At times it relies too heavily on retro stylings, with a resulting sometimes rather one-dimensional sheen, meaning that the more serious messages the band are expressing can get lost in the mix. But as far as ’70s tailored rousing rock in 2017 goes, Sheer Mag’s work is best in class.

His voice sounds better than ever, and while nothing here recaptures the glory years of The Verve, his songs are more focused than ever before.

For anyone that even slightly misses the decade that saw Britpop bands pop up left, right and centre you could do a lot worse for your health than take in some Superfood.

It’s an intriguing mixture of pure punk, post punk, and first-wave emo--think Fugazi or Rites Of Spring--though the moments of deliberate discordance are as frequent as the buried melodic gems.

Quite what has held back the milieu of meandering morons that make up the music scenes mid range, mid class, middlemen is probably this intelligent and creative leap; crossing genres and keeping your opus open and fresh.

Maybe not an essential purchase, but if you're already counting the days down until the official third album The Crying Light is released in January, this should more than satisfy you.

The lovelorn subject matter is at times overbearing, but nevertheless Homesick is a decent listen from start to finish and its consistency is impressive.

The two records are essentially similar in their mood and effect, and the snag with this album is that it follows the formula set by its predecessor uncomfortably closely.

This is a creditable follow-up from a band re-establishing and confirming their status as one of UK music's more enjoyable and innovative bunch of eccentrics.

It’s encouraging to find Kid Koala beginning to push the envelope and explore new territory, and these transmissions from the satellite heart are a fine starting point for future adventures.

It’s a honey-coated gem of funk-infused pop, and when it shines, it’s a disco ball, a ’70s disco full of glorious hooks, where Gikling and Santos’ vocals balance one another in the most beautiful way.

As it turns out, music of surprising intricacy and beauty lies within these canvases, but you'd be well advised to consult your musical doctor before opening up fully to them.

There are certainly moments that feel like filler, but there’s much to like about Ghost Outfit. I Want You To Destroy Me is not life-changing or revelatory but it is a solid offering and occasionally provides the odd knockout blow of a song.

This record can sound slightly off-putting at times, but that's what makes it so compelling.

Poemss is very much a new venture for its makers that has precious little, if any, resemblance to their previous work. Instead, it’s something of a musical reinvention, and the possible beginning of a very fruitful partnership.

All this adds up to a qualified success, but it will certainly split opinion among his fans.

All in, this is a welcome return.

This is an album to be enjoyed whilst snuggled up in the arms of the love of your life.

Like fine steak, Born Villain is at its best raw and bloody.

The melodic writing is good but not always as memorable as Daft Punk’s pop sensibilities would suggest. Yet there is much here to enjoy, and to suggest the next chapter in Thomas Bangalter’s career will see him flourish as an orchestral composer.

Whilst this emotional look back [fourth track Sandlot] might suggest they’ve got one foot in the grave, there’s plenty of fight left yet. In the past, this would have taken the form of furious punk, but this time around the Dropkicks have expanded their sound out into something far grander than anything they’ve attempted before.

Deploying ominous cinematic pacing and diaphanous harmonics, the transient Kaminari effectively incorporates an illustrative quality reminiscent of Cocteau Twins‘ Liz Frazer, before the Montreal musicians revert back into classic rockabilly mode and on the voyeuristic shuffle of Sarabande, they fixate on the more gonzo hallucinatory aspects of tropicalia and Turkish psych rock.

Not all their ventures are successful, but with a final play on words it’s more Power to Editors’ elbows, for once EBM takes a firm grip on its listener it does not let them go.

Me Moan is a flawed work, but even those who decide it’s not for them are likely to concede that no one else quite sounds like Gibson right now. With genuine originality at a premium these days, that’s to be wholeheartedly applauded.

A Coliseum Complex Museum, despite sporting yet another bonkers title, is a top effort that bolsters their burgeoning reputation, even if it doesn’t quite reach the highs of their very best.

It's tempting to deride the album as too similar at times, but the truth is that each of these songs is a perfectly sculpted and realised work of wonder revolving around a couple of central themes, which appears to be based primarily in the sounds of the Orient and the South American rainforest.

Overdriven, overblown and utterly exciting, it might be nothing new, but it’s a thunderous reminder as to why rock is so enduring.

It’s a record that follows in the footsteps of its predecessor, offering up melodic psyche-pop numbers in which walls of sound are daubed with deceptively dark lyrics.