A ten-track album that combines both of their styles to create something that doesn’t sound quite like either of them.

Assume Form keeps that same desire [as The Colour In Anything] to break new ground, while taking it to the red line and managing to not outstay its welcome.

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.

A transitional work perhaps, but whichever fork in the road he follows next, you feel he’ll continue to adapt.

It’s not a record that jumps out on the first listen, but The Unseen In Between works as an effective relaxant.

The sea change in Sharon’s personal life has given rise to a tidal wave of ambition in her music; that she has harnessed it so masterfully surely confirms her position as one of her generation’s most compelling voices.

Deerhunter have often dealt in lofty, intense blows, but on album eight, they provide a breezy distraction from the chaos outside, and it’s most welcome.

The record finds a way of making her atypical pop sit comfortably in the mainstream, offering something genuinely new. Coming a long way since sitting adjacent to Pharrell in the studio at NYU, Maggie Rogers has certainly found her own voice.

Their fifth album is anchored by thudding, motorik beats that create a dancier base on which James exorcises his deepest demons, and it’s an even more intense form of communication.

There isn’t much range across the record; the last few tracks merge into one. Which is disappointing given Peter’s track record for one, but overall there are plenty of highs and the downsides should be sorted by the next installment.

Lyrically, it’s a scattered series of ruminations on the end of an era, with anger, guilt and sadness all permeating its fabric. Musically, though, it expands the singer’s palate, transmitting these feelings via new, punchier textures.

The band put their flag in the ground as the most intriguing musical voice we have, creating a bombastic, immaculately put together portrait of modern life.

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.

At this point Mumford & Sons know exactly what they have to do to keep the Spotify streams rolling over, and Delta feels like an exercise in box-ticking, no more, no less.

Across the record, all prop each other up to create something that’s more than the sum of their parts. In this case, three in a B.E.D fits just fine.

It’s powerfully honest and refreshingly unfiltered, beautifully crafted and distinctive. Most importantly of all it carries the legacy of Tom Searle, and of the remaining Architects members, forward.

It’s when they come together on closer ‘Ketchum, ID’, an ode to the state of Idaho and the detachment of constant touring, that boygenius really comes into its own and sees the project become more than the sum of its parts.

Take a step back from the ins and outs of the record and Simulation Theory stands as a ridiculous, bombastic stab of maximalism from one of the world’s biggest stadium rock bands.

Paying homage to songwriting ancestors, there’s an unmistakable Americana twist across much of the record that on occasion even turns to Nashville-tinged country. Yet Bought To Rot is pulled together by consistently bestowing valuable life lessons.

The last couple of Dinosaur Jr. records in particular have been praised from all angles for their consistency, but J Mascis is continuing to fire out hidden gems under his own name, too.

Paul’s commitment to trying new things is to be lauded, but it does mean Diagrams lacks cohesion; it feels less an album and more a collection of ideas, some thrilling, others less so.

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.

Individually the likes of ‘Time Will Be The Only Saviour’, with its creeping strings and weighty sorrow, or the Rizzo-quoting ‘There Are Worse Things I Could Do’, are tender, sad things, but as a whole piece, Yawn can wind up a claustrophobic listen.

This second LP Crush Crusher sees her grab all the promise of her 2016 debut and years at the heart of her hometown’s DIY scene and turn it into something great.

While ‘Big Fish Theory’ saw the rapper centre stage, relentless and omnipresent, on ‘FM!’ he lets us tune in to a calmer world, one which he dips in and out of when he pleases, filling in the blanks and staying in the fast lane.

The one constant success of her sound is her ability to jump from one song to the next in a way that rarely seems jarring; it’ll serve her well to keep the multi-faceted nature of her sound from here on out.

With Fudge Sandwich, Ty breathes new life into an already solid collection of rock songs, and he is an ever-mutating musician on this album as he is in real life.

‘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.