Epoch is perhaps a little overly fluffy at times, but plenty of sunshine pokes through the clouds.

It's an all-encompassing experience ideal for Mixmag readers seeking transportation to a Balearic state of bliss.

Take a cult Bristolian label and add an African influence from Italian musician Clap! Clap!, and we might just have the best fusion record to kick of 2017 so far.

An album of outstanding pop, shuddering dance-rock and intricate electronic moods.

This is Matmos doing what they do best: taking a strange idea for a wild digital ride until it turns into something completely magical.

This is some of Willner’s most enriching and captivating work yet.

By going back to the first principles of house he's built something very new and very wonderful.

Strangely fascinating.

Even when the groove lessens, doubters are liable to be persuaded by their innate knack for epic choruses.

The results, all shimmering synths and echo effects noodle along on 4/4, often for the best part of seven minutes, and we can't help but feel that some of this has been done before.

Producer Nigel Godrich has made of this a modern masterclass--and one that sets the bar for collaborations extremely high.

It arguably only packs one real standout track, but Cellar Door is still a refined and fluid long-player.

Like his pioneering UK heroes, this hour-long LP works best lost in the moment with your ears nestled between a pair of good speakers and your head in the clouds.

A haunting memorial.

With everything lathered in exquisite, 90s-sounding euphoria, the duo prove to be irresistible, once again.

Belief System is not only Special Request’s most definitive piece of work, but it will also, probably, prove to be Paul Woolford’s magnum opus.

A welcome 40-minute excursion indeed.

Their post-rock roots are still detectable on New Spirit, but there’s a dark-hearted dance aesthetic filtering through it.

Who Are You? shuttles between Honolulu and Jamaica as he splices lap steel guitar and rim shots, before spinning off into Chris Brann-style deep house on ‘Endless Sundays’. Things get even more somnambulant on the dubby ‘Gravity Waves’, which threatens to keel over at any minute.

‘Recursion’ sprawls across its six minutes like modern-day Bach, while ‘Prism Pt 1’ is loping analogue house that jerks and pivots to an idiosyncratic tempo.

There are only nine tracks in all, with pieces such as the mesmerising ‘Boids’ and the blissful ‘Glider’ less focused on the floor. It ensures you never feel like the same tricks are being repeated, and the power of those mellifluous voices never wanes. [Jun 2018, p.114]

It makes for a tumultuous trip that has all the highs and lows of a real relationship, and one that sounds as good alone, on headphones, as it will in the club.

Where ‘Coastal Grooves’ felt like an indie kid playing at being an r’n’b superstar, here the metamorphosis seems complete.

Comparisons to Moodymann, Dilla and Theo Parrish have been forthcoming, but Davis Jr's vista spreads wider.

With only six new songs (and just seven tracks in total), it could have been a longer trip.

Once you delve in you’re taken on a guided tour through the duo’s illustrious back catalogue in a quite majestic way.

The most exciting thing about Comfort is the sense that this is an artist who has only scratched the surface of her talent.

The dark, incendiary electronica of Mr Dynamite harking back to the anything-goes post-punk aesthetic of the late 70s. The work of Benge, Tuung’s Phil Winter, Cabaret Voltaire frontman Stephen Mallinder and everyone’s favourite mellifluous alt-crooner, John Grant, they ensure the record never stands still.

Although some of the arrangements and electronic embellishments are lavish, there are few obvious peaks and troughs apart from the epic throb of ‘Thea’.

It’s an accomplished record.

It takes us back to the late 00s, when the likes of Martyn, Sepalcure and Joy Orbison were bringing lushness and melody to (post) dubstep--and that’s no bad place to be at all.

It does nothing new--its tone barely changes over the single 54-minute piece--yet it makes you feel really, really good. Always perverse, Eno achieves the most when he does the least.

Strings also form the structure of ‘Fuel The Fire’, one of the album’s standouts. And then there’s the ominous ‘Paradise’, which places light and darkness side by side in a tremendous exercise of juxtaposition. That same balance is present through the album and, combined with Illum’s knack for making everything sound so exquisite, makes it a superb little record.

It’s not perfect--a couple of tracks slightly overdo the asthmatic-sounding compression--but mainly it’s a really impressively consistent and well-structured listen, and definitely worth the wait.

The best tracks are ‘In Paris’, a song which Lady Gaga would be proud of; the disco-tinged ‘Other Guys’, a brilliant coming together of her voice and former Ima Robot member Tim Anderson’s production; and the brooding ‘By Your Side’, which wouldn’t sound out of place on the new London Grammar album.

While the bold brush strokes of Personality may alienate some hardened purists, it may just turn out to be the defining release of Scuba's career.

What you get here is more of the same star-crossed rave-pop.

The result is skull-crushing, claustrophobic and wonderful.

As cute and quirky as the band themselves, this is instantly up there with LNT mixes from Air and Lindstrøm.

It's an LP as heart-warming and engaging as the story behind it.

Easy listening it isn’t, but from the barest of palettes, Kowton has built something with personality and raw power.

Too often--as on ‘The Last Of Goodbyes’, with its limp rap and doleful Burialisms--it sounds like Moby pastiching his old self. On the flip side, ‘Welcome To Hard Times’, a sunny Balearic soul shuffle, is lovely, and the ghostly piano haunting ‘The Tired And The Hurt’ contains the muscle memory of his masterpiece ‘Porcelain’, but they’re isolated sparkles.

Impassioned rather than impatient and delicate where others opt for too-sweet delicacies, If You Wait is going all the way.

It’s a gorgeous record, from start to finish.

A heavy bass throb infects ‘Retour au Champs de Mars’, beating out a slow, muted rhythm like a submarine engine, while the pair channel labelmate Nils Frahm with the emotive strings, piano and frazzled electronica of ‘Comme on a Dit’.

It’s a twilight dream of a record that’s uncompromisingly odd but absolutely direct, and addictive from first listen. The Invisible have made the album of the summer.

It’s compulsive and hypnotic.

Maier’s urbane persona is as funny, funky and disquieting as ever, and this album is a righteously fresh addition to their catalogue.

It’s frequently funky and witty, the production and melodies burn themselves onto your memory, and while occasionally it’s more impressive than lovable, you can’t argue with its clarity of vision.

There’s nothing new here, but you know what? That’s more than fine.

The momentum does slacken, though, and the album doesn’t feel particularly structured. Still, songs such as the fierce ‘Scum’ and the stately ‘No More’ are worthy additions to the band’s catalogue, and have far more grit and vividness than you’d expect from any band 37 years into their career.

This new album works hard to add several new jams to his inimitable canon.

The whole thing feels vast, a lunar soundscape ripe for exploration.

As with anything this ambitious, it occasionally over-reaches itself--but the highlights are magical, and should see Moderat reach ever bigger audiences.

Little Red’s desire to tread new ground is admirable and, in principle, the idea of Katy going head-to-head with US r’n’b singers is great, but the quality is simply not as dynamic, hook-laden or convincing as the first five songs.

The emotional impact is concentrated in each and every tune, and the whole album manages to achieve a genuinely epic scope in under 40 minutes. [Apr 2018, p.92]

It's the instrumentals that impress the most.

Heartfelt lullabies backed by rich instrumentation make for a promising enough first half that leads to the dour title track. From here, razor-blade distortion, crashing cymbals and mournful torment combine to create a tough listen, before respite eventually comes in the form of an exhausted outro.

Nobody else sounds like them right now.

Wiley's finally made the album that his talent warrants.

Big and bold with smart production touches and melodies to match, this is an album destined for stadiums.

Swapping sixth form studies for her real passion of singing, writing and producing music, the 19-year-old’s mature debut is an autobiographical “art project”.

Bundick says the LP was born out of a growing discomfort with fame. If so, he masks it well--listening to its gorgeous, woozy pop is like lying in a Radox bath.

They’re solid tracks though few approach his greatest moments.

It's on the 'Disco Queen' side that Thorn's voice really shines through, with both Geist's mix of 'Why Does The Wind' and Escort's extended remix of 'It's All True' being as good as anything Todd Terry did to EBTG back in the 90s.

It’s an album that’s a handy reminder of how inseparable weirdo experimentalism is from the badass mainstream in hip hop.

Turbines has them sounding more like a band and less like a studio project, but around their psychedelic boy-girl harmonies, circling guitar lines and insidiously weird lyrics, there are still plenty of analogue gurgles and swoops and strange, dubwise production finesse

It’s an ethereal experience from start to finish, Machinedrum eschewing his love of UK funky, future garage, r’n’b, footwork and other low-end strains in order to concentrate on lush, rhythmic, utterly transportive productions.

Sometimes the album’s pacing drifts a little, but that’s a price worth paying for being taken to such mysterious places.

Sure, it might be the same old names working within the confines of their signature sounds, but Total 15 presents Kompakt's current roster in vintage form.

Millennial inertia is a target--see ‘It’s All Good’ and ‘Nobody Cares’--but their bite is balanced with blear and bounce in equal measure.

Fixers--a new five-piece experimental pop act from Oxford--have what it takes to enter the fray.

These 12 pieces of crackling, thrumming electro, dub, techno and other less-definable rhythms are held together by a certain warmth, a love of the crisp sounds that make them up, and by adherence to the groove. [Apr 2018, p.92]

The finest moment is ‘Fantasie Mädchen’, a manic banger on which Gudrun Gut provides borderline psychotic vocals.

There are echoes of recognisable genres here, but the overwhelming sense is of a burned-out mind, muttering freaky things to itself, as sounds fizzle and char around it. Yet somehow, as the rhythms chatter, vocoders sing hymns to deviant gods and the synths melt, it sounds like something you want to get involved with.

It’s not always entirely straightforward listening, but when it comes together--like on the military march-meets-indie/techno schaffel of ‘Selling The Shadow’--it’s a timely reminder of Weatherall’s knack for putting smiles on faces

It’s reminiscent of that doyenne of experimental electronica, Laurie Anderson--and that’s a heck of a compliment.

The tracks without vocal turns are left feeling slightly lacking, but the killer outweighs the filler.

Greene has spoken of striving to create a paracosm himself with his lyrics, although his stoned drawl often renders them indecipherable. Still, they add to the sunlit, woozy, mysterious world that Washed Out has built.

Despite falling short of its higher-octane predecessor, this difficult second album isn’t without its moments.

Providence is a jittery robot trip-out, but it’s full of juicy strangeness that will find favour with both fans of both techno and oddball electronica.

Tender, beautifully melancholy urban electronica.

An album based on the carillon, a peal of bells played using a keyboard similar to a church organ, fused with gentle synth phrases, motorik rhythms.

Is it a fun, well-selected mix to throw on at a party and dance to? Yes. And, sometimes, that's enough.

There’s enough in the graceful deep techno and misty synths of ‘Far Away From A Distance’ and the subtly jacking ‘Flying Or Falling’ to satisfy both head and feet.

Tracks on The Triad are often busier, denser and more wild than their predecessor. Gone are the carefully layered compositions and _sparse wintry landscapes and arrived have more free flowing jams.

An LP of grown-up electronica that--like John Grant's 'Pale Green Ghosts'--boasts song-writing with serious crossover potential.

A pretty heady blend of neo-soul, funk, jazz, boom bap and house, but overall things veer a little too close to the vanilla here. [Apr 2018, p.91]

Viewed as a showcase of reinvention The Feast Of The Broken Heart is a success. Judged as a cohesive album, it’s far tighter than their previous long-player and repeat listens do indeed find new, exciting depths and melodies at play.

AlunaGeorge could well be challenging old touring partners Disclosure for pop crossover supremacy this summer.

On some songs it feels like it’s still an experiment in progress--it’ll be fascinating to see how they evolve on the live stage and in remixes--but just as often, Orton is absolutely on top of her game.

At times the LP’s nostalgic outlook can be all-consuming, The likes of ‘Memory’ and ‘Vacuume’ do lighten the tone, but it would have been nice to see Haley also tackle darker timbres more often, as he does on ‘Syrthio’ and the title track.

Occasionally it's awkward, but for the most part it shows there's still plenty of life in the old Head yet. [Apr 2018, p.91]

Dillon's rustling electronics plink, twitch and occasionally spin out, set apart by a cutesy vocal style and eccentric lyrics that sound a bit like a baby-voiced Kate Bush.

It's kind of unexpected, but Brackles has created a sunny storm.

Thanks to the string 'n' bass-fuelled opener 'Hood Wink', the Lykke Li-ish 'Don't Go' and the super-slow marriage of synths 'n' rave on the title track, these '...Gardens' continually bear fruit.

All in all, an impressive album.

The man who won a BAFTA for his soundtrack to Broadchurch stitches his own sombre and beatless exclusives into rainy, greyscale pop, intimate ambient and frosty bass like it ain’t no thing beautiful.