From high drama to mystery, tension to grandeur, just about every feeling and emotion is touched upon in the 34 tracks on offer. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a seasoned gamer or simply interested in the genesis of electronic music; the innovative, evocative sounds on offer here will transport you to distant, vibrant pixel-based lands.

Brutalism has lost none of its bite and stands peerless as a staggering album of unmatched sincerity and self-assuredness.

Mostly, A Pink Sunset… is truly beautiful background music, gently chiming and pulsing and ricocheting off of itself and into your subconscious.

Engaging and fulfilling, it stands out as one of the most unique and confident records of Weaver’s career so far, with the nagging and thrilling feeling that so much more is waiting to emerge given the scope of her talents.

They’ve lost a little bit of the magic of their debut. The lyrics feel a tiny bit less wistful, while the bass is a little less heavy--that strange but heady mix from the likes of ‘Hey Mami’ just isn’t jumping out from any of the tracks on What Now.

Some of these stories are not fleshed out as poetic or romantic as the music might suggest, yet it’s forgivable in the sense that Cigarettes After Sex successfully transport you to an erotic world entirely their own.

In Ctrl, SZA draws on her personal experience and explores women’s sexuality in a direct and honest way which was so far mostly reserved to male R&B and pop artists.

Much like Sonic Youth's feature-length instrumental masterstrokes Made In USA and Spinhead Sessions, Improvisations is a record that will likely reward the attentive mind most.

It is in this record’s opening salvo and in its closing stages that its aim, of reflecting the natural beauty of eastern England, where both Rogerson and Eno grew up, comes closest to being accomplished.

The result is a warm, fuzzy embrace of an album; a release that will delight fans of James’s work as a solo artist and bandleader of My Morning Jacket, and likely anyone else who happens upon it.

Livin' in Elizabethan Times is 28 minutes of big dumb fun. Big dumb fun with a great concept. Each song is full of hilarious deadpan lyrics, delivered like only Mason knows how, intricate composition that showcase both Mason’s and Duffy’s skill and prowess. If this is a one off, then we’ve been given something special, if this is the first instalment in a series of releases, then we’re in real treat.

On Air feels like the other bookend [to Blue & Lonesome], with the track listing dominated as it is by similar covers; it’s just that, this time, they crackle with youthful energy, rather than glow in the warm gaze of riper eyes.

It’s an honest record, one that puts Iqbal’s own deftly balanced sound and influences to the forefront, while also having some piercing yet thoughtful insights into contemporary society. As a first step under her own name, it’s a hugely confident stride forward.

It is curiously and enjoyably irregular.

They just seems to be writing the music they enjoy, about the things they care about, and it’s done them a world of good.

Wilson set out on a mission with this album – reinvent herself for the modern world, without her B-52s pedigree, by creating a totally new style for herself. And, by that standard, she’s largely succeeded.

There’s certainly nothing anywhere near as anthemic as ‘Even When The Sun Comes Up Her’ and later material, particularly Are We There, is far more fleshed out. But here we get the most incisive look into the soul of Sharon van Etten and that’s hard to replicate.

Xenoula simply meanders at times, losing a distinct sense of urgency and focus and washing over the listener like gentle lapping waves leaving little in the way of residue behind. Nevertheless, there are times when Xeno’s music becomes less translucent, harnessing its subtleties to create hauntingly ethereal sounds that do evoke vibrant images of her dual lives.

Stripped bare of anything other than Stevens’ voice, a guitar and a slightly imperfect recording, their power and beauty still shine through. The added bells-and-whistles of remixes and alternate versions are an interesting side-note, sure, but still, in the end, lead you back to the original album in all its complex, bruised and beautiful glory.

This feels like Holmes’ record--a studio-created melting pot of awkward approaches, inspired instrumentation, the occasional colossal flop and a few genuinely unique moments. More power to Gallagher for giving him the reigns here and allowing himself to be guided into territory that’s often fresh, sometimes really interesting but, above all, utterly atypical and bizarre.

Both musically and lyrically, Utopia is extraordinarily gripping and majestically consistent in its intent to shake and uplift. If there is one aspect that runs the risk of breaking the spell it is its duration.

In many places, this record sounds and feels like a migraine captured on tape, and that is not a pleasant experience, nor is it meant to be. Unlike the more luscious, shoegaze influence that's pervaded Black Metal in recent years, this feels like an absolute rejection of that, being as difficult and painful to experience as possible.

Like everything on L’Orange, L’Orange, the performance carries a naivety that only adds to the record’s stirring sense of innocence.

So yes, these are intimate lyrics and stories told first person for the first time--and not just intimate, but vulnerable, self knowing, open and loving. And definitely not embarrassing.

If All I Was Was Black contains performances as powerful as any she has given.

The saddest thing is that all the emotionally flat crooning and awkward lyricism is set to the most blandly serviceable of arena-rock backing tracks complete with by-numbers horn and string parts (the orchestra being the last refuge of the uninspired rockstar), performed by session musicians who’ve honed their craft from stints backing the likes of Alanis Morissette and Billy Corgan. The net result makes The Killers look like Throbbing Gristle.

The midas pop touch that ran through 1989, on which she struck the perfect balance between her past and present selves, is lacking here; she’s sacrificed some of it for such a wholesale acceptance of current pop trappings. What’s refreshing about Reputation, though, is that she’s no holding holding the mask so tightly to her face.

No Luscious Life exceedingly delivers on all the promise Golden Teacher have shown so far in their still relatively short careers and is perhaps the moment that breaks them through into a wider audience.

Phases is a useful entry into Olsen's back catalogue with heavy stress on the 'back'. For those new to her work, this is a good introduction to her older work, and moreover, yet another example of her incredible talent as a storyteller and composer.

Nobody expected Smith to reinvent the wheel on his second album, but anything is better than limping along on a flat tyre.

Without any obvious signifiers, Kid Kruschev could resonate for many other voices--which, granted, was also true for Jessica Rabbit, but still satisfying. And while Sleigh Bells deliver no knockout punch this time around, don’t let your guard down, or else.

It is a stupendous work of art. R.E.M. are essentially a band that work on an emotional level, and this is their most emotionally articulate record: sad and painful, but also funny, raging, exultant, yearning. That it was an enormous hit is a slight distraction, 25 years on. But the music wins out.

Unfortunately, the remix format really extracts and commodifies the sounds of the original albums rather than do anything wildly different or interesting to it. The mix might sound alright on the dancefloor, but so would the original effectively mixed into a good DJ set.

1992 Deluxe is much more than just a cheap re-release of her breakout 2016 mixtape, it’s a complete reimagining. The record features 8 brand new songs that help to cement Princess Nokia as one of the key voices in modern hip hop.

The overall effect is that of a fully original piece of music, extremely relaxing and imaginative, which effortlessly creates the suggested atmosphere of haunted places for the listener.

An unerring sense of conflict courses through The Dusk In Us, and while that might sound like business as usual for a Converge record, it’s a testament to Bannon and his cohorts that they remain so compelling nine albums in.

With the singular exception of the mournful, aching track ‘Mawal’, To Syria, With Love is a celebration of the music of Omar’s home. With the life and vibrancy of the compositions necessarily tapered by the sobering, harrowing reality of the honesty in his lyrics, he has brought us an all-too-real-life case of tears on the dancefloor.

Dreijer has cemented her place within alternative music's dynasty, and it's refreshing to hear an outwardly queer and fiercely political artist convey a clear message without having the music, performance or reception fall over the potential weight of those themes. For as much as Plunge quite clearly contains these themes, it can and will be enjoyed as a universally creditable piece of brilliantly constructed art, and that is Dreijer's real success here.

The queasy electronic work on Punk Drunk and Trembling, though, feels fresh, like the breaking of new ground, and you can say the same for ‘Maze’, with Tom Fleming’s baritone floating over an undulating bed of synths.

On Anthology: Movie Themes 1974-1998, Carpenter allows a panoramic view of the music he created to accompany his films that, of course, is hard to separate from the movies themselves.

With no warning whatsoever, this is an incredibly thoughtful, articulate modern rock record that stands toe-to-toe with anything released this year.

With at least half of these songs, there is almost nothing to say, nothing to be baffled by, nothing to argue about, and for that sad, whimpering reason, Pacific Daydream can probably be called Weezer’s worst album.

The album continues in typically strange style. However, despite the lack of musical progression, for some reason Screen Memories sounds, whisper it, on trend.

Turn Out the Lights is far from a happy album, but my word, it is riddled with joy.

Most of these are just too damn long, and don’t develop too far past theme-and-variation rounds. Plus, Sarp taps along at the same stately tempo for nearly all his parts, so every song merges unwillingly into the next.

ken’s a grower. It’s not going to immediately colonise one’s affections in the way the best Destroyer records do, but it will slowly get there, even if some will immediately dismiss it as a supposedly 'weak entry' in the Destroyer catalogue.

With Beautiful Trauma then, Moore proves that she’s both still relevant, and a vital, confident female voice on the pop circuit who has impressively never really succumbed to the pressures of the overly-sexualised pop machine.

Throughout these eight tracks, she intuitively navigates within the dark and mysterious space of her psyche: an undomesticated, sometimes precarious landscape bustling with flora and fauna. With that rare quality of sounding both grand and plaintive, Fohr’s voice is accompanied by a prowling organ on ‘Brainshift’, as if scrutinising the terrain up on a hillside.

Whether Ogilala will count as one of them remains to be seen. Like its author it too is both fascinating, brilliant and unlikeable by turns. An interesting curio in an always-compelling career.

Overall, It's Alright Between Us As It Is is yet another solid entry into Lindstrøm's discography. It doesn't re-invent the wheel in terms of genre or what we expect of the Norwegian producer, but it just keeps things ticking along with exciting and unexpected flourishes at every turn.

There’s nothing inherently bad about anything on Losing, but nothing’s going to stick around, either.

If The Epic was a very large and rich meal then Harmony of Difference is a palate-cleansing sorbet or digestif. On the surface there is nothing unyielding or dense about it and everything flows together wonderfully, but once you start to scratch the surface you discover an EP that is full of hidden melodies and motifs and has enough to charm to make up for its brevity.

This is a thumpingly disappointing and consistently milquetoast set of songs riddled with lyrical banality, done-to-death melodies and wispily thin production.

Lotta Sea Lice won’t totally slake the thirst of the pair’s individual fanbases for new solo work, but what it does do is see them bring out the best in each other. It’s a powerful testament to the possibilities offered up by a genuine creative friendship.

Subtlety is an early casualty, lyrics and riffs hitting with all the grace and charm of a sledgehammer.

Nothing Valley is carefully orchestrated disarray, and it’s a hoot. Melkbelly have created a thrillingly unprocessed debut bursting with noisy imagination.

Not quite a milestone then, but a release that’s set to be remembered for a very long time to come.

Offering is also Cults’ finest work to date. At their best, they offer a hymn to the inexhaustible spirit of hope; at the very least, they have proven they can survive the whims of an increasingly fickle market.

Whether Colors will be a success within the pop world it is clearly aimed at remains to be seen, but one suspects even pop fans will see through this for it appears to be: an album documenting a mid-life crisis.

The OOZ creates a brutalist and beautiful terrain, one that we can wander vicariously through King Krule; it’s nothing short of a masterpiece.

All in all, Wide Open demonstrates a band in transition. Methinks, overall, Burke and her motley crew are headed the right way in their conflicted and thus accurate portrayal of our tangled ids, egos, and libidos.

You wouldn’t want one track or note to be changed or left out. It’s a genuine masterpiece: complex, funny, sexy, bleak, uplifting, inspiring and enthralling from start to finish.

We’re unlikely to see the power or the passion of Manson’s classic run again - it’s very difficult to bottle lightning twice - and you shouldn’t come to Heaven Upside Down expecting anything as textured, interesting or frightening as those early releases. That said ... It’s business as usual, but after a decade of disappointment, it’s good to know business is doing well.

There are moments where the album shines, absolutely, but it doesn’t match up to the same level as Okereke’s previous work, both with Bloc Party and solo. However, it’s still a worthy piece in its own right, and a testament to the idea that a musician changing their sound is a gamble that can pay dividends.

There are moments of ‘saneness and plainness’ on the album, but these are only short, giddy moments. The great bulk of material on it plays under the assertion that one conclusion, or one reading of a situation is impossible. Great works contain multitudes, and that is exactly what you’ll get here.

One of the great indie-rock releases of the year. ... The new songs are what really impress, glowing with a sparky freshness few saw coming.

There is an energy to Cry, Cry, Cry that simply got lost in the storm Apologies created. After some time away to re-group, it seems, Wolf Parade have re-found that spark.

It grows and grows with each listen, and though it has less of an immediate impact than their debut, it has a true sense of journey through its beginning, middle and end, an element often disregarded in an industry gluttonously obsessed with hit singles.

The band's fourth and best album to date, there is no denying his prowess as a Nick Cave for a new generation, even if, ironically, Casey is closer to Cave's than the rest of his band or most of his audience.

What was promised to be Twain's 'very, very pure' album is anything but. ... A terrible album.

If you’re looking for ease and comfort there’s a deluge of that available, but there are aren’t many records like The Centre Cannot Hold. Frost has achieved a thrillingly precarious balance whereby there is always the tiniest spark of light to glean amongst the relentless dirge.

Visions of a Life is a phenomenal achievement. It has captured on record the thrill, angst, sadness and uncertainty of being in your twenties and not really knowing what’s going to happen or should happen. All of it is never anything less than intoxicating, heartfelt and effortless.

Their gentlest to date, 44 minutes of music arranged around a single, dreamy riff/motif. Listen to it on Bandcamp or Spotify without checking out the other stuff that comes with the music and it perhaps seems like a retreat from the sturm und drang of their previous work. But the accompanying words and art to Luciferian Towers posit it as the band’s most politicised set since Yanqui UXO.

Though Hiss Spun probably won't end up as the best of her career, it may well be Wolfe's best so far.

Metz keep consistently ticking along and will always be a welcome addition to any year's new releases, regardless of whether they're the most original band in the world and Strange Peace does nothing to disavow that.

All in all it’s another assured effort from a band who manage to stay relevant without compromising their creativity.

The result is a brilliant, imperfect record that affects you in ways Enter Shikari never have before and subverts what the entire band is all about. Anything from them would be ridiculous.

Some songs come close, but none hit quite as hard as Stranger in the Alps’ haunting bookends. All the same, the record is a stunning achievement, and one that heralds the arrival of a major talent, undoubtedly in it for the long haul.

In all, it’s an album with an admirable sense of ambition and innovation, a band pushing themselves sonically and lyrically in new directions; that they at times come up short is therefore a shame.

The message feels less than vital at a time when vitality is so needed, and no, there will be no revolution off the back of the subversive royalty involved in this release. The slogans feel thin, but the music itself is substantive. Whether that counts as a success or not comes down to what you came here for.

The fact is that Lovers is an almost unremarkable debut, except for the fact that it hits every target set for itself with clinical accuracy. If you’re in the market for something harder than Celine Dion but a little softer than Dragonette, you could do a lot worse than Anna of the North’s debut.

It’s just a guy bashing out some songs with a friend back in the Seventies--yet it’s a kind of reverse Best Of: a hits collection of songs before they were ever known, now released after all but two of them are firmly fixed in the Young cannon.

In the end, it’s the lack of direction that’s fatal for Concrete and Gold; at least the last three records, scored through with problems as they were, had a sense of what was driving them, even if it was something as superficial as Sonic Highways’ city-hopping.

Overall Where the Gods Are in Peace is another solid album in a ridiculously exceptional back catalogue.

Although their lyrical palette is limited to shades of grey or black, musically they allow themselves variegated freedom that allows glimmers of light in the dark night. For all its bleakness Endangered Philosophies is also strangely beautiful.

As a full album, this wafts innocuously past like a gentle Hawaiian breeze--too meek for any real surf, but just strong enough to be mildly of note to those wishing to hit the waves. That’s about the best that can be said of it.

Alvvays were the perfect band to listen to when a need arose to forget about life. Despite its title, Antisocialites doesn’t manage to accomplish the same thing.

A brilliant and riveting album.

There are parts of Love What Survives that you’ll want to dive straight back into again (like this track), and then others that are a little more ephemeral.

Tasteful and tactful enough to use their wide range of influences, this is an impressive body of work that upholds the finest garage tradition: missed completely by the majority, but obsessed over and taken straight to heart by those who can’t resist their records a little on the rougher side.

Is it a worthy addition to their canon, though? Absolutely. The things that make this band a real treasure can all still be found here--the slightly beat-up romanticism, the pessimism of the secret optimist, the big, bold beauty of the melodies, the detailed imperfect perfection of the music.

Picking out highlights from a treasure chest overflowing with golden nuggets is a tough call, but Inspiral Carpets' 'Theme From Cow' off their unsurpassed and impossible to find Plane Crash EP, *8Kitchens Of Distinction's shoegaze prototype 'Prize', Thrilled Skinny's introduction to fraggle 'So Happy To Be Alive' and Mancunian oddballs King Of The Slums**' 'The Pennine Spitter' are just four of many reasons why this compilation should be high on every music completist's shopping list.

What makes Native Invader a work of genius--a kind of Great American novel, perhaps--is that it seamlessly blends the personal, political, natural and cosmic into the same story.

Okovi won’t topple Stridulum II as the most essential Zola Jesus record, but it’s another excellent record that once again showcases a unique and powerful voice.

VanGaalen draws from familiar territory. What makes these songs truly surreal (and ergo, sublime) are his wacky scenes, both monstrous and endearingly human all at once.

Expect the Best stands out amongst other reverb-drenched indie rock for being exceptionally well composed.

The music is often troubling--as well it should be, given the context--but ultimately it is a trenchantly human record that is sweepingly cinematic in scope.

All in all, the album is unremarkable, showing only rare flashes of lyrical prowess, and melodically unadventurous. Bugg fails to push boundaries and flounders outside his recent comfort zone, resulting in a record that fails to impress, delivered without vigour.