It’s the same melodies and patterns as the group have long favoured, but even the potentially cringeworthy ‘Screens’ (a song about, of course, how we’re all glued to them) barely raises a shrug when surrounded by such luscious, bombastic sounds. By focusing on minutiae, too, what is ostensibly a lockdown album (hello, reference to Zoom interviews) avoids cliche.

Her raspy tones give way to huge notes, effortless in their delivery. No moment feels forced or out of place.

Packed full of bright ideas and moreish hooks, ‘Dead Hand Control’ is a hopeful document about finding peace in your relationships and immediate surroundings, even when the world is on fire.

‘Collapsed In Sunbeams’ is an excellent character study, of both Arlo herself and the people who orbit around her.

The quartet’s ability to instrumentally weave among each other has always been one of their great strengths, and here (with the addition of new bassist Holly Mullineaux) the band sound more unified than ever, able to spin strange sonic tales all the better as a result. A triumph.

This is no blistering return, but a pleasant one nonetheless. Fuzzy and frustrated, much like its title, the tension throughout ‘Ongoing Dispute’ frequently threatens to bubble over into fury, but is always brought back.

Backed up by powerful guitars and soaring vocals, their brand of intense but atmospheric rock feels rejuvenating - and is perhaps even a tonic.

In places, they can be a little too on-the-nose - ‘Till We Meet Again’, for instance, literally has some Lynchian ‘ethereal whooshing’ whistling away in the background for much of it, at least before a freewheeling guitar solo salvages proceedings - but ‘The Last Exit’ is largely worthy of the cultural touchpoints it so proudly nods to.

If ‘Football Money’ was a full-hearted paean to the likes of Pavement and Archers of Loaf, then ‘Cooler Returns’ is the sound of Kiwi Jr moving forwards, planting their own flag in the power-pop ground.

Never overstaying its welcome, and always intriguingly structured, the lights might have come up, but the Belfast duo want to remind us that the memories and communities aren’t going anywhere.

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

Ten tracks of orgasm-loving, empowering anthems, that pack a punch musically as well as lyrically, what’s not to love?

The latter half of the record segues together without pausing to come up for air - and you can bet your bottom dollar that once ‘all this’ has blown over and live music returns, these tracks will come into their own. Until then, crank up the volume and stomp around your prison cell.

A melting pot of the band’s real-life influences - with more elements of dance and hip hop thrown into their rock hybrid than ever before - this is a version of You Me At Six we’ve never seen before, and it’s certainly bold.

Not one for anyone who’s not already won over by the pair’s particular charms.

‘Petrichor’ is a passion project, all about indulging the kinds of whims that don’t fit the Hawk and a Hacksaw mould. On that front, she’s succeeded.

The result is a collection of biting, esoteric hymns that readily combine the earthly and the cosmic.

Come LP3, maybe they’ll reinvent themselves as a more wholesome proposition; for now, ‘Welfare Jazz’ stands as a document of a band that are perhaps more in limbo than they might first appear.

Adding another installment to a successful legacy is always a risk, but with ‘McCartney III’, all the icon’s beloved songwriting quirks are out in full force. A more than worthy third prong of the trilogy.

Though a round-up such as this technically shines a light on a group of tracks that, at their simplest, weren’t good enough to make it onto a studio album, ‘Little Bastards’ doesn’t feel that way.

Whether it matches up to its self-proclaimed sister record or not, 2020 has seen Taylor Swift deliver over two hours of the most relatable stories in contemporary pop. There are lyricists and there are storytellers, and in a year of uncertainty and inconsistency, Taylor Swift has emerged as the most assured songwriter of her generation.

There are occasional flickers of inspiration - see the maximalist rework of ‘Elite’ from Blanck Mass and the minimalist ‘Teenager’ that Robert Smith contributed - but otherwise, you have to hope that everybody involved enjoyed putting Black Stallion together, because it ain’t much fun to listen to.

The band’s trademark sampledelic sound provides a tasteful glimpse of the familiar, while also sidestepping overt pastiche, remaining consistently fresh throughout.

The Leeds-based group’s long-delayed debut might not offer much in variety (in short, if you’re into a combination of those groups’ [Gengahr, Bombay Bicycle Club or alt-J] sounds, you’re going to love it), but in our current long, dark winter nights there’s a nostalgic tint to the songs on offer, whether the bassy synths of the title track, or folky ‘Smorgasbord’ that hits right in the warm and fuzzies.

Biting and abrasive in the best kind of ways, ‘Nightmare Vacation’ finds an artist stepping up into the hype that’s been surrounding her for years, and delivering on it tenfold. It will chew you up and spit you out, and you’ll love every minute of it.

The record feels more like opening a time capsule than self-congratulation; as if that 2011 statement locked a door we’re only now allowed to peek back into. Also crucially, many of the songs here were never even released as singles. ... The breadth and depth of how much they did while still keeping it (relatively) simple is so evident.

It’s refreshing to see that the band aren’t content to solely focus on nostalgia trips, and there are some great moments here - the dark driving force of ‘Wyttch’ stands out - but with such a hefty run time, it’s difficult to really tap into the heart of ‘Cyr’.

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.