Processing pain does not mean wallowing in it, of course. The only way out is through. Ultimately, The Bad Fire feels like an acknowledgement of that, burning out neither in scalding catharsis nor cold resignation, but the radiant glow of a future still unwritten.

They’ve done something even more audacious than dropping a track with an off-the-scale number of C-words in it. They’ve dropped an album of the year contender just 10 days into 2025. Big power move, that.

It’s not an easy listen, in both an emotional and sonic sense. But, as an individual experience, it’s hard to ignore the boldness with which Hayden realises her vision, and the terrifying impact that such unfiltered, uncomfortable ambience can hold.

An album which initially goes in hard on horrorcore lyrics, before broadening out into social reportage and geo-political comment. Along the way, there are guests galore and one piece quite unlike anything else the band have put their name to.

Opeth have broken new ground, entered fresh realms both oppressive and melodic – but their rapier-like determination to be different may be too much for some.

As scattered as it can be, its hit rate remains high and it’s never content to just coast.

Sure, not every song is something to write home about, and not everyone is going to be on board with a new singer, but as a piece of work, it’s a clear reminder of why Linkin Park reached the heights they did and continue to influence multiple generations of artists. Welcome back.

Anguished and uncomfortable as it may be, Chip King and Lee Buford have constructed a brutalist masterpiece, here.

Evergreen is a reminder of what an effective, emotive songwriter she can be.

It perhaps didn’t have to be so lengthy, especially when it’s made dense by a surplus of delicate ballads that sound just a tad too similar. However, its concept, eloquence and even just its sheer emotional weight all serve to make this record special nonetheless, both for its quality and as a document of Halsey’s survival.

It’s an addictive yet antagonising listen.

Added together, it makes for an instantly irresistible album that – just like its opening line – is frank, fearless, funny and fucking fantastic.

It’s an altogether more oppressive album than Brighten, and therefore something that Alice In Chains fans are going to want in their lives. That said, I Want Blood still knows when to pause for breath.

PRUDE is an album whose life-affirming spirit is unrelenting throughout its 10 tracks, which fly by in sub-30-minute blast of punk fury. Whether you’re on the lookout for heart-on-sleeve punk, hectic hardcore mayhem or just some pure sonic fun, Drug Church’s latest offering is a real must-hear.

There are a couple of marvellous moments – namely the shapeshifting Mezzanine and the agonising regret of Finalist – but often Spiral In A Straight Line settles into itself too much.

True, it’s also an often familiar-sounding form – that same chord progression at varying speeds, faster than Bad Religion, slower than NOFX – but they also sound like themselves again.

Bleak as all hell, then, yet somehow this uncompromising music seems so in tune with the times that Chat Pile could genuinely be on the cusp of a major breakthrough. Don’t miss out.

No Obligation documents the result of resilience and hard work, and makes for a listen that’s enjoyable regardless of musical preference or taste.

Sløtface’s third album leaves the feeling of a musical outfit undergoing a bit of a rebirth, but one that’s brimming with promise. Don’t bet against Haley making this new incarnation of Sløtface even better as they continue to find their sound.

The greatest achievement is how easy to swallow this all is. The shifts between chonky riffs and mellower, jazzy polyrhythms and gorgeous David Gilmour-ish guitar solos are so smooth as to be in some way unnoticeable as they happen.

It's a record as sweet as 20 pumpkin spice lattes, with Gravity ('She keeps pulling me like gravity, everywhere she goes') and Perfume ('I wanna make you my girl / I wanna make you my world') sticking out as notable offenders, while the equally syrupy Kiss Me Again is also a little boilerplate. That said, it’s all rather endearing, especially for those who relate enough to the sentiment to be swept up by it.

It’s not, in fact, an exaggeration to say that there are moments on this album that almost replicate the visceral intensity of vomiting. Partly that’s due to Michael’s guttural growls, a voice that rattles and chokes on itself as it exits his mouth. Around it, though, is a brutally cacophonous swirl of sound that, especially on the title-track, is harrowing and – oddly, paradoxically, confusingly – comforting.

The Essex star’s already demonstrated that she’s adept at crafting a banger that plays in your brain on loop for hours, but she’s somehow improved the recipe of whatever secret sauce goes in these songs.

At it’s core, it’s an endearing celebration of friendship and life’s small joys. Contrary to Dune Rats’ self-deprecating quip, this record doesn’t suck at all, but turn it up anyway.

A record that contains a number of inspiring moments, but, on the whole, Another Day doesn't quite assert itself in the context of their back catalogue.

This time out, there is greater maturity in every note. Bea’s trademark indie-folk stylings haven’t been left behind. If anything, they eclipse her grungier tendencies this time out. But on songs like the outstanding Ever Seen and Tie My Shoes there’s less lo-fi fragility and more a strident, sunbeaten warmth akin to peak Phoebe Bridgers or even latter-day Tay Tay herself.

Those who are only after heavy guitars in their music won’t be completely satisfied. .... But this stunning, expansive collection of songs delivers exactly what this torrid world needs: a simultaneous celebration and indictment that will stand the test of time for decades to come.

Confidently delivered and teeming with ideas, it flies by as much because of its urgency as its cohesion.