It’s the quarantine passion project created after too many days of 4pm drinking. It’s the existential crisis on Week 12 of drifting, structure-less furlough. It’s the desperate clutch at nostalgia that finds you trawling through your old school friends on Facebook at 2am, sobbing for A Simpler Time.

It’s the underlying sense of unease and something to prove that really adds the edge here.

‘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.

Although previous work has never shied away from her individual experience, here Laura elevates her lyricism to new heights.

Exploring all that we give up about ourselves to make others feel comfortable, Shamir’s new take on pop songwriting is one that finally suits. Leaving enough scuffs around the edges to mark it out as his own, this is more than just album seven - it’s the start of a whole new era.

There’s something in the way Sylvan Esso craft their music, weaving folksy melodies and acoustic instruments with synths and 808s, that feels like exactly what pop music should be: punchy and pure.

Surpassing the hour mark with some space yet to go, the record provides an expansive canvas for Sufjan to critique the flaws of humanity, at the same time finding room for the inward focus that made his previous offering so compelling.

‘Haunted Painting’ sees Sadie Dupuis finally letting go of the grief that has worried at the back of her head, processing her emotions head on in order to create work that she describes as being ‘truer’ than anything before. As a result, ‘Haunted Painting’ makes for surprisingly light relief.

This is her most defiantly disco record to date. Where ‘Overpowered’ or ‘Take Her Up To Monto’ might veer off on prog or avant garde jaunts, ‘Róisín Machine’ is lit exclusively by the glitterball.

‘Generations’’ best trick is in its variety: if Will is undoubtedly a curious, enthusiastic sort, then that curiosity stretches across propulsive, vitriolic riffs (‘Bethlehem’), idiosyncratic, stripped-back synths (‘Hide It Away’), Randy Newman-esque piano send-offs (‘Fine’) and more. What unites the record, however, is an urgent, anxious sense of unrest.

‘Ultra Mono’’s step towards a more neoliberalistic message of positivity does serve to take some of the wind out of IDLES’ sails. If ‘Ultra Mono’ is their attempt to critique their own pedestal, it might not read as radical as they would have liked.

A masterclass in grandiose ferocity, the album harks back to the urgency of their early days and collides with the expansive melodies that underpinned much of their more recent output. Although on the surface the most aligned to their turn-of-the-century sound, ‘Ohms’ is filled with the twisted flourishes and unexpected juxtapositions that have guided the band’s lengthy career.

While it does quickly blend into one long - and at 24 tracks, it is long - medley - he’s created a heady, vibey, dare we say it - groovy - mood.

It’s a lot of… well, not much; a studio folly of sorts, (unsurprisingly) impeccable in sound but meandering without direction for the most part.

‘Airhead’ is a piece of bubblegum goodness, ‘Haunted’ is a celestial sizzler, while ‘Jumper’ almost calls back to 00s pop-punk classics (with an AG spin, obv) and closer ‘Lifeline’ is a sprawling synth slowburner. Though sprinkled with bops, ‘Apple’ doesn’t pack the expected punch.

Think the organised chaos of ‘70s NYC post-punk, or even the near-drone of erstwhile Leeds rockers Eagulls. And even as snarking on social media has moved into decidedly passe territory, the chorus of ‘Connect To Consume’ does remain a stellar one.

Both lyrically and musically it looks backwards to move forwards, in tone adding to Evan’s beautiful and delicate melodies, and although he doesn’t quite find the light at the end of the tunnel, he certainly knows it’s been switched on.

It’s refined, mature and an affirmation of the levels she could reach, on a similar path to star labelmates Phoebe Bridgers, Mitski and Japanese Breakfast.

Notably, the record is without the pair’s usual darkness, but ‘Host’ feels organic and true, like the first day of spring after a winter full of rain.

Though starkly different in tone to his debut, ‘Orca’ remains inherently ‘Gus Dapperton’ with his signature growling vocals and effortless alt-pop grooves and indie licks showcasing an artist stepping up musically, while also finding strength in his vulnerability.

Their debut shows Haiku Hands doing what they do best - making huge dance bangers made for partying along to. However, the three-piece also have some surprises up their sleeves, adding in moments of calm amongst the party.

A supremely intricate record which unfolds further with every listen - much like the brooding build of ‘In Birdsong’ - the band’s fifth album is, at times, a shadowy beast, and it’s sure to leave a mark.

Musically, it’s the ‘Lips at their most fully-realised. It may not get your feet moving but it’ll tug at the heartstrings. Each track builds up slowly like a rising tide that eventually envelops you. Compelling stuff.

While at times ‘Violet…’ shows Lana’s fine lyrical prowess, quotes primed for Tumblr captions, most of the time it’s more sixth former trying their best to impress at their first slam poetry event.

Star-spangled and confident AF he may be second time around, the Declan of yore isn’t quite lost in a sea of sequins. ‘Zeros’ is a lot of fun.

It’s a record of personal growth in its most authentic form. It’s nice to finally hear the whole story.

At once bleak, grey and obsessed with morbidity, and lush, blooming and gorgeous, it’s great to have them back.

Utilising a considered selection of guest vocalists, it takes a keener focus on rap and afrobeats, making good on the breadcrumb trail of singles that have tided fans over in the five-year album interim.