Full-bodied production is at the heart, though takes nothing away from the more laid back moments.

A fifth album u-turn that few could pull off, Boy King is the sound of a band reborn. The core elements are all still there--that falsetto-baritone play-off between vocalists Hayden Thorpe and Tom Fleming as prominent as ever--but they’re glitched-up and garbled.

The result is a consistently textured record, with beautifully integrated strings.

It’s a very special record that offers more with every listen.

The only real criticism is that, in trying to present all of her sides, Nao hasn’t been ruthless enough in the cutting room. At eighteen tracks, For All We Know feels its length but, to be fair, it’s hard to suggest what to trim.

It remains evident that the pair stellar pop songs in their armoury, but their over-reliance on a standard formula finds this debut stuck in a bit of a creative rut.

So far, so great. But when the use of vocals is taken into overdrive on final track ‘Go On Without Me’, where Jacob Bannon from hardcore punks Converge offers up his jarring scream, it’s almost on the borderline of becoming too much.

This is a landmark album for a previously forgotten musician, an incredibly neat and satisfying collection of songs.

Ultimately Beyond The Wizards sleeve sounds like what it is--a hobby. As an outsider, it simply doesn’t reap the same rewards as it might have for its creators.

What Clams Casino specialises in and what makes this record a success is his ability to seemingly carve beats from ice, so cold is the production. His signature sounds otherworldly, with the breathy synths and crisp bass a soundtrack to some interstellar gang warfare.

An ambitious double album filled with reverb and distortion this it not, but if a new, playful kind of Biffy Clyro take your fancy, there’s more than enough of Ellipsis to dive headfirst into.

A racing sense fun propels much of The Julie Ruin’s latest, and it’s a more refined step forward from the debut.

Gone are the days of Mokolo, but Take Her Up To Monto remains just as resilient; proving that Roisin Murphy’s productive world of pop madness has a rightful place in the present day.

Multiple minute-long interludes flesh Wildflower out, feeling like breaks to an all-out, never-ending stage show. It needed to take something substantial to feel satisfied after those sixteen long years, and The Avalanches have gone beyond their calling.

Taken on their own, each track solidifies the group’s wild imagination, but IV is tough to stomach as the free-flowing, full-bodied juggernaut that it is.

It’s a statement packed with masses of future potential, and that’s all you can really ask for from a debut record.

Anagrams is the product of a musician fast maturing.

Across the record, Thrice conjure an atmospheric beauty but maintain a connection to the dirt beneath their feet.

They’re an easy punchline, in fairness--perennial whipping boys, probably deserving of a break at some point--but when they continue to churn out nonsensical self-parody, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ continued stratospheric success is nothing short of baffling.

Relatability abounds on Blisters In The Pit Of My Heart, perhaps not least on retail romance tale ‘Precarious (The Supermarket Song)’ where “I’m like an unexpected item in your bagging area” emerges as a contender for lyric of the year.

At an hour in length, though, and spewing at the seams with new sounds and concepts, Freetown Sound is more a vessel for Dev Hynes’ production prowess than Blood Orange’s flag in the sand.

Richer then than even the sum of its parts, The Bride is a beautiful, complex and often harrowing listening experience.

For Yoncalla the band finally recorded together. You can hear it. It’s the sound of a band in room.

The epitome of indie clichés, Drowners have done nothing to break their mould, and On Desire does little to appease the want for something more.

What’s unique about Pinegrove is how they compress uncertainty, doubt and fear without being overbearing.

Nodding strongly towards everything from Hall & Oates, to Justice, and Patrice Rushen, and flaunting all of Mount’s influences without a hint of irony, Summer ‘08’ is from start to finish, a back to basics, pure-pop odyssey.

Sleek, elegant but neck deep in gory realities, Conscious is a record that deals in the very best and worst of the world but instead of getting dragged down with the weight of these realisations, Broods climb high.

While unpredictability is certainly part of Deerhoof’s charm, and the aim of The Magic was to take listeners out of their comfort zone, the erratics can feel contrived and its off-kilter aesthetics too disparate for it to ever really take hold.