Where Sky Larkin were once winsome and breezy, Motto pounds ahead with heart-punching defiance and desperation to be heard. Listen up.

Of course, the whole venture has about as much cultural currency now as an octopus's garden, but it's a lovely timewarp to slip into.

Sixth album Bleeds is often weighty, but sounds consistently alive, and inimitably Roots Manuva.

That’s Your Lot isn’t the instant-classic debut they might have hoped for, but it delivers on their early promise, and offers tantalising hints at where they might go from here.

‘For Those That Wish To Exist’ isn’t exactly the kind of sonic reinvention one-time scene mates Bring Me The Horizon pulled off with 2019’s ‘Amo’, but it pushes Architects into unexplored territory and a bold new future where even bigger venues and audiences surely await.

As the new face of drill music, “from Bush to Beverley Hills”, ‘23’ shows that Cench repeatedly proves his worth and as his talent continues to blossom.

[The lyrics] can also be so formulaic that you’ll almost wonder whether you’re listening to M3GAN. ... But at the same time, it’s hard to shake the suspicion that Max has fully understood the assignment. ‘Diamonds & Dancefloors’ lives up to its escapist title with a non-stop onslaught of sharp and shiny pop hooks.

Protomartyr are at home here: growing, expanding and putting up a mirror to humanity’s driest and bleakest parts, inviting their listeners to reflect on it all.

Witty and sardonic, Lime Garden’s lyrics would feel at home on any great sprechgesang record: “Tried to get surgery to see her how you see,” they sing on the latter. Yet the band’s exuberant sound marks them as their own distinct entity; entirely within their own league.

Murphy’s music remains grounded in Hercules & Love Affair-style housey electronica but these songs unfurl slowly and unconventionally as they take detours into skulking Grace Jones funk ('Uninvited Guest’), opulent cosmic disco (‘Evil Eyes’) and lush country balladry ('Unputdownable').

Marvel soundtracks have a new gold standard, and it’s this.

A warts-and-all reckoning, his most exhilarating project to date from front to back.

Kill For Love keeps in this spirit, playing with the attention to detail of an art-house movie (and a near 1½-hour running time).

It's fair to say Gaslight are a band who have made people's lives immeasurably better simply by existing; American Slang won't change anyone's world and it's unfair to punish it for not, but we just hoped for… more.

It takes a while to work out what an absolute waste of 21-year-old Londoner Naomi McLean-Daley's incredible talents this album is.

Fresh, modern soul music.

Taken whole, it’s a looping, dense, all-encompassing experience where anger and tenderness bang heads throughout. Marshall’s world is grimier than ever.

This isn’t just a striking return for one of the most individual bands of the last 20 years; it is, musically, an astounding masterpiece. Their finest hour? Quite possibly.

A constantly surprising and relentlessly melodic pleasure.

Is ‘Masquerade’ a classic? Time will tell, and Cardinals have demonstrated the potential to grow into something more special. At the very least, they’ve made a record that’s sadly but beautifully in tune with these times and the scars of where they’re from.

An elegiac, neo-psychedelic collection of labyrinthine naive melodies that's the schizophrenic lovechild of Four Tet and The Magnetic Fields. [4 Jun 2005, p.58]

Smith Westerns might not play barre chords, but they're properly good songwriters – smart kids with mean tunes, sharp minds and great record collections.

Wolf Alice are the kind of band that keep on getting better with every record, and here, they raise the bar on themselves once again.

In among the usual awkward, bad sex and sharp-yet-jaundiced eye on what others settle for, there's something unusual for this pair: hope. [12 Nov 2005, p.45]

Full of sombre, skeletal and obliquely confessional songs, it's a crafted collection with ruminations on sex and loss. [5 Feb 2005, p.50]

Young ends up smothered by unconvincing soundscapes on all but two acoustic tunes that stand out by virtue of actually not sounding like a hurricane.

Sounds like a collection of songs poised to steal the heart of anyone with a bruised soul. [17 Sep 2005, p.58]

The emphasis is on soft, kinetic beats, with melodies pulled out of unpromising materials--discordant synths, laser pulses--and it’s one whacking great testament to what dance music can do with a bit of imagination.

They're a band who are defiantly British and who haven't sold their soul to current trends--and they're all the better for it. [20 Jan 2007, p.29]

It feels like the ravishing opium dream of a Victorian gentleman explorer, trying to recreate the exoticism of a long trip abroad through a prolonged period of narcosis.

Ultimately, what makes ‘Heaven Knows’ such a compelling debut is its ability to create British wistfulness. The emotions and sounds are familiar enough to pull you in, and peculiar enough to make you stay.

Unafraid to experiment amongst all the traditionalist, lovelorn expression, the American Football of 2019 is a record both classic in intonation, and future-facing in intent. No longer a band of nostalgia bangers, American Football are back at the top of the pile.

Tassili, too, sounds neither glossily packaged for western audiences, nor too easy to please.

Souls is a sinewy beast, abundant with creativity, and while it ostensibly sounds like most other Maiden albums, there are subtle--or not so subtle--differences.

DIIV need you, and you sure as hell need DIIV.

‘After Hours’ stands as The Weeknd’s strongest record in some time.

A joyous slice of orchestral prozac.

It’s not quite the equal of its predecessor--last year’s breakneck, flute-powered ‘Floating Coffin’--but is a gem nonetheless: nine tracks of noise-spiked Nuggets-y psych-punk, each one hitting with the crisp concision of a long-lost jukebox classic.

If you’re chasing the initial buzz, Little Fictions is quite a hit.

Lahey’s debut is a confessional, confident and important arrival.

Castle is not just cohesive--it feels like it’s been made to be consumed as one whole body of work. Each song segues into the next, giving barely a second to pause or hit shuffle.

Bright, exciting and full of effortlessly intelligent songwriting, 1, 2, Kung Fu! is an absolute joy to listen to. Wickedly fun, and made to be played on festival stages this summer, it’s short glimpse into the musical landscape of Newington’s mind--and one that we’re pretty bloody glad he shared.

The production is slicker, the songwriting more considered, and the statement more solidified. Peppered with spoken-word interludes, Cashwan-Pratt laying himself bare like never before, Dog Whistle is a manifesto for everything Show Me The Body’s early days promised.

‘Sideways To New Italy’ might sound like sun-splashed indie for good times, but there’s a great deal of angst buried within. Yet this is clearly also the sound of a band excited to be in the studio together; warmth and friendship seeps through every note.

A maelstrom of hums, echoes and grumbles of horns, percussion and bass pushes against always gentle melodies. But Week’s voice, striking and smooth, always blends with the music. One is not stronger than the other. Delicacy and power, waiting and living, the ordinary and the extraordinary – the listener is invited to feel it all.

Soulful but never morose, and thoughtful on the passing of time and the importance of cherishing these tiny moments, it’s a sophisticated return to form.

Considering it was made during a time when we couldn’t go anywhere, this album is at worst a fittingly scenic trip through the places that inspired it, and at best a fresh new sonic chapter for Albarn and a wonderful way for you to leave all the nonsense behind; blissfully reminded that there’s a beautiful world out there.

Another gem in First Aid Kit’s consistently good arsenal of timeless, harmony-rich roots music.

There are signs on ‘Aperture’, Jadagu’s debut album, of a songwriter who is beginning to find her feet in this world. Characterised by warm, crisp synth production that will speak to Arlo Parks fans, ‘Warning Sign’ spotlights this maturity: a minimalistic, R&B-fuelled anthem of reflection that grows in leaps and bounds as more elements make their way into the mix. There’s a newfound swagger and breath of fresh air, too.

The result is an excellent follow-up to the breakthrough that was ‘Any Human Friend’. Hackman raises the stakes in her music in a way that feels natural; it is conceptually bigger and more creatively mature, while the songcraft makes this transition feel earned.

From where we’re standing, it doesn’t sound like Gartland needs to change a thing.

It breaks very little new ground--which does have the upside of the songs sounding catchy because you feel like you've heard it all before.

It's all flawless in a string-laden soul way, but too clean an effort from a man who, in the past, has been so much more exciting by letting the grit remain.

Tell Me How You Really Feel is Courtney Barnett at her angriest and most vulnerable, but being a drinker of details means she can also blow the beauty of life’s little things up to full-size.

It’s understated, and a quietly affecting success.

Exhilarating and violent.

A glorious and human introduction, this is without doubt a modern-day shoegaze classic.

Their seventh album, might be one of their best, with the band and leader Britt Daniel sounding as energised and playful as a puppy

New album Flamagra, a spaced-out funk epic that’s much more soothing than its predecessor, proves Ellison has grown as a producer.

My Maudlin Career is the kind of record that exists to reward those both mad, and sad, in love.

Drunk, as out-there as it can be, is an album totally high on its own unique ideas.

Music theory waffle/spiritual musings aside, this sees the pair expand their austere template with new instruments and ideas to great effect.

The Chats don’t so slow songs. They don’t do sad songs. The Chats do good times and this debut is set to inspire plenty.

Personal yet relatable pop music that makes itself heard thanks to its intricacies, ‘& The Charm’ is a remarkable evolution.

If 'Wind In The Wires' is not exactly an innocent record, then, it is certainly sincere. And that sincerity, allied to such extraordinary sounding songs, makes for an exhilarating experience. [12 Feb 2005, p.49]

The Hum is all feel, no bullshit, and it truly gets under your skin.

At times the sisters risk being bogged down by a certain two-dimensionality, but they prove there’s more to them than a sparkling glumness with ‘My Silver Lining.’

The best Levi since 501s.

Out of the lo-fi punk/hardcore/black metal bedrock clatter of sound they create, lysergic and buzzing riffs clarify gloriously before melting back into chaos.

One of the most exciting hip-hop releases not only of this year, but in recent memory. [27 Nov 2004, p.61]

Psychedelic craziness. [30 Apr 2005, p.64]

He empowers all to be ‘African Giants’ on an all-over entertaining album, demonstrating that he’s one for his people.

Both modern and natural, tragedy has tugged defiance from The Charlatans once more.

'Begin To Hope' is the sound of [Spektor] blossoming into the most talented female artist around--and one with edge. [8 Jul 2006, p.43]

No Age will never be legit superstars, but they have a keen and loyal fanbase, something cherishable in a year likely to be paradoxically remembered for forgettable chancers.

For an artist who has long revelled in gruesome imagery and high concept, this feels like a surprise peek behind the curtain, and yet another sonic boundary crossed.

Reflektor is cleaner, sharper and dancier than anything the band have done before.

Does nothing wrong but could do with a bit of meat. [13 Aug 2005, p.58]

The London quartet's second long-player sounds designed to interrogate ideas of what punk should or could mean.

Overall, it feels like listening to a rocket preparing for take-off before shooting out into deep space, and if this doesn’t get you dancing, you’re probably clinically dead.

Peace & Magic marks the duo out as genuine oddities, music makers full of irreverence, wit, silliness, wild experimentalism, genuine musical brilliance and weirdness.

Not quite the greatest per se, but bloody close. [21 Jan 2006, p.33]

For all its technicality and viscerality, the album never packs the same emotional punch as 2013’s Arc and some songs--like the glitchy, overlong ‘Warm Healer’--never quite seem to find their own centre of gravity. Still, few records released in 2015 will feel as true to the times as this one.

In contrast to... 'Yr Atal Genhedlaeth', which was a bunch of promising, but half-finished song sketches, 'Candylion' is a much more coherent and loveable affair, and up there with some of SFA's better moments.

Her vocals now sound stately, and the impression is of a grande dame breathing new life into work made as an ingenue.

Frustratingly, though, White Chalk isn't consistent enough to be a classic PJ album, and if you're new to her music, this isn't the ideal place to start.

If this really is to be Lambchop's final album, it's an undeniably lovely one.

The results are beautiful, moving and – regardless of subject matter – brilliantly inventive.

Across 11 tracks, Jessy Lanza has delivered her strongest album yet: ‘Love Hallucination’ is a record that boldly soars towards synth-pop ecstasy while retaining its experimental desire.

What gives Saturnalia its real kick is the way it emotionally engages.

It’s a record that – while injected with a healthy dose of groovy fun – is keenly honest. And although it may be sonically sugar-coated, Wolf’s candid lyrics never are. It’s funk-fuelled catharsis.

This is that rare music that genuinely deserves the descriptor ‘visceral’: sonic body horror that comes on like avant-garde composer Diamanda Galas scoring David Cronenberg.

Grid of Points is a seemingly-unfinished bunch of loose ends that somehow appear complete when combined.

If The Horrors' "Primary Colours" is the night out, then Three Fact Fader--Engineers’ follow-up to their 2005 debut--is the sound of the blissful recovery next day.

Uneasy and scratchy, and powered by hefty beats from producer Justin Raisen, ‘No Home Record’ is a restless listen.

It's an album of outstanding natural beauty, an organic, wholesome work.

It all amounts to a rich, evocative expression of a mother’s optimism and anxieties.