off-piste queer acts.

On ‘Soak’, Black Honey have finessed their trademark cinematic sound, alongside a renewed sense of clarity.

Fair Youth is the perfect example of how to get post-rock instrumental music right.

While Circa Waves are stepping up, they’re just as confident in stripping things back.

Rave Tapes may not see them moving too far from their widescreen template but it’s an assured record that sees them draw from right across their rich palette of textures.

While not all-out riotous slacker-pop, he incorporates particles of honky-tonk rock, wry witticism in an admittedly more muted and seasoned, but still measured, present-day evolution of King Tuff.

He sounds soft, restrained and beautiful.

A fifth album u-turn that few could pull off, Boy King is the sound of a band reborn. The core elements are all still there--that falsetto-baritone play-off between vocalists Hayden Thorpe and Tom Fleming as prominent as ever--but they’re glitched-up and garbled.

An album that’s brimming with solid songwriting and expansive production, there’s an enormity to this second outing - even at its most brooding - that makes for a compelling, colossally dynamic pop record.

Without a doubt an audacious first effort, Adult Jazz have lovingly crafted a record of intriguing, ear-catching pop music on Gist Is.

Miley's seventh era seems to be the one that suits her best, her huge vocals and penchant for penning irresistible melodies lending themselves with ease to big growling rock-leaning anthems.

Beyond what has come before, ‘PAINLESS’ feels like a true representation of its creator; simultaneously delicate, fierce, vulnerable and fiery.

Chappell Roan’s debut is thoughtful, a little unhinged and entirely contradictory, merging the alt-pop seriousness of Lana Del Rey with the untethered preppy charm of Lorde to go full throttle into messy, emotional fun.

The only sore-thumb is lead single ‘How Can You Really’, which feels far too polished for the lo-fi and experimental feel of the album. Apart from that, though, this is a record of magnificent magnitude and one that’s audacious as hell.

This is a performance, a showcase of crazy that does nothing but dazzle.

It’s a collection of songs that reflects anxiety and paranoia, a distrust of the present but also belief in their own ability. It also presents a band with a future in which they have opened up new avenues for themselves.

What stops the record being preposterous, what keeps it charming and fun throughout, what makes it okay for ‘Mid Century Modern Nightmare’ to rhyme “bourgeoisie” with “cups of tea” is the presence of Gruff.

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.

iven the excitement that’s put to tape, it’s obvious this has been Jungle’s intention all along; not to be mysterious, not even to be adored; just to be the record that plays while people’s lives are shaped. Something that’s remembered within every pang of nostalgia.

Even if at times the album can be quite esoteric despite its pop veneer, there is a purity of expression that is addictive.

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.

Hearing Jordan laying bare these experiences that sound more his own than ever over La Dispute’s most impacting collection of songs yet is something that will invigorate the die-hards once more and maybe (just maybe) finally impress the naysayers.

Old Fears makes for a fascinating record, evolving gradually from start to finish and yet doing so in a way subtle enough so as to never jar nor stand out.

The result sees Plague Vendor’s ferocious punk swirl around explosions of synth and thunderous electronic drums, a combination that ultimately propels their ever-present homage to classic sounds into the present day.

Cleo Tucker and Harmony Tividad have already proven themselves as songwriters with a great deal of potential, and their debut record properly only confirms that they’re only just getting started.

It’s a statement packed with masses of future potential, and that’s all you can really ask for from a debut record.

This is perhaps Sigur Rós' most human-sounding album to date, too. Prepped for intimate nights with loved ones and exhausting journeys back home; it's an album that ditches the dramatic and brings in the calm.

Far from the fools of their name, Dumb are onto something pretty magnetic.

Against Justin’s increasingly interesting way with words, it feels like the purest Vaccines album yet.

A a good, clean indie-pop record, it’s a solid foot in the door for an act with a prosperous future ahead of them.

It’s a frankly overwhelming listen first time around, with everything tearing along at a hundred miles an hour, but it’s all fizzing and crackling so exhilaratingly that you’re happy to let her sweep you along.

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.

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

Blessed with a beautiful, halting falsetto and a way with words, he is a very sad man, and this is a very sad album. It will make you want to lie down in the dark for a while and think about things.

Anybody arriving at this album expecting 13 ‘Milkshake’s will be sorely disappointed, but everyone else will hear Kelis at her most effortless.

While the album is certainly softer in sound, it never plays it safe - experimental pay-offs are peppered throughout.

Tommy’s aware of her strengths, and she’s not afraid to brandish them: ‘goldilocks x’ is a little weird, a little dark, and it’s just right.

It’s a heftier beast that still reaches all-guns-blazing crescendos like it’s no biggie, but for the most part is slower, louder, and easier to lose oneself in than its rapid-fire younger brother, resounding proof that Spring King are still on an upward trajectory with no signs of slowing.

After years of reflection, this is a steady steep back towards the future.

From a band capable of biting social commentaries and intense concept albums about the First World War, this latest, fluffier episode in the Field Music saga is a solid record that does everything you’d ever hope a Field Music album would do.

Where Asher Roth left house-party hip hop (or just got a little high and wandered off) Chiddy Bang pick it up but bring a whole new focus, a pop-sensibility and a very nuanced delivery.

Through lulling endless days to fretting thoughts about the future, they remain the same bunch, capable of making the impossible sound almost too easy.

'Dear' has a refreshing simplicity and endearing vulnerability that will gatecrash your soul and render your skip button impervious.

For all of Before We Forgot How To Dream’s subtle touches of production, it’s Soak herself who stands out the most.

This record was defined by never being in the same place at once--each song was recorded in a different location--but there’s a glue holding everything together.

It is a work that demonstrates how sheer and utter horror can be turned into music, and while that may not appeal to the majority, the fact that someone is brave enough to do it is really quite brilliant.

Sure, there’s fewer marimbas on offer here, but Dutch Uncles have still served up a finger-lickin’ feast.

Pop-rock deconstructionist, art-rock godfather, Portland father and family man: all these elements come through here and it makes this album a triumph.

It seems Loyle has started listening to himself more, with ‘hopefully!’ artfully demonstrating his progression through musical influence, as well as through life.

Dark and light, sweet yet savvy, layered but not overproduced--Foxes has created a work that embodies all these dichotomies and walks the line between them perfectly.

Powers throws just enough of his own inquisitive character to find his finest moment. He does it time and time again on this record.

Despite this fervent distancing of themselves from party politics, Dog Whistle is a brutal, impassioned flag-in-the-ground for the disillusioned in New York and beyond.

It is often difficult for dance producers to go from making one off tracks and remixes to producing a full coherent and lucid album, but it is a jump that John Talabot has made effortlessly.

It packs a ferocious punch without compromising subtlety, operating with coiled concealed restraint. With their offering, Mogwai prove once more that, after more than twenty years, they’re a constantly evolving beast of a band.

Even in the album’s earnest moments, where the band uncover substance beneath their snarky self-awareness, they still manage to slide in a razor-sharp critique or two.

PVRIS might have been to hell and back, but a new era is here, and it’s utterly brilliant.

This album is one of empowerment and regained vitality.

Lewd, bulshy, and gaudier than a kitsch ornaments warehouse with a sprung glitter pipe, Rub is a return to form, and hideously brilliant, garish good fun.

It feels darker, somehow, deliciously shadowey.