Fans of Haxan Cloak's loud/quiet drama and Rabit's fearless extremes will want to crack open yet another great Tri Angle long player, which is intense at times ('Mass') and brooding at others ('High Places').

Written in her producer’s garden shed rather than the confines of a studio, Laura Mvula sounds confident and free throughout her second album.

Here, they sound comfortable as a band rather than an electronic duo who use guitars, with off-kilter songs that nod towards Joy Division and My Bloody Valentine and are full of fizzing synths and weeping accordions confirming their status as one of alternative pop’s finest acts.

Their fourth mix offers a vivid explanation of their enduring popularity.

It veers between intimate and expansive: the chugging rhythms replicate the hum of America’s love affair with the automobile, while majestic, sweeping strings evoke its grand, widescreen vistas. [Jun 2018, p.112]

‘The Kid’ feels organic and human; you can hear it in ‘Who I Am Why I Am Where I Am’, where repetitive Steve Reich-style phrases are layered like filo pastry. Like much of this beautiful record, its hypnotic intensity is immensely comforting.

It’s intense, ambitious and, in places, uneasy listening, but at the core of Overgrown lies unalloyed beauty.

He throws minute snippets of deep soul, techno, funk, liquid acid, Kraftwerk, Eurythmics, cosmic jazz and more into his blender, chops them into freaky, twitchy rhythms and underpins them with monumental bass--and it is amazing.

This is a hot, sweaty but very beautiful dream of a record.

Gently fizzing electronica meets grand structures and intimate explorations of instruments, and the results are both strange and deeply, instantly enjoyable. With the bar already set very high, he may just have produced his best record yet.

Too many cuts are lost in the middle. [Jun 2018, p.115]

This is the sort of LP you play from start to finish while on a car journey in the sun on the way to a festival: it’ll gift you with positive feelings through its infinite groove.

It’s as beguiling and bewitching as you’d expect.

Bratten's sound is somewhere in-between classic Trentemøller and BOC's campfire melodies. By your third listen, you'll be hooked.

Each track takes you to some very unexpected places. In the process, each delivers feelings much more potent than a lot of the supposedly “emotional” dancefloor music currently flooding the market at the moment.

He's gone several steps further away from standard dance structure and into abstraction and ambience here – and it's all the better for it.

An album that perfectly epitomises the new wave of house music--and may even be its peak.

When Nils Frahm curates a Late Night Tales installment, expectations are high. Does he deliver? Of course he does.

The Inheritors is an extraordinary, unique record from one of electronic music’s most vivid minds.

On the whole, Cold Spring Fault Less Youth is a cerebral and arresting follow-up forged in harmonious invention.

The aural familiarity of tracks such as ‘Anyware’, with its warp-speed cellphone melodies, imbibes Motion Graphics with warmth and, above all, joy.

From where we’re standing, this is the debut album of the year.

It’s absolutely breathtaking in its audacity and intergalactic ambition, and even breathtakingly beautiful in places. But... it’s bloody tiring too.

Undulating melodies, exquisite sparkling detail and a sense of vast space all add up to a blissful listening experience.

On 'Franks Kaktus' they squeal and screech against skirls of powerful blues strumming and thumping congas; things calm down on 'Flickor Och Pojkar' ('boys and girls' in Swedish), whose vibes and languid bass recall classic Air.

With total belief in their worth, they re-introduce stylings seldom seen on contemporary dance albums, where mood and atmosphere too often trump melody and songcraft.

With a new band alongside him, he fills The Animal Spirits with haunting brain-melters that fuse modular synths, jazzy musicianship and trance-like rhythms.

A comforting throb fills the album, an electronic heartbeat that soundtracks the swirling, arpeggiated ambience of Hippies, or the trippy acid-techno of 'Stop' with its spitting hi-hats and skirls of cathedral organ.