It’s vulnerable, it’s heartfelt, and above all it feels real.

The same but different, more polished yet more heartfelt, forceful yet calm.

Stonechild is an exercise in top-level songwriting, stately and intelligent.

Until The Tide Creeps In is a record totally out of step with any modern music scene, and all the more timeless and special for it.

Taken together, the albums are overwhelming in their stylistic diversity; one minute, she’s serving up clattering electro on the likes of iii’s ‘Skullqueen’ or ‘Ripples’, and the next, we’re hearing her break classic ideas of what ambience should mean to fit her own mould on the Oliver Coates-featuring ‘Esuna’.

Tightly paced electronic seams blur with floating chamber pop and global influences, warding off any sense of inertia on an album that has one foot in the worldly and another in the firmament.

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.

Measured and calm where ‘I, Gemini’ was erratic, and packing some of the strongest pop punches we’ve heard in yonks, Let’s Eat Grandma look like they could go anywhere from here.

With every listen there’s something else to hear, something new to discover, and something different to feel.

In short, it sounds like Weezer. Those magic chord changes, the wiry guitar licks, Rivers Cuomo’s awkward, faltering vocals--these may be brand new songs, but they’re all so immediately familiar that, as the title may suggest, they create one almighty aural comfort blanket.

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

This was bold move for Joyce Manor, but one that exemplifies exactly why they're loved.

‘Lifetime’ remains one of the album’s strongest pursuits; lovestruck and introspective, each beat keenly felt. The album revels in this on a whole; a lovelorn sheen which dances between interludes. It’s less dancefloor filler, more earnest confessions and professions of absolute adoration.

‘Midnight Manor’ is dripping with exuberant charm; The Nude Party might throw back to the past, but there’s clearly some very present ambition here too.

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

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.

This album is a little less concept-narrative driven than previous releases, but not to any ill-effect. Instead, Clipping have reached both their most distilled output - this is a once-in-a-generation band reaching their peak.

Washed Out himself stumbled first time round, even. Here he creates a fuller piece, totally unconcerned with its context and its audience. Hence why it excels.

A masterclass in reinventing ‘70s rock for a ‘20s audience, Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard are a captivating oddity.

It’s a record swathed in simple but effective neo-soul melodies, echoing Chance, but also early 00s R&B with its gentle pianos and smattering of light hi-hats and percussion. Warner’s own languid style of delivery only adds to the lilting nature.

On The Far Field Future Islands have captured their humanity in all its sparkling, chaotic glory.

By weaponising his introspection and pushing his impeccably high standards outwards, Vince Staples delivers an incredible State of the Union address on rap today.

They have made bold strides on ‘VIVA HINDS’, enlisting A-list guest stars and following the lead of their last record by venturing into fresh territory: ‘Mala Vista’ pairs Spanish-language vocals with a groove-driven guitar, while there’s a touch of dream-pop to spacey closer ‘Bon Voyage’.

Liverpool duo King Hannah fling themselves into sweltering dust-bowl deserts on startling debut ‘I’m Not Sorry, I Was Just Being Me’ - a narcotic, seductive adventure of squelchy Mazzy Star psych-blues, Portishead-ing trip hop and rainy-day folkishness.

In this bubbling cauldron that refuses to be contained, Asher finds the liberation he’s been searching for.

An incredibly accomplished effort from a band who have truly found their feet.

City living might sometimes feel like a constant high-intensity assault course, but City Music and its creator make it sound like an enlightening, emboldening adventure.

Future Present Past more than proves The Strokes are as important a band in 2016 as they’ve ever been.