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.