But for all the moments that tend towards fun-but-silly ‘70s musical theatre, there are plenty that, in isolation, ring with the kind of sepia-soaked sweetness that most genuinely don’t make anymore. The Lemon Twigs might not always take themselves seriously, but you’d be remiss to dismiss them as a joke.

Intersections can, at times, feel a little blinkered and mopey.

What we have is quite ironically, a record lacking both direction and colour.

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.

Reaching further and further afield from their early experimental niche sound, Pulled Apart By Horses are now more accessible than ever.

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

This occasional, kind of ironic lack of restraint makes some of the blackened themes of Choir of the Mind even more oddly oppressive, even if Emily’s melodies are often spacious and airy. When it gets its balance perfectly poised though, it’s an album that can be engaging and emotionally-charged.

‘Into The Blue’ comes across like the pair swapping mixtapes; a little ‘60s psych here, some ‘70s soul there, with a smidge of ‘80s R&B between. ... In lesser hands, this may have presented a mish-mash of confused homage, but here, it’s just a pleasant, nostalgic listen.

Sounds layered upon sounds; the intricacies here may hint towards Mosquito being more of a grower than its older siblings, but it proves that Yeah Yeah Yeahs are a band to cherish.

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.

There’s a slight dipping point of ‘Away We Go’ and ‘Iron Fist’, and this album doesn’t stand up quite as well as either of the ‘Good Apollo, I’m Burning Star’ epics, but nonetheless this is a thoroughly thrilling entry in to Coheed and Cambria’s rich canon.

The results range from dazzling to disastrous.

A record that needs its fat well and truly trimming.

On the album’s most transcendental moments, its slow pace tires like the midsection of a dissertation, but nonetheless its beauty and melancholia is infectious.

‘Peaches!’ feels like a welcome return home for The Black Keys, a recapturing of sorts of their early energy.

Each and every track has its own identity that perfectly mixes the familiar with the unfamiliar, which is simply a continuation of what The Notwist have always been best at.

‘Friday Forever’ is a solid record with an intriguing concept that unravels fantastically under Russell’s loosened leash.

Courting The Squall touches and recaps on the ideas which Guy Garvey masters in his romanticisms and balladry, but gloriously glimpses his experimental and playful side.

There are nods to The Velvet Underground’s knack for dreamy simplicity (‘Blind’), and times when Viscius peeks into Vivian Girls-adjacent, more garage territory (‘Take That Back’). For the most part, however, ‘Everything’ operates from within the particular fog of grief: fragile, tactile, tender. It’s a frequently gorgeous thing.

At over an hour long, it’s a collection which could do with a slightly more ruthless approach in the cutting room but that’s a minor nit-pick when the material is this strong.

The streets of home are always going to stir emotions but rarely does that cocktail of of loneliness and belonging get articulated with the gut-felt precision that Prinzhorn Dance School manage on their third record.

This is a gorgeous album of soundscapes that are able to stand up alone.

‘Fear of The Dawn’ is very much like the kind of party where you’re hoping daylight stays away for some time yet.

True North, with its concise (only one song breaks the three minute barrier) bursts of dissatisfaction and alienation, includes some of the strongest, most focused material that the band have recorded in many years.

There’s a sense of comfort running throughout that does result in repeated motifs, fancy tricks that have either appeared on previous LPs or within the same eight songs.

Evans The Death's debut album is full of promise in bitesize two-minute chunks, and we can expect to see more from them in the future.

The lo-fi pop is still there, it’s just more precise and glossier.

It’s not trance, it’s not electro, it’s not quite orchestral--it’s not quite anything. They are a band with good ideas but unsteady appeal.