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.

While it does quickly blend into one long - and at 24 tracks, it is long - medley - he’s created a heady, vibey, dare we say it - groovy - mood.

Although this album is unlikely to change any existing opinion about a band whose left of centre sensibilities have always meant successfully evading wider acceptance, there is enough richness in the material here to merit far more than classing Fellow Travelers as a mere novelty.

A lot of the songs are solid hits in the making.

Crimes of Passion is playful, real, genuine, and just a bit naughty.

Snapshot is more derivative than what is is supposed to be an alternative to.

Sisyphus is easily the boldest project to come from any three of its members, and that’s saying a lot.

It’s the same bloatedness that often permeates through a Beirut record, and despite a short recording time Condon hasn’t quite been able to shake it, leaving us with a familiar and easy-going album that might step in a different direction, but ultimately remains distinctively Beirut.

The beauty lies in the flaws, the imperfections, and A Long Way To Fall is way too immersed in picture perfect punctiliousness for this to make any lasting impression.

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

A passable if disappointing montage of mid-tempo electro-pop that flirts dangerously close to dull trip-hop.