Doom Days is a vivid snapshot of humanity and an imaginative, adventurous levelling up from one of Britain’s most influential bands.

He leads the listener on an amazing journey, making use of cosmic, symbolic, mythological and religious images in perfect conjunction with his explorations of blunt everyday reality.

While TIM is unlikely to win any existing EDM-deniers over, its addition to Avicii’s back catalogue will come as great comfort to both the fans and family of the late DJ.

Prince: Originals is at its best when Prince lets loose and embraces his cheekier side. ... Although the camp synths and indulgent guitar solos present on a lot of these tracks are clear by-products of the decade that gave us cone bras, Super Mario and The Goonies, this music also sounds prescient.

Majestic in its scale, but traditional in its subject matter and narratives, Western Stars is a wonderful thing.

More often than not on Future Dust, they find themselves adopting a tame version of what they could produce. Limp and lifeless, Future Dust is an album from a band who can give much, much more.

To say this album is epic would be an understatement; it’s a work of art in the truest sense.

The album shines with crisp production, a dynamic of extremes and Aurora’s unflinchingly confident performance and message.

Crystalline, slick and glistening, this feels like the last piece of a puzzle slotting into place, the tying off of any loose ends. It’s the sound of a band operating firmly, and finally, in their comfort zone.

Sonically restless, Madame X doesn’t imitate current pop trends as much as it mangles them into new shapes. A record that grapples with being “just way too much”, ultimately, it refuses to tone things down.

There’s more to this record than excited confidence and a hunger for adventure, though. It’s not just the spotlight this gang need. It’s connection.

Overall, he has created a musical representation of his upbringing in the Sunshine state, evoking its intricate culture. His mixture of smoother, dreamier beats in opposition with harder-hitting and chest-bouncing ones create an aural journey and explanation as to why he is “real-ass n***a from the 305”.

Like Cyrus, it’s shameless, strange and supremely entertaining.

As a tribute to Antonin Artaud, The Peyote Dance captures the frightening, ambitious and surreal work of an artist who was misunderstood during his life, albeit from a spectator’s perspective.

Although album five lacks the narrative that made ‘Konnichiwa’ so compelling (a victory lap for grime’s commercial renaissance, it also reasserted his DIY credentials), this sounds like a record from a rapper with gallons of creative juice in the tank.

Webster’s evolution from her self-titled record is a delight to witness. The songs are more direct and lyrically she’s become a remarkable observer of the little things that make us tick.

From the get-go, his highly-anticipated debut album delivers exactly what it promises with its stylish, nostalgic artwork: a distinct world filled with hazy strings, warped synths and vocals that range from a flawless ’70s-style falsetto to laid-back speech. It’s retro-inspired through a modern lens.

It’s “pub-punk” for now, but there’s a good chance it’ll take them to much bigger stages sooner rather than later. It’s not big, it’s not clever, but it’s a bloody hoot.

Through this, In Plain Sight has a frustrating tendency to lean on cliché; there’s a nagging feeling of déjà vu in listening to a record that has been made thousands of times before.

There’s groove here. There are innovative experiments in atonality. And there’s a record that says as much about the lives of young people in 2019 as any we’ve heard released so far this year.

Wild Beasts sometimes seemed overly enamoured with ideology, self-aware to a fault, while Thorpe’s solo album is simpler, more direct, more self-contained – and therein lies its power.

As a whole, Let Yourself Be Seen flows more like a meandering DJ set.

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

Father of Asahd isn’t perfect, and the celebratory baller vibe can get a little tiresome at times. However, this time round, whenever Khaled shouts “Another one!”, his catchphrase, it actually feels merited. DJ Khaled’s true talent lies in bringing people together.

Some tracks are merely forgettable--‘Days Of Decision’, ‘Lenny’s Tune’ and ‘When You Close Your Eyes’--while others charge headfirst into oddball territory.

Whether or not you choose to take his advice with either your first or your 51st listen, IGOR is an accomplished and evergreen record that’s well worth putting your phone down, turning the TV off and devoting your full attention span to.

Guiding you on a whistlestop tour of his life, community and resultant beliefs, the record serves not only as a statement of identity, but also an indication of the sprawling possible paths for his career to grow into.

The result is an often thrilling, semi-symphonic ode to joy that peaks with ‘The Plans We Made’, a lilting trip-hop nursery rhyme on which Chapman sighs through the line “there’s only so much I can do” like a man who’s suffered a thousand defeats and still maintains his optimism.

Filled with lively, stylised pop tunes, she’s once again proven that she’s not just that girl from ‘Call Me Maybe’.

At a sprawling 16 tracks and 63 minutes long, the only thing I Am Easy To Find suffers from is its sombre and pensive pace, without the feral release that certain fans of ‘Boxer’ or ‘Alligator’ might long for.

Rammstein and their unshakable sound have remained tethered to their originality, fusing catchy lyrics with serious industrial power hooks. For that they should be applauded across the board, because this album is undoubtedly a resounding triumph.

This may not be a groundbreaking record, but it’s definitely one that delivers bops befitting of a woman who keeps on performing even when she’s served with court papers on stage.

The Best of Luck Club is not quite as immediate as the bruising garage-rock intensity of her debut, but this is instead a world-building release.

Quite frankly, LEGACY! LEGACY! is one of the albums of the year. It’s a confident and self-assured project that affirms Woods’ own place alongside the historical greats she praises.

This record’s slower pace won’t be for everybody, just as unassuming previous album ‘This Old Dog’ wasn’t, but, should you let it, this record will transport you somewhere calm and reflective.

The pairing of the gravelly vocals of 21-year-old Maryland rapper Rico Nasty with hyped DJ Kenny Beats’ unique production results in an addictive album.

Drahla’s melodies are gnarled and resist locking together at all costs; warped pop songs emerge out of the gloom. This is a meticulous debut that juggles razor-sharp control with barely contained chaos.

The album’s slower tempo won’t be for everyone: if you’re all thrills, no substance, then maybe this album is not for you. But you have to respect ScHoolboy Q’s dedication to showing us a different outlook on life, and exploring many emotions. Introspective--yes, but these are songs for the summer.

Frank Carter used to be a stick of dynamite. Then a stick of dynamite with a longer fuse. Now his music is much more akin to a firework display. Long may he ignite the sky.

‘True’ is the only real misstep on the record’s first half: a preachy self-love anthem that feels like it might’ve come together without Marina thinking how the lyrics sound when sang out loud, but it’s quickly passed over when ‘To Be Human’ arrives.

Away from the chaos, here’s a record that cuts to the core of Doherty with a little less noise and a little more love.

Fishing For Fishies is their most accessible and immediate album to date.

Depending on your mood, there’ll be songs you’d happily lop off for a more streamlined listen, but by and large, all of these songs make the patchwork much more vibrant.

Oh My God is a dense listen and though there are more immediate moments (the raucous ‘OMG Rock n Roll’ and the shapeshifting ‘Hail Mary’ are two examples), you can let this album wash over you and wallow in its most intense songs, for they are the ones that will linger longest.

Technically accomplished and assured record, which doesn’t do a massive amount to deviate from the template of Catfish’s debut.

An urgent, free-wheeling bundle of fun, You Can’t Steal My Joy is a debut that adds joy to new wave.

Elegant and elemental, quietly confident and masterfully understated, Designer feels like a breath of fresh air in a time dense with noise and algorithmic hiss.

The demo vocals she’d already recorded are pretty much album-ready, their slightly unpolished edge even helping throw back to the band’s 1992 debut album ‘Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We?’, home to the immaculate-if-overplayed ‘Linger’. It’s rare indeed that a farewell brings a career so neatly full-circle.

It’s uneven, with flashes of brilliance. Blood is a record that builds slow and steady, as it continually keeps you on your toes with its experimental and exploratory nature.

It finds the band more playful, melodic, cinematic and cohesive than they have since ‘Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots’.

‘Jade Bird’ has the edge of an assured debut album and is a startling introduction to a British talent who looks set to take the States by storm.

Yet amongst [a few] luminous choice picks, sometimes it gets lethargic – and the record stalls.

Mournful acoustic strumming, slide guitar, hushed percussion, strung-out woozy piano – there’s consistency and clarity to ‘Curve Of Earth’; perhaps more than you’d expect of a record 15 years in the making. What this album does, though, is contain the chaos of addiction, crystallising mistakes into something much more beautiful. The result is extraordinary and life-affirming.

‘Raw Honey’ has the air of a great lost album from the ‘70s, with lush instrumentation that falls between Crosby Stills & Nash and The Eagles, yet also boasts the crisp production of a modern-day studio.

Sonically, the production is as flawlessly genre-spanning as Lizzo herself: pop at its core, but with constant references to her jazz roots and historical love of twerking.

This is the sound of Cage The Elephant exploring every corner of what they are.

Fat White Family are a band reborn. ‘Serfs Up!’ is the richest, most accomplished music they’ve ever written.

Kill This Love ... showcases a band who are certainly talented but perhaps not quite ready for the next upward arc in the ride they’re currently on.

If it’s a collection of tried-and-tested bangers you’re after, showcasing three pop powerhouses at their proven best, then crack on. In search of a left-field album of crate-digging curveballs? You’re best looking elsewhere.

At only seven songs, it’s a lot shorter than most sprawling albums put out by their Western counterparts these days, but its concise tracklist leaves no room for filler, no space for even a note to be wasted.

These five Dublin lads prove their talent for painting in far more colours than just blacks and greys, and Fontaines D.C. have proved their worth as one of guitar music’s most essential new voices.

No Geography is another leap forward for the pair--it embraces new avenues of discovery and nods to the wider world, while having the feel of a victory lap and retrospective.

This is a simple collection of woozy slow-jams and blissed-out recollections (a step back from the hip-hop stylings of ‘Oxnard’, which wrong-footed some fans).

Despite some positives, Gesaffelstein isn’t able to recreate past glories, nor advance on them--or even successfully reinvent himself. By the end of it, you’re mostly left feeling confused and underwhelmed.

Gone are the fizzy sun-drenched hooks and pint-chucking riffs, and in their place are mawkish vocals, melodramatic breaks and dreary lyrics.

With this jumble of wordplay and hooky songwriting, they’re unmistakably on fighting form.

Pierce’s creative and personal rebirth are evident throughout, but a return to the trappings of earlier records makes for a relatively limp second half. ... Overall, though, The Drums sound closer to what Pierce had envisioned all those years ago.

They seem driven by the joy of making music great again. It won’t change the world, but record is a wonderful world all of their own.

By eschewing the feel-good fakery of some of their peers, they’ve cracked something far more unifying than meaningless, posi-punk platitudes.

Honesty is often lost in overproduction, both in the music and in his lyricism. It is listenable, summery and occasionally thought-provoking, but tired in its laboured pushes for emotional sincerity.

This is a beautiful album, informed as much her bold experimental music as by her golden age pop forebears. The record ends where it began, but Natalie Mering continues to push tirelessly and boldly ahead.

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.

The Seduction Of Kansas is a fun, dancey funk-punk record that benefits from Congleton’s lightness of touch, proof that you can step outside your comfort zone and maintain your sense of self.

It’s enjoyable and familiar, but retains Billie’s disruptive streak. It’s a brave and resounding first step for an artist with bags of potential and over the next decade, you’ll no doubt see popular music scrabbling to try and replicate what this album does on every level.

On this timeless record, Gaye consistently sparks joy even though he’s scared about the future, and its 2019 release is chance for a whole new generation of listeners to connect with the legendary singer. It’s a reminder of an era in which our pop stars spoke from the heart, unafraid of losing a million-dollar endorsement, more concerned with uplifting their people.

Silver Tongues picks up exactly where they left off: back on top as one of Britain’s most thrilling rising bands.

A slow slog through a murky alternate dimension, from a band who made their name on vibrancy and experimentation, Inside The Rose is frustratingly lacking in both.

Filled with crunchy, complex tunes that elegantly interweave a host of unusual influences, Miss Universe is an impressive and bold record.

Significant Changes is at once both ludicrously fun and inquisitive, knowing exactly when to fuse Jayda G’s learnings and passions into music that’s, quite clearly, full of heart and wisdom.

On her fourth solo record, Jenny Lewis skewers all of these tensions with astonishing ease. It’s up there with her greatest work to date.

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.

Ultimately, comeback albums are about consolidation rather than reinvention, and there’s just enough of the old ‘Smart’ magic here to satisfy the retro crowds. But there’s little sign of a route to relevance, and that’s not something to sleep on.

Ex Hex’s sound is so distinctive that it’s also very tough to escape, but luckily Mary Timony, Betsy Wright and Laura Harris avoid stumbling into the trap of picking up where they left off. As it happens, It’s Real is a bundle of collaborative fun instead.

Lyrically, this is the best Rose has ever been. Poignant, affecting and candid, at times it’s spectacular. Yet the music fails to reach the same heights, resulting in a mismatched record.

The album’s inner momentum offsets any occasional wrong direction.

You’ll love it, or you’ll hate it, you’ll have no idea what’s going on, but revel in the fact that a debut like this is allowed to exist.

Gratitude shows that he’s a musician who, almost a decade into his career, still has much to say--and a great deal to work out on record.

American Love Call is a timeless, optimistic listen in a time of peril one that now, and in the future, can confidently be referred to as a truly great American soul record.

Lux Prima is a hypnotic listen.

Cathartic in its honesty, There Will Be No Intermission is not dressed up in the same theatrics as her past work, but loaded with the drama of real life. Her fans have allowed us this record, and she’s given the world all of herself in return.

Juice WRLD is far less indulgent than XXX, not getting lost in the idea that he’s a messianic creative. This will be the moment that solidifies his status as one of rap’s most exciting new stars.

In exploring himself on Psychodrama, Dave has produced a masterpiece. This 20-year-old has lost in some ways and won in others, and asks us to listen as he tries to find some answers. The lessons you learn with Dave are sure to live long in the memory.

At times the album that little bit too airy. As skilful as Ashworth is in crafting delicately spun melody--the jangling harmonies of ‘Morning Comes’, or the gentle lull of ‘At Hollywood’--her full force and potential truly reveals itself when the shadows burst out and take over, dragging her shoegazey soundscapes to the edge of the void.

Throughout the record, she bravely calls out incredibly important issues such as toxic masculinity and rape culture, but her music never loses its playfulness. This is an enthralling and deeply relevant debut.

Sure, in terms of quality, Rap Or Go To The League isn’t the classic album that 2 Chainz craves, but--on this evidence--he’s not far from delivering one.

This is a nine-song collection of modest ambition, but ‘Buoys’ undoubtedly succeeds on its own terms, that consistently understated sonic template interspersed with surprising moments – the bassy thud of electronic drums that interrupts ‘Crescendo’, the hip-hop style piano riff that marches through ‘Master’ – that makes it a rewarding repeat listen.

The intricacies and experimentalism of those math-rock early days, the spacey ambience of ‘Total Life Forever’, and the bolshy production brilliance of those last two records: it’s all here.

Ulfilas’ Alphabet is a great reinvention after the band’s 2017 debut ‘Youth Is Only Ever Fun In Retrospect’. This is a clear gateway into a sphere of daring artistry that Sundara Karma previously only flirted with.