Harlow deserves credit for veering away from commercial expectations, pursuing a fresh sound, and keeping things short and sweet. But praising an artist for limiting the runtime of a relatively mediocre album is no huge compliment. ‘Monica’ is an easy listen, something jazzy and inoffensive to put on in the background.

Some contributors slip seamlessly into her world, amplifying her playful spirit, while others feel more like drive-by cameos, impressive in name but disconnected in vibe. The result is a sonic joyride through the world of dance that dazzles in flashes, even if it never quite eclipses the original.

Unfortunately, by making snapshot songs, he’s created a scattershot album. ‘Piss In The Wind’ plants plentiful seeds for Joji’s next direction – now, he just needs to let the good ideas grow.

The band once again remain loyal to their signature blend of chugging riffs, angst-fuelled vocals, and enough shreddy-guitar solos to make your head spin. This is an unwavering commitment that remains throughout, and ultimately becomes both the record’s main redeeming feature and its biggest downfall.

An album to be remembered for? Probably not, but it’s bold, it’s a laugh, and he’s done it his way.

‘What Happened To The Streets?’ doesn’t musically reinvent trap the way its more cinematic predecessors did, but the new record showcases 21 Savage’s duality – an ascendant star perpetually wrestling with demons.

Sometimes the introspection is a touch overcooked, the lyricism stumbling into platitude. But the honesty and self-interrogation should be applauded, and the powerful, richly textured soundscapes behind it all show why Daniel Caesar is revered as one of the most important artists in modern R&B and soul.

By its fourth track ‘Loser’, the album’s first single, his insecurities are so hammered down to the listener – “I’m a tragedy / tryna figure my whole life out” – that it begins gets in the way of his arrangements, which so far are imaginative and varied compared to the stylistic tedium of ‘The Slow Rush’.

The 20-track project adeptly captures the sadness and social isolation sparked by Young Thug’s time away, but conveys it with such lethargy and incoherence that you’re simply left feeling sorry for him rather than inspired by his storytelling.

Gone are the wistfulness and melancholy that permeated her last four albums, yet ‘The Life of a Showgirl’ still sounds curiously muted despite Swift reuniting with pop super-producers Max Martin and Shellback for the first time in eight years.

It’s good to hear Sprints develop on ‘All That Is Over’, but to do so without extinguishing that fire is the fine line they walk.

The result is a bloated, soulless shell that never finds its own voice.

At times, ‘I’m Only F**king Myself’ feels a little all over the place – though, cramming so many interesting and surprising spins on pop into one record, and largely pulling it off, is still commendable.

Sheeran hasn’t committed as wholeheartedly to the genre-hopping bit as he did on ‘÷’. There are an awful lot of those sickly ballads, some of which are better than others: ‘Old Phone’, inspired by seeing an old text from Edwards, is genuinely moving.

It’s frustrating because there’s plenty of great material scattered across these two parts, which would be far stronger as a single, shorter release.

In the end, Taylor stands strong, heart laid bare in a tender, nuanced close to an imperfect but heartfelt album that proves that you can find your way back to yourself.

The choice to join forces with so many artists was always a huge risk, and unfortunately, it sometimes ends up dampening the charm that first set them apart from the masses. But in the moments where it does come together, it’s both epic and intriguing as hell.

‘No Signs Of Weakness’ plays more like a curated playlist of experiments rather than a fully realised body of work: it lacks direction, the momentum sputters, and even some of the more ambitious tracks could’ve used another round of sculpting.

As a whole, though, ‘Swag’ often feels poorly edited, its 21 tracks accumulating into a directionless slog. The production may have its moments, but the lyrics rarely deliver the depth to match.

‘Let the Lord Sort ’Em Out’ isn’t a total misfire: it’s composed, thoughtful and often impressively lyrically detailed. But after 16 years, Clipse didn’t come back knocking down doors and shocking the world.

There are moments of pure spectacle, such as the delightfully absurd accordion-rave lead single ‘Joyride’, and ‘Yippie-Ki-Yay’, an unholy fusion of Def Leppard and Florida Georgia Line. .... ‘Love Forever’, ‘The One’, ‘Too Hard’ are relatively straightforward love songs that don’t reach the vulnerability of albums past. It all builds to the closing track ‘Cathedral’, a spiritual sequel to ‘Praying’.

OThe real problem is the gloopy, mush-mouthed ballads that take up the rest of the album.

The results are varied, but this is just one frame of a much bigger picture of Jin’s solo career – one where he will undoubtedly continue to grow and prosper the more he leans into what suits him best.

In the end, ‘More Chaos’ does exactly what it says on the tin: it’s overloaded, aggressive, and unruly – and that’s the point.

Though ‘Send A Prayer My Way’ doesn’t always grip you with the immediacy of either Baker or Scott’s respective solo careers, it’s still refreshing to hear two very well-established songwriters exploring such distinct new territory together.

Instead of offering a truly revealing glimpse into their relationship – as the album cover suggests – ‘I Said I Love You First’ maintains a noticeable distance between artist and listener, and leaves you feeling a little empty by the end.

The album is eclectic, unapologetic and, at times, a little lost in its own spectacle.

There’s no build-up here – the record begins at maximum intensity, a full throttle barrage of chainsaw guitars and hyperspeed drums. .... The problem, however, is that immediacy can be a double-edged sword – there are points on ‘Blindness’ calling out for more work.