‘The Good Kind’ is a slow burner, but a rewarding one.

A group refusing to stand still, this is another chapter in a band priding themselves on forward movement while celebrating their storied past.

Effortlessly jumping between belted choruses and wistful pauses for vulnerability, she orients herself around the conflicting forces of uncertainty and longing.

It’s almost as if the record has been pieced together from three parts: first, a series of demos (which may indeed fit with the record having begun its life during the singer’s series of low-key fan-booked gigs throughout 2020); second, a handful of tracks that posit Elias as a scratchy, troubadour Mick Jagger (a look which suits him completely, pun intended); and third, a pair of gorgeously-recorded and perfectly delivered cover versions (Spacemen 3’s ‘Walking With Jesus’, retitled ‘Sound of Confusion’, and Townes van Zandt’s ‘No Place To Fall’). Unfortunately, these follow a series of tracks on which Elias tries on others’ identities a little too obviously.

A little of the opening tracks’ emotional impact is lost in their sugary, pixel-perfect presentation - particularly the otherwise punchy ‘Street Fighter’ – but that aside, ‘Mirror Starts Moving Without Me’ is a rewarding listen.

Christopher Owens has emerged from it with potentially one of the year’s best records.

The retro fadeout in High Vis’ opening title track perfectly captures the zeitgeist of their third album, one that pairs Britpop swagger with traditional hardcore fury across eleven tracks that deliberately never fully commit to either style.

‘Patterns In Repeat’ is both stunningly intimate and endearingly raw.

It’s when the pattern deviates somewhat from the expected that ‘The Night The Zombies Came’ is at its most exciting: the ’50s sonic cues that peppered ‘Doggerel’ remain, but the spite doesn’t.

Much like grief, ‘Evergreen’ has its highs and lows, but ultimately, it makes you feel less alone and like you’re going to be OK.

Here Dana’s lyricism and delivery land closer to the depth of feeling of Sharon Van Etten or Weyes Blood (‘Wednesday’; ‘In A Dream’), their evolution over the album’s course reflecting its slow but sure tilt towards thematic light.

By wrestling with the implications of their carefree early years on this final release, Japandroids have ensured they’ll be remembered not just as party starters, but as thoughtful songwriters, too.

The shifts are subtle but notable, providing another brilliant backdrop for Jeremy’s largely pained candour.

‘The 8th Cumming’ might have humour within it, but there’s also substance to be found among all the bodily substances.

It’s an impressively cohesive record, which builds on their penchant for hooky punk rock and refines it into something punchier and more addictive.

‘I Confess, I Guess’ too is a little too mid-paced to leave anything to hold on to. But where the songs work with and without context, it’s a joy.

‘Concrete’ goes some distance in evoking The Weeknd’s late-night drive pop, but its obvious lyrics aren’t believable. ‘Split Lip’ nods to Harry Styles in its melancholy, but fails to pack a punch in its production.

Not everything works, but far more does than you’d expect, given how gleefully the band seem to be throwing anything and everything at the wall to see what sticks.

With such a joyous energy across the record, it’s easy to get lost in its layers.

The literary heft of the record leaves slim pickings for pure listening. The familiarity of the vocal line on ‘He’ provides a satisfactory hook, ‘She’ is dreamy and melancholy, while ‘In The Green Chapel’ combines Hayden’s still-unmistakeable vocal with a softly-plucked guitar line that bears similarity to New Order’s ‘True Faith’.

Ultimately, on ‘Leon’, Bridges crafts an album that is at once deeply personal, and yet expansive and shared.

Absolutely bonkers and utterly brilliant, if black midi’s indefinite hiatus was the high price for ‘The New Sound’, then it was a price worth paying.

‘See You At The Maypole’ is a challenging listen not through sound or even particularly subject matter, but in not reaching its end under a similarly black cloud as the record itself.

Aan album that proves he’s more than capable on his own.

With the sum of the trio’s musical parts now known, and this quite literally coming from the same sessions as their previous, to summarise ‘Cutouts’ as more of the same might seem a tad obvious a statement to make, but it’s just about the most accurate.

Chappell Roan’s debut is thoughtful, a little unhinged and entirely contradictory, merging the alt-pop seriousness of Lana Del Rey with the untethered preppy charm of Lorde to go full throttle into messy, emotional fun.

This posthumous self-titled release feels more commemorative than conclusive. It’s a welcome celebration; an answerphone message revisited. It’s no ‘OIL…’, but it’s pure SOPHIE.

It doesn’t rest on what has come before, landing somewhere between the ‘80s new wave of their debut and mainstream pop, now with the self-expression of a far more confident songwriter.