Sure, some songs are better than others, but Ego Trip’s a rare thing: a 14-track album that features not a single duffer.

The confidence with which these 10 tracks are delivered is proof this is just the beginning. There’s some growing up to be done, but right now, The Linda Lindas are revelling in the joys of youth, and it sounds great.

John Frusciante’s performance is effective and restrained, and drummer Chad Smith shines when he’s let loose, notably on These Are The Ways. There are, however, way too many tracks that miss their marks, trying to supplant the old energy with wisdom; the magik with maturity.

The one thing holding Diaspora Problems back, save for its disappointing lack of hooks, is that it doesn’t exploit its strengths as fully as it might.

It really is impossible to pick fault with the record, every track playing its part, and further cementing their legend.

After that opener sets the tone with its intentionally sloppy orchestral dramatics, the frenzied Totally Fine bursts out of the gate with the kind of paranoid urgency that’s defined the band’s 12 years of their existence.

All of this is very good. Even better for the fact that, even though it ties to the movie, it doesn't have much reason to exist beyond the sake of doing it. It's wild, off the cuff, youthful, over-excited, exactly how this stuff is meant to make you feel.

While this record isn’t going to lure rock purists out of their dens, it has greater ambitions in mind, and the amount it achieves in the space that it does is staggering. For any artist of any genre, this is the textbook for innovation.

Machine Gun Kelly’s detractors will likely have you believe Mainstream Sellout is terrible. It isn’t, but nor is the fire burning as bright as it once was. There’s some fun to be had here, but ultimately, this is the weakest record of MGK’s rock era so far.

Deficiencies are rare. When Never Let Me Go calls time on its 13 songs with the exquisitely constructed Fix Yourself, it does so in a manner befitting an album that is overwhelmingly a success.

It’s music for the loveliest of golden summer evenings, but has a greater depth to it that reveals itself with more and more listens, as if it’s coming out of its own shell. And when it does, it’s nothing but wonderful.

Conceptually and musically, it’s a startlingly ambitious piece of work from a truly iconoclastic band. Their volatile negativity should, by rights, lead to an alienating experience, but instead Vein.fm summon a catharsis which feels timely and invigorating.

Cult Of Luna’s evolution shows no signs of slowing down. The Long Road North is another welcome addition on their quest to push sonic boundaries and is one of their hardest hitting releases yet.

In all the ways that matter, this solidifies their status as a collective still expanding upon their legacy, rather than resting on it.

Drug Church are as addictively seductive as ever and listening to Hygiene might just be one of the most satisfying things you can do in less than half an hour.

An album that cannot and will not stand still, or be quiet, or remain one thing for very long. In a world where many cushion themselves from ills with complacency, it’s good to have a record that’s ready to shake (and shit) people up.

Impera is among Ghost’s very best and sure to push them even closer to those heavenly heights.

There’s all manner of the energetic offerings you’re yearning for here. But there are the slower soul-bearers too, in the same vein as the classic I’m With You, such as Avalanche, which will appeal to fans of what Olivia Rodrigo is doing.

There are no crashing power chords, OTT theatrics or questionable haircuts to worry about on All The Truth That I Can Tell. Just an open-hearted, increasingly middle-aged man, his acoustic guitar, and the same brand of chest-swelling songwriting many of us have known since we were young.

Blood Incantation have definitely achieved what they set out to accomplish and it’s by no means executed poorly, it’s just lacking the instantaneous spark that their previous two releases encompassed.

Wild Loneliness is the fourth and best album Superchunk have recorded since returning to active service in 2010, and even stacks up next to classics from earlier in their career such as Here’s Where The Strings Come In or No Pocky For Kitty.

Ultimately, though, Krüller is best experienced not in its individual segments but as an overwhelming whole. The meld of muscle and mechanisation still demands that listeners hand themselves over entirely. So stay plugged in through the epic title-track’s spiral down into an inevitable acid ending and you’ll be haunted by the ghosts in this machine.

Synchro Anarchy is a triumph for both Voivod and progressive thrash. Not only is the quartet’s ability to remain so adventurous, skilful and consistent utterly remarkable (considering how long they’ve been at it), but they continue to showcase how perfectly such seemingly disparate styles can be merged.

FTHC is likely to hit hardest with those who have grown with Frank, witnessing his evolution and the ways in which it’s helped chronicle their own. That’s not to say there’s not much to enjoy for new fans, though, who will no doubt find an empathetic ally in a man whose honesty and anger and heart continue to inspire.

This is a record that plays like Eddie’s soul is plugged directly into a jukebox skipping through different eras of music history.

From the moment six-and-a-half-minute opener Almost Always shimmers into existence, it is a record that mesmerises without compromise, and which could not have come from anyone else.

Musically, Requiem is heavy but not stodgy, fresh but familiar, and accessible without ever feeling forced. Its wisest creative decision, though, is keeping things lean and mean. At just nine tracks, there are few moments that feel anything less than essential.

The end result is hardly jam-packed with jump scares, but there are more than enough surprises here to keep you wondering what the hell might be coming next.