With simple rhyme schemes, by no means is Chance an incredible rapper, but he is true to his artistry, the person he's growing into and is becoming a force in the new age rap realm.

The abrasive noise gradually builds, the rhythms intensify, only to smoothly slip apart at the end, leaving us with an open ending that is delightful and disturbing all at once.

The album's winning touches come from Bruner's soulful vocal melodies. They're a calming element tying each of the record's varied creative efforts together beautifully.

If the self-titled debut was the unobtrusive introduction, Avalanche represents the showy breakthrough the duo have been angling for.

It's the fact that Disclosure make bookish, aurally factual electronica sound so carefree that makes Settle such an artistic success.

Desire Lines refurbishes '50s pop, turning it into modern classics filled with unabashedly lovely melodies, just the way Camera Obscura want it, and just what we've come to expect, and love, about them.

At just an hour in length, Immunity savours every moment, pulling on your heartstrings, lifting you off your feet and inviting you right back for more.

Lesser Evil proves that Doldrums can roam without fear of getting lost.

There are some missteps along the way, namely the plodding electronic misadventure “Time Cloud”, but Bleeker still manages to pack a nifty little story arc within How Far Away’s 10 short tracks.

A brooding, groovy, muscular album, The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here is a more mature and thoughtful application of Alice In Chains' undeniably powerful aesthetic.

This is a forward-looking release by a group still searching for reverence.

Rich and vibrant musically while raw and emotive lyrically, Ultraviolet is Kylesa's highest achievement to date.

It's a very welcoming album that will please Pastels fans, and hopefully find some new ones.

Innocence is Kinky is by turns surreal and hyper-real, a Lynch-ian underworld of avant-pop, alt-lit poetry and potent sexuality.

While Howl falls squarely into a no man's land between soul and pop, Brooks's smooth style ultimately proves refreshing.

On False Idols, Tricky steps forward with a renewed confidence, proving himself equal parts mentor and maestro.

Obsidian is a gorgeous suite of electronic pop songs that will draw you in and stay with you for days on end, and somehow it sounds like Baths more than Cerulean ever did.

Nothing is off the table, influences are blended and bounced off each other, and it's this tension between elements that makes this a very special record.

The album starts out blazing with Fogerty and the Foo Fighters doing "Fortunate Son," and that pace is largely maintained all the way through to a rousing "Proud Mary," with Jennifer Hudson, which manages to simultaneously pay tribute to the Ike & Tina version and the song's original New Orleans inspiration.

While her peers may be filling arenas with banjo anthems, Marling has long freed herself from that particular pigeonhole and presents another collection of songs that showcases her astounding talent.

It's a dynamic album, one so vibrant that listeners can easily envision themselves at the Barbican witnessing all the musicians mesh in the creation of something grand.

For those under the impression Hooded Fang subscribe to a right-note-right-time, throwaway pop formula, Gravez offers something meatier to chew on.

This is music made for dancers (and highly dextrous ones at that).

The interludes and instrumentals only serve to interrupt the flow of the record, and it becomes clear the album is a bit of a mixed bag.

For as often as Impersonator threatens to dishearten, it's anchored by an equal and opposite force: a humanity so earthbound and maternal that it washes away your petty sorrows in a birdbath of optimism.

Thomas is still a little too fond of playing around with distortion on the vocals though, almost like a call-back to his really lo-fi days, and it sounds more out of place than ever.

Fertile Crescent sees Homeboy Sandman adding another project to his growing library, and it's one worth repeated spins.

The Last Spire, their tenth and last release, combines all that the legends do well: snail-paced doom, upbeat Sabbath stoner rock and craggly sludge.

This minimal format emphasizes Hungtai's talent for setting a skin-crawling mood.

Trouble Will Find Me burns slowly, but melds together more seamlessly with each listen.

Steffi's transitions on Panorama Bar 05 sound smooth enough that they turn a mix listener's typical consideration of song blends towards the complementary selection of plunging machine sounds, naturalized in Panorama Bar 05 upon the steps of an ascendant, emotive trajectory.

It contains more successful experiments than usual, and a few moments of genuine splendour.

Vår exhibit an ambition to spiral as far as possible down into some dark abyss while maintaining a constant impression of strange beauty.

There's a striking sense of command and confidence evident on this EP.

The fascinating thing about this compilation is the range of influences the producers incorporate into their work.

Even if you appreciate Havoc's reliability, you'll miss Prodigy's unpredictable diction.

Fandango tries to revel in its excess and overreaches far too often to be considered a success.

There are songs here that could quite easily become part of anyone's perfect summer soundtrack, which was likely Kisses' plan all along.

The Way Things Fall remains a sometimes flawed, sometimes inspired, inadvertent return to form.

This is the album on which Daft Punk are truly and convincingly "human after all." And on this toweringly grand achievement, they've never sounded better.

It's a solid album from Mvula, but "beguiling potential" only begins to describe the musical authority this debut merely alludes to.

With Crawling Up the Stairs, the masks are off for the world to hear.

The addition of synths and steady, solid backbeats, mixed in with the natural and live elements Silver Wilkinson rides on, gives the album tangibility worth grasping.

The only trouble is that nearly every track captures the same sense of John Hughes-worthy nostalgia, with no cut standing out above the rest.

With Cloud Room, Glass Room, Pan American's original recipe feels slightly new–and-improved.

While cathartic moments of release abound, for the most part, Rostam Batmanglij and co-producer Ariel Reichstadt opt for understated beauty.

On The Ways We Separate, Beacon manage to craft one of the most compelling and authentic-sounding albums of the year, and all it took was the courage to cool it with the R&B part.

You can tell he genuinely attempted to deliver a well-rounded record. However, there's not enough innovation to interest casual fans in the project.

Though initially intimidating, 13 Degrees Of Reality's murky, dub-inspired sound and paranoid aura get under the skin after repeated listens.

Head in the Dirt definitely bears all the hallmarks of an Auerbach production--fuzz, funk and stadium-ready choruses--and often it's difficult to tell whether El Khatib is merely serving as Auerbach's stand-in. But the catchiness of his songwriting ultimately wins the day.

If it can be said that Griffin has been toiling in the shadow of Emmylou Harris, then American Kid is the long-overdue moment that puts the full range of her talent on display.

It's evident that the two were having a good time recording Hokey Fright, and though the album isn't always successful, it's encouraging to see creative individuals ignore genre boundaries in order to bridge gaps.

His whimsically removed approach worked out quite well for Strange Pleasures.

On a surface level, these tracks form a more tempered piece of work, but multiple listens unveil layers of sound that make Weird Work the most fittingly titled album of the year.

The production is clean and the tunes, as mentioned, sweet, but this is a sugary confection that's bound to get lost in the candy store.

It's an intense, sometimes violent, occasionally beautiful rock'n'roll record that once again proves the unpredictability and reliability of Deerhunter.

The album doesn't quite match their punishing live show, but neither does it betray their purpose or message: to fiercely silence the white noise of psychosocial oppression. It is one missive they convey without ambiguity.

Excavation is a brilliant piece of work, one best enjoyed actively with a premium set of headphones, in solitude.

While the disc does eventually find its footing, the clash between clearly artistic and commercial endeavours makes for an uneven and somewhat jarring listen.

Cronin offers new experiments on MCII, but errs just enough on the side of caution to create a fantastic pop record.

He sets ideas down, leaves them to move about, interact and then finally imposes his considerable intuition for the dance floor to form a convincing sonic drama.

There's no doubt that, technically speaking, Swollen Members are better now than they've ever been, but a decade-and-a-half in, they need to find new material.

In Technicolor keeps this young duo striving to sound youthful and adventurous.

Undoubtedly this album will get a cursory listen by fans of hardcore, while gaining a special place amongst those whom embrace and follow its tenets.

A sense of glee infuses every weird noise and sludgy riff.

This brilliant light on the country's folk music scene has never sounded better.

Not enough to likely attain crossover appeal, but definitely hitting a sweet and soulful spot, Alice isn't Adele, but she doesn't aspire to be.

On THR!!!ER, !!! have finally found a happy medium between playful and goofy, epic and bloated, tongue-in-cheek and just plain chic.

To See More Light is a masterpiece that organically and coherently blends Stetson's avant-garde playing and dark, complex themes with accessible and compelling compositions that bring a ray of hope not just for the characters in his underlying narrative, but for the future of music.

Between their unflagging energy and brilliant execution, Inter Arma have produced a stellar album that will remain memorable.

The result is a stunning balancing act between ingenuity and accessibility.

The focus is the production rather than the songs, and Ultramarine is sadly missing the killer choruses required for a great pop album.

The Diplo-directed record is a somewhat sloppy mish-mash of reggae cuts that rarely attain an authentic air.

Wait to Pleasure is a marked improvement on their debut that demonstrates No Joy's capacity as sonic adventurists capitalizing on the advantages of a studio environment.

Pre-interlude, Bankrupt! is trekking along the right path; it's a futuristic journey into a foreign place for Phoenix, akin to a soundtrack for an updated Lost in Translation. But things quickly go off the rails once it spirals out of the dizzying interlude of flashing synths, losing its sense of melody and purpose.

Indicud won't work for everyone, but if you're a Cudi fan, this album finds him sounding better than he has in some time.

The classic heavy metal and surf rock elements that made their debut so appealing are intact, with some additional psychedelia and more driving, intense guitar riffs.

Although Simian Mobile Disco have the ability to give each track its own distinct personality, Live is a mere curiosity for even the most refined technocrats.

With an exceptionally dismal sound, and artwork by Anthony Lucero to match, Dragged Down a Dead End Path is set to be one of the best aggressive releases of the year.

While Ghost on Ghost is outstanding in places, it's too uneven to hold up to Beam's best work.

Most of the album feels too much like a work-in-progress.

Ghostface's usual penchant for free-associative wordplay is a bit hemmed in by the structure, but he gets plenty of help to ensure the storytelling remains compelling.

The album is ridiculously fun and surprising, in that it sounds like much older UK electronic rooted in the present. What's quite out of place though are the distinctly lagging tracks that dawdle across the album.

Sure, there are slight variations on the formula and some additional instrumentation (namely strings and harpsichord), but this is still Thee Oh Sees being the very best Thee Oh Sees they can be.

By daring to show a bit of personality, the Thermals continue to prove themselves in today's musical landscape.

Birthmarks might throw off some, maybe even lose them, but the gamble has paid off, and will undoubtedly result in producing more new fans, as well as reassuring old ones.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are back, better than ever and ready to "suck your blood."

The star power of the record's guests overshadows the album's best moments.

Rainbow Arabia attempt to pay tribute to the heyday of synth pop, but overlook the small details that could have made FM Sushi a pleasurable, Technicolor retelling. Instead, the listener is left with black-and-white new wave Cliff Notes.

Let's Face the Music and Dance displays Nelson in his natural element: a small combo playing songs as timeless as his wonderfully idiosyncratic voice.

At turns noisy, wistful and dark, The Terror is a beguiling record that's as beautiful as it is frightening.

Steve Earle doesn't make the same kind of hi-test outlaw country he used to, but The Low Highway shows that his swagger hasn't completely disappeared.

For Professional Use Only's long run time and failure to effectively sequence and transition between instrumentals for a more cohesive experience hamper its impact on the casual listener.

You Are Eternity is a remarkable accomplishment in sound design.

The songwriting is tighter, the hooks stickier and the production crisper as they twist buzzy guitar hooks and driving, rudimentary drum machine beats into seven-minute jams.