In an age when subtlety is far from the most prized connotative currency, Isotach is a quite literal stark reminder that finesse and restraint can still bound forth on their own terms.

While they still don’t do hits, no-one does brooding, slow-burn magnificence quite like Murphy. He builds everything from the ground up, solid foundations augmented by neat details and flourishes. More than ever, American Dream demonstrates how rhythm is central to LCD Soundsystem.

It is no coincidence that the moments when Dwyer’s writing strays furthest from the familiar format are the least satisfying. It is reasonable to assume that he is capable of far more intriguing and stimulating excursions than these.

While Shah’s tunes are so enjoyable to listen to, that unsettling harmonic twang continues to add a feverish subsidy to her soulful voice, a reminder of the uneasiness of the subject matter.

As we approach the centre, the violent and promiscuous impulses usually reserved for men bubble into view, reclaimed firmly in terms that Trent Reznor only wishes he could convey again. Caught undertow in this wreckage, you might mistake such a layout for entropy; step back, however, and the boarders and subdivisions wrought by EMA’s hand become clear.

On Art in the Age of Automation they are back to their best and clearly enjoying this newfound vigour for their craft.

Produced differently, A Deeper Understanding could be really startling stuff; as it is, it feels like The War on Drugs have made an agreeable, fan-pleasing album to escape into and hide in, not to a record to take on the world--but perhaps that’s not such a bad thing in 2017.

Villains isn’t a terrible record, but it’s not a fantastic record either, and that’s perhaps the least kind thing that could be said about new material from a band which we’ve come to expect a lot from.

Where TFCF will stand in Liars’ overall oeuvre remains to be seen, but for an album that wasn’t expected to be a solo piece, Andrew does very well on his own to make his mark.

Ghostpoet’s vocals are delivered in a consistent, mumbled, emotionally-drained understatement throughout, lending the album a sense of authenticity that it could not survive without.

Where Everything Everything’s previous releases were as bonkers-crammed full of a surfeit of different stylistic tics, flourishes, embellishments and more not only from song to song within each album but even in every individual track, here, a definite sound and style has been settled on.

While the band have clearly slowed down to create their fifth record, Painted Ruins shows no signs of stopping their quality of sound and long may that continue.

There are hooks here, but they are scattered and often attached to tracks that come worryingly close to mediocre exercises in MOR.

The great thing about Blondes is how they move through such simple ingredients as a decent bassline and a tight groove, and end up in some tripped out wonderland after nine minutes of hedonistic bliss. On Warmth, they’ve traded that sound for something a bit harder and more immediate, which doesn’t end up all bad, but does sacrifice that elegiac joy they used to perfect so readily.

Their collective relentless energy combined with their individual talents saves their sound from feeling repetitive.

By insisting on its purpose as soundtrack, Daniel Lopatin addresses that separation head-on. This defiance asserts Good Time as a record to listen to in the here and now, with or without its filmic accompaniment.

The record isn't perfect either, though it's enjoyable in places.

Even by their own standards, the lack of posing or pretence on this LP is startling; it’s a raw, bare-bones affair with nothing in the way of embellishment.

Cage Tropical is a dreampop record. ... And the problem with dreampop records is--well, if they fall short of dreams, then you’ve got to either imbue something other than the divine into the lining (hi, Deafcult!), or you’ve got to work it into overdrive until your listener’s heart flutters like a virgin on the mattress (hi, Ballet School!). And our protagonist simply fails on both counts.

Newman is easily distracted and that can make Dark Matter a confusing listen at points, but when he gets it right, you’re reminded of what a singular talent he is.

Sodium does slay. But Dasher whizz through in such a hardcore blur, that the highlights of the album get buried in the carnage.

Earl Grey works so well because the three women at its heart have uniqueness as players and chemistry as a band, and it’s rare to get both. There’s a respect for melody here, in both Hankin’s way with chorus and riff, and especially in Moss’s ear-candy bass lines.

By consciously interrogating everything they do, they’ve created something that doesn’t need a condescending suffix to justify its existence. It’s a new high-water mark for the band, and one well worth the pain to reach.

The album comes in light lapping waves of melodic song. It doesn’t wash you away, it doesn’t lure you in to your death. It’s a nice album.

Lust for Life represents the thawing of the ice queen we thought we knew, and the strange death of her American dream. The warmth and humility revealed beneath are all the more thrilling for how well they were kept under lock and key. Human after all.

Arguably the 2017 Fall is the purest version of the band there has ever been. This, you imagine, is what the inside of Smiths fogged head sounds like. Which is possibly why New Facts Emerge is one of the best things Smith has put his name too in a decade, the most complete and satisfyingly bonkers Fall album since 2008’s Imperial Wax Solvent.

If the refusal to play to old strengths has a slightly scattergun effect, it’s hard to begrudge this slightly mad record. There will be those Everything Now alienates, but Arcade Fire are not your corporate product.

Boo Boo is fascinating as an exercise for Bear, and proves that Toro Y Moi has yet another viable direction to take their music in. At some point, Bear may need to chart a clear course for the project but for now it’s fun to hear him freely experimenting with new sonic palettes.

Subtract the saccharine throwback 'Static Space Lover', the utterly somnambulant closer 'III', and the ancient prom scrap 'Time To Get Closer', and you’re left with some solid pop bangers that can sync in time with yr racing heart.

There are no preconceptions about an album acting as a whole piece of work, and it’s certainly allowed him to be a little less bogged down in all that and freed him up to just try stuff out.

It’s undoubtedly Avey’s best solo work to date, and another welcome reminder of Animal Collective’s ability to rejuvenate, surprise and delight.

Goodnight Rhonda Lee never feels like a pastiche or a rip off of classic soul songs, but a celebration of the genre and life. Yes some songs could be trimmed a bit and maybe some of the motifs would be tighter, but overall this is an album by someone who knows exactly what she wants to say and how she wants to say it.

Painful as they may be, Crutchfield's lyrics are perfect all over her fourth album. Instantaneously direct, but not without using imagery that is both recognisable and relatable.

This album is anything but a fad. It hangs around long after you listen, subdued but resolute in its capabilities. It is very much here to stay.

Not everything is as memorable as everything else and there are a few tracks which perhaps have a tendency to meander a bit too long, but these do not take away from the overall feel of the album, more just drift off into space as is the predominant feeling of the two records.

While the concept of a double album can be off–putting for some, these records shift and weave so seamlessly that one barely notices the combined one hr 30 runtime. That said, it is a record that rewards repeat listens, as its length and depth are well worth letting wash over you.

There is a really great album rattling around in here and Howard's invention and ambition should be celebrated as such, it's just not quite at the level it could be.

While 4:44 may not be his greatest album, it is a much valued deviation from the norm, a surprising feat considering his kaleidoscopic catalog

Actually, the best way to experience what Mister Mellow is really about is to give the visual component of the album a go first. Yes, the audio more than stands up on its own, but the artwork courtesy a variety of incredibly talented artists really does a more comprehensive job of fleshing out Greene’s overall vision.

At times the record does dip, as some tracks don’t seize your attention quite as strongly as they might. But all-in-all, BSS have made an album that trumps any cynicism that they may have faced, and in the process Hug of Thunder is as hearteningly unguarded and positive a record as you are likely to hear this year.

After three previous albums, Moonshine Freeze is finally the sound of a storyteller of a musician finding her niche. And it is a joy to behold.

It’s an extremely sprightly record for a man pushing 90, and though there’s no way he can recapture the era-defining energy of his classics--cuts so pervasive their DNA is present in every rock song for the last 60 years--there’s a lot of the spirit of that era here.

Every Valley is certainly an important and timely record, but happily it's also an extremely satisfying and moving one. While it may not have the obvious scope of their breakthrough record The Race for Space it has something important to tell us about the times we live in and the hard, heartbreaking lessons we should all be learning from the past.

Something To Tell You is no disaster and you could do worse for background listening whilst tackling the ironing or something, but music really shouldn’t be quite this uninspired, nor should the artists at the helm.

It’s enjoyable, but it leaves me wondering if TLC could have pared-back the nostalgia kick to allow their new songs to stand out in their own right. The new songs here may not launch them back out into the commercial music stratosphere, but they definitely deserve to stay in orbit.

As an exercise in creativity, musical form, experimentation and sheer art, then, Reflections is to be commended, but as a standalone body of work it’s somewhat lacking in the substance, sculpted precision, urgency and depth that made Elaenia such an enthralling proposition.

Nearly half the length of his debut, Big Fish Theory is tightly-wound and laser-focused, yet covers a huge amount of ground, simultaneously showcasing Staples at the most pumped-up and most fragile we’ve yet seen him. His word play is spectacular even when his flow isn’t at its most natural.

It’s a real shame Witness has come out as a bit of a disjointed mess, as there’s a decent record somewhere in there, but it gets lost in the fog of endless guest productions and co-writes that miss the point entirely.

She is intensely self-aware and, accordingly, is able to take all the inelegancies of youth--the stumbles out of nightclub doors, the clothes strewn across the bedroom floor, how apocalyptic that first heartbreak feels--and turn them into something exquisite.

It is untouchable and timeless.

Laurel Halo’s most ecstatically esoteric effort to date, which, in the case of this artist at least, is another way of saying that is both her best and her most joyously listenable.

It’s disarming, actually, how an album this heavy can be so kinetic, so compulsive, so--the word seems wrong, but funky.

In between almost every track the calming voice of an unnamed narrator tells us a bit more of the fantasy. Such a pompous, and quite frankly pretentious, idea shouldn’t work, but the sheer chaos of the group’s music wrapped around each piece of spoken word makes everything flow beautifully, somehow.

It’s a confident, naive, sensitive journey that plays to all of the strengths of the artist without sounding ostentatious. It’s an emotional listen, but a necessary one.

Trouble Maker is a return to force for Rancid< and is the musical equivalent of a football team winning a major trophy after years in the wilderness and the absolute elation that comes with that. However there is a downside. ... Rancid could have released Trouble Maker at any point since they began.

In summary, this is an album which is trying to be lots of things for lots of people. The sadness being that where Royal Blood appealed to so many because of its abandoned musicality and aggression, How Did We Get So Dark? may run the risk of losing its soul and beating heart in order to please the masses.

The album falls somewhere between curio and convincing; there’s enough here to hold the attention of the casual Mac fan, however fleetingly, but diehards should find a bit more to dig into in the brighter moments. A worthwhile exercise.

Pierce and company might never release anything as tight and high caliber as their debut album, but they are heading in a new direction while still remaining staunch pioneers of the heavy synths and reverb style that warranted them attention in the first place.

Somehow, by taking these backwards steps, Peaking Lights have, rather bizarrely, flown forwards, proving in the process that, when handled correctly, nostalgia can be a fine tool. A fine tool indeed.

It’s clear that after a year on the road with the same musicians he’s back into thinking in band mode and how songs will best be served by a four piece line-up. This result is more fully-realised songs.

Crack-Up is perhaps Fleet Foxes' most epic and inventive record yet.

Where British guitar bands like the Arctic Monkeys have failed in enabling their audiences to dance in any way more stylised than an up-down jump, this guitar band play songs you could very nearly jive to, partner in hand.

It’s not essential in the way Illinois is essential, but fans would be mugging themselves to not at least give it a whirl.

It’s incredibly satisfying to hear a band reform and sound completely reinvigorated--every second sounds like it’s been pored over for hours, and Erol Alkan’s encouraging production sits perfectly within the music, never intrusive or stifling.

The catchy songs are catchier; the melodies are tighter; the peaks and troughs dip higher and lower. ... If crossover hits were still a thing in the indie game, 'Watering' would be the low-key bridge to a more post-punk-savvy crowd. But other moments just fail to pop, like the title track that’s blown out and unfocused.

On The Optimist, Anathema really do cement their title as one of the UK’s most revered rock bands, prog or otherwise: it’s a big jumble of ambitious ideas, executed near-perfectly--a mess, but a big, sprawling, dense, euphoric, beautiful one.

The nicest aspect of this thoroughly nice record is that Black manages it without sounding either insipid or cloying.

The first two singles released of the album, ‘J-Boy’ and ‘Ti Amo’, are enjoyable enough, setting the scene with shimmery ripples as you’re engulfed by the clubby rhythm, disco-balls swirling through every riff. But they also reveal the main flaws in the album: both build promisingly into grand reveals only to stall and go nowhere, like revving a car in neutral.

There are moments of heart-stopping beauty throughout, as well as a newfound optimism that propels the songs to swelling heights.

Holding down lyrical matter which often floats in the air are drum machines and timers, and the production of the whole record is incredibly clean. Sometimes a shininess works. At other points I can’t help feeling a little more griminess would be more apt for the subject matter.

This is a promising record from a still young UK band who have, with their second record, somewhat mastered their craft and it will be exciting to see where they go next with it.

That’s the half of Relaxer that I can live with, the half that strives actively to dispel alt-J’s pretentious front and swing for the top of the charts. But then, my friends, we return to the 'House of the Rising Sun'--because here, on this wikkle precious cover version with the cyclical Leonard Cohen guitar, we’re reminded of every reason to hate the three blokes.

I Used to Spend So Much Time Alone is pretty in its sonic gloominess and witty in the way that it wears its anxieties on its sleeve, but what makes it special is the way that all of that is grounded by the sturdiest of anchors--the quiet optimism that friendship inspires.

Far from perfect, but confident and assured.

It’s also a big album: a long, sprawling epic that stretches out for it’s slightly-padded running time, but one so full of ideas and intricacies that it’s an easy album to get sucked into.

There is something both abstract and individual and yet universal about the way that Harding writes and presents her trials and triumphs of the heart.

Maybe !!!’s latest effort isn’t revolutionary, but it is rebellious.

For now, You’re Welcome is a welcome addition to Wavves’ discography, and achieves a range of maturation, both sonically and topically, that Williams has not previously exhibited.

As a genre post-rock is certainly stubborn and persistent in the face of rocky times for guitar music, but its value is no illusion if Do Make Say Think’s latest is anything to go by.

Williams has managed to get out from under the pressure of having to be the perma-grinning frontwoman, and the emotional uncertainty that’s exposed is fascinating. Musically, meanwhile, this is as free as they’ve ever sounded. Again: Paramore have always been a pop band. They’ve just never been this proud of it.

A knotty, messy work: a series of interior monologues depicting some unsavoury but very human sentiments; a sprawl of devastating emotion wrought with a keen yet weary eye. But it’s undoubtedly a triumph--Kasher hasn’t sounded quite this sharp in years.

MMorningside, the debut album from Auckland’s Fazerdaze, is a dream-pop record with both of its feet on the ground.

You’ll need a breather or two, for sure, but that’s the nature of great horror, regardless of what supernatural forces you choose to worship.

This album is a love letter, written in elegant cursive (and blood, obvs), for anyone and everyone that holds the underground to their heart.

Music is cathartic for Girlpool, allowing them to share their honest expressions while simultaneously allowing the listener to impose their own perceptions. This is a delicate balancing act that takes most artists years to master, but Tucker and Tividad provide enough give and take to make the overall experience one of constant intrigue.

In trying to be all things to all fans, all critics, all expectations, all click-bait corners, Harry Styles has failed to make a defining statement.

Ultimately, Oxbow's seventh full-length is an incredible, cinematic experience which is at once rewarding and terrifying.

The album will appeal to new fans, but for anyone that has followed Nite Jewel’s creative ascendance over the years, Real High will stand out as the artistic apex of what she has attempted to create during her short but eventful career. The overwhelming impression is that of authority; an artist at one with herself and her vision.

Lyrically, it's a broad, emotionally-led investigation into 'the state of things'. By no means, however, is it bogged down by the precise or the singular or the definitive. Within its lyrical muddlings, we might be able to tease of a forecast of things to come, or it might just be fooling us with a potent swirling of punchy psychedelic rock.

Ultimately, this is the best thing Dulli has put his name to since Blackberry Belle.

Three of the songs are between seven and ten minutes long and make for laboured listens and sadly, the lack of song variety doesn’t really fit in a volume that’s meant to reflect lightness.

Creating a 19-track album out of Black Lips’ brand of messy psychedelic punk was always going to be a huge ask. And they have nearly pulled it off.

With such a range of musical stylings on one record, No Shape occasionally sounds more like a collection of songs than a unified album, at times this can be a bit stifling to the listener. ... But these are minor flaws in a record with many a moment of gorgeousness.

Halo cements itself into yr ears. This is logic in motion, and it’s dead beautiful to watch every piece of these puzzles fall into place.

This Old Dog is the sound of an artist on top of his game. An artist shedding every inch of wackiness from his bone and sounding all the better for it.

What Pollinator does confirm is that there’s plenty left in the tank from Harry and Stein; next time, they might better realise that surrounding yourself with bright young things can often be the same as surrounding yourselves with your fans--and that they might well try too hard to please you.

Each song tells its own story so intensely and so completely, like 11 musical horror novellas, that listening to any of them individually produces an experience more like that of listening to a shortish, intense, masterpiece-like album, especially as the songs often have a few different musical sections and ideas.

A majestic return that doesn't just fill in the gaps, but points unflinchingly towards future horizons.