It’s dark, atmospheric and shoegazey--and as a sonic canvas it works well. But several of the songs struggle to say anything that’s not already been said elsewhere on the album.

Methyl Ethel have reached great new heights with this stellar effort.

RY X is a talented guy with a singular vision, but Unfurl's title is misleading--it’s a little too tentative to have fully done so.

Woman’s Hour have created something truly special in these final throes.

Old, but new at the same time, the seemingly limited palette of Buoys is single minded and direct. A stunning, if hushed, indirect hit.

Sunshine Rock does exactly what it says on the tin. A rock album that sparkles; a taut collection of Bob Mould cuts that fits timelessly into his ever-expanding legacy.

Tip of the Sphere is Cass McCombs’ most elegiac and profoundly literary album, a eulogy for the end of times and a mass articulation of the absurd world of modernity.

At the heart of Quiet Signs remains Jessica Pratt’s acquired taste of a voice and her penchant for dainty instrumental work, but the record’s palpable atmospherics might be enough to win over previous detractors.

Pursuit of Momentary Happiness manages to harness even more of the band’s unpredictable live energy while careering between boggle-eyed riffy bangers and booze-sodden self-reflection in truly inimitable fashion.

The trio deliver at once their heaviest, catchiest, most decipherable and least predictable album.

Despite their identity being so closely interwoven with synth-pop, some of the more striking tracks here see Broods moving away from the keyboard, and reverting to more traditional instrumentation.

Olympic Girls is Tiny Ruins diversifying their sound and, in the process, unlocking something new and palpable. Simply by moving further out, they start to let us in.

All the right ingredients are there, but the recorded format makes it fall short it from becoming a flowing, cohesive album.

Five feels like an exercise in softness of touch, maybe the most reserved White Lies album to date; there’s less bite than usual in Harry McVeigh’s vocals, and where previously the guitars would be spiky and nudge towards post-punk, there’s languid, melodic riffs on the likes of ‘Finish Line’ and ‘Denial’.

The group expand on the sorts of themes and sounds that have made them so distinct to the ear while incorporating new layers of heavier krautrock, as well as melodic folk to further engineer their trademark sound.

While not a record that’s likely to raise their star, Stuffed & Ready is one that shows a band resolutely ploughing their own furrow without compromise.

There’s a gorgeous familiarity to the record, but it’s also one peppered with adventure.

Whereas their earlier tracks were more simple, now their music is a multidimensional, multi-faceted affair, full of fragile introspection and meandering guitars.

Over four songs and just twelve minutes, it packs enough punch to inspire air guitar, desk drumming, shower singing and wanting to start a band just so you can try and shred like these three. Truly fantastic.

A profoundly human listen, which sees the band bow out proudly, for now at least.

Like Syd Barrett or, more recently, Euros Childs before him, White Fence continues to make the peripheries seem oddly accessible.

Each soundbite from Highway Hypnosis is heavy and layered, every track an earworm.

The most important aspect of Future Ruins and Swervedriver is it shows that the band still have something to say and prove. They’re in it for the long haul and, hopefully, back for good to document all our future ruins.

Rat Boy works best on this record not giving the fans what they want--but something new.

Highlight ‘By Myself’ sings of relapsing after getting sober, but is set over a simply joyous ska-tinged musical romp - musical and lyrical contradictions are all over Almost Free, but it gains its power from dancing through the hard times with a massive grin on your face. The musical experimentation of the record continues throughout.

A ten-track album that combines both of their styles to create something that doesn’t sound quite like either of them.

Assume Form keeps that same desire [as The Colour In Anything] to break new ground, while taking it to the red line and managing to not outstay its welcome.

The resulting back-and-forth between herself and Ellery - her honeyed tones set against his unmistakably raspy roars - is enthralling, and holds up regardless of musical backdrop. There’s low-key moments of genuine menace (‘Black Sun Rising’, the disquieting churn of ‘Serenity Says’) and some major key nods towards anthemic territory, too.