If you’re partial to a bit of blue-collar punk, this is likely to be right up your street.

Two Door Cinema Club have learnt how to harness their mainstream power while taking creative risks. They pay off almost every time.

The beauty of The Raconteurs is in the timeless joy of hearing two world-class songwriters, cut from two very different sides of a similar cloth, come together to make something if not greater, then at least as good as the sum of their considerable parts. And in that sense, Help Us Stranger succeeds, and then some.

A record that pushes each of its contributors to stamp their own mark, uniting them under the banner of heartbreak but leaving room for each vocalist to twist the blueprint to their own shape.

Their more collaborative process has brought an album that, while rarely deviating from that Hot Chip sound, feels lighter and freer. Like a band finally feeling confident in their own skin, inviting us to find escape from whatever troubles us in their music.

She writes and wears her heart on her sleeve, half-singing, half-sighing through her songs with wide-eyed candour, shining through such swoon-worthy dream- pop. At some point, you’ll wonder if it was Hatchie’s heartache and pain that was written about, or your own.

Far from the fools of their name, Dumb are onto something pretty magnetic.

Tackling interesting ideas and putting rock through an avant garde filter, Mattiel Brown’s powerful vocals once again impress too on what ultimately feels like a significant step forward.

A record which thrives on evoking feeling and catharsis, while remaining committed to their personal influences, on Doom Days they’ve managed to deftly build a conceptual world not all too different to the one we’re facing right now, and that feels like a triumph in itself.

On The Book of Traps and Lessons Kate Tempest continues to impress as one of the UK’s most vital voices.

With jubilant tie-dye riffs and squiggly guitar lines around every corner, And Now For The Whatchamacallit is every bit the celebratory psych-rock album it strives to be.

Much like their previous releases, Run Around the Sun is a collection of delightful, sunshine-soaked fuzz-pop.

A thread of hope and resilience runs through, via bright, surfy punk and power pop.

It feels darker an offering than some of their earlier work, more textured and full of otherworldly sound effects that often only become obvious on multiple listens.

It has a tendency to be superfluous--a stray tabla rhythm is never too far away--but ultimately it’s a fun record that’s clearly born of love and dedication. That’s something to be commended.

The Dots is an outright success. It combines forward-thinking sound design with complex songwriting, and an astute taste for pop hooks with rich, intelligent lyrical content. It’s a joy to experience.

The result is an album that’s pleasant but kind of passes you by, and for a singer that was always so charismatic, being just ordinary feels like a bit of a bummer.

This opening statement from a band emerging as one of Britain’s most inspired and uncompromising, could just be a strong starting step in a vivid and unconventional journey.

Circling around Eva’s sharp, twangy vocals, the band’s second album is a gargantuan step forward, and one packed full of iron-clad mantras.

Everything feels less claustrophobic than on ‘Control’ as synths soar, rather than constrict. Beats bounce and guitars are led by the groove. Throughout ‘YU’, we see a grander side of her.

A bold, brave effort that’ll continue to see them rise through the rock ranks.

Eternal Forward Motion pushes onward with a clear mission and unrivalled force, and much like their two previous albums, it places Employed To Serve firmly at the forefront of innovation in British hardcore.

In Plain Sight is an overwhelmingly dour listen.

Diviner is an intensely intimate album that leaves Hayden with nowhere to hide. Thankfully, stepping fully into the spotlight and laying himself bare, he’s resplendent.

A great advert for Australia’s most incendiary live band.

The result is a deeply personal album, at once beautiful and mournful, and rarely straightforward.

Nothing Great About Britain permeates everything about this fantastic first record from the soon-to-be-star that is Tyron Frampton.

While ‘I Love You Like A Brother’ was littered with memorable choruses that would be lodged in your brain after one listen, it takes a good while of digging into ‘The Best Of Luck Club’ to find something that sticks.