An utterly evocative, disarming full-length that’ll haunt listeners long after its reached its conclusion.

On this record, their drum-and-synths minimalism is more refined, the bass-lines more prominent, the hooks almost embarrassingly memorable.

It remains to be seen whether The Art Of Pretending To Swim will gain Villagers hoards of new followers, but fans of the Irish five-piece will put their fourth record right up there with their best.

Yet as overt and outwardly targeted the likes of ‘The Men Who Rule The World’ and ‘Godhead’ are (“would you deceive me if I had a dick?” Shirley asks on the latter), the album finds space for the introversion that has previously allowed Garbage to cross over.

A decidedly more organic record; buoyant and witty, and notably shy of meandering eight-minute odysseys.

The idea behind Quazarz is indeed fascinating, and could have been a unique way of talking about the modern social and political climate. Unfortunately, sometimes it feels like the quest for a particular vibe has sometimes been prioritised over the underlying message.

While these tracks are testament to how well the LA trio can build an astronomical sense of atmosphere, they can create icy harshness with equal brilliance.

A deeply thoughtful and yet infinitely danceable collection of songs, it balances honest truths with taunting vocals and bursts of synth-prompted energy.

The most obvious uniting factor between this record and their previous ones, in fact, is their ability to write a whole host of bulletproof choruses, and it’s tricky to imagine coming unstuck from this album any time soon.

Most definitely one of the best albums of the year so far.

Across its 14 tracks, Silver Dollar Moment rarely deviates from the same emotional note throughout. Leaving off ‘Sugar…’ also feels criminal.

From the hyperactive ‘Momentz’, which sees De La Soul returning to the fold once more, to the creepy, intense Grace Jones-featuring ‘Charger’, Humanz is by far the weirdest Gorillaz album ever released, and a struggle to get through in one sitting. There’s a certain cohesion here though, largely focused around dissatisfaction and rallying together.

Sprightly, desperately alive and joyously nostalgic, Plumb sees Field Music waving an exultant goodbye to the shipwrecked post-punk revival they'd always been wary of and sailing into classic art-pop waters.

These guys just made you want to flail your arms around and shout the lyrics. Heel-stomping music. God-forbid, head-banging music.

What 'TOY' lacks in originality, it more than makes up for with an incredibly rich dot-to-dot of psychedelia laced musical education, and this album is, to coin an awful new musical genre, Nu-new-wave at its very best.

Moments like the stripped-back vulnerability of ‘Dust’ and the lyrical mirroring of ‘The Lovers’ show Deptford Goth at his minimal best.

The experience is filmic first and foremost, barely for a minute could Les Revenants survive as a stand-alone album, but it’s the curiosity and atmospherics of that leant narrative that compels the listener through the album.

Where The Acid surpass their peers is with the sheer emotional depth layered into each track.

Contact is a disappointment because it's packed with untapped potential, which never seems to be fully realised.

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

Vols. 11 & 12 yield nothing but successes. The eight tracks here are scrappy, sure, and have the understandable feel of demos rather than fully formed final products. But the bones of the beast? Well, they’re kind of brilliant.

‘Good Luck’ is undoubtedly at its best when Debby is going full-pelt to evoke those early-noughties electroclash moods, but there’s barely a misplaced beat throughout.

Another compelling chapter in Enumclaw’s story so far.

The most complete archiving of everywhere Nine Inch Nails has been, but more than that a jaw-dropping preview of everywhere it can go.

A feather-light collection of alt-country, packed with pedal steel, lilting melodies and Buck’s own evocative Texan burr.

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

Ultimately, this is the strongest Bird has sounded in some time, but it’s not quite the monumental breakthrough that’s going to find him new fans.

A reminder of the echoing, scatter-brain drumming trips of the good old days.