Far lighter than their grungey 2013 debut, 'Antipodes', it's pitched between the blissed-out guitar of Splashh and the idiosyncratic pop approach of fellow Kiwi, Unknown Mortal Orchestra.

‘iiiii’ floats up into the clouds – often pairing sparse plunks of piano with haunting choral vocals and snippets of ethereal sound design. Of all ‘Kick’s instalments, this one is the most meandering, focused on conjuring up an atmosphere, and living within it.

There's little musically that will startle the faithful or convert the doubtful, but the Present's gift was always for words. [12 Feb 2005, p.51]

Encasing the malaise and drudgery of the last two years and preserving them in dark grey ash, ‘Pompeii’ captures a distinct sense of isolation without explicitly spelling it out. There’s much to excavate here.

An excellent third album. [23 Sep 2006, p.31]

Mainman Anton Newcombe is now sober, and here has made his best album since 2003's '…And This Is Our Music'.

While ‘Pain To Power’ advances the harsh pairing of the saxophone with noise-rock that Maruja have already explored, its standout moments come through expressions of love – fulfilling Wilkinson’s on-stage promise.

Mangy Love would succeed even without lyrics. Produced leisurely with Rob Schnapf (Elliott Smith) and Dan Horne and featuring 21 extra musicians, this is McCombs’ richest ever recording. Sublime flourishes abound.

After exploring the isolation of feeling like a “nobody“, Mitski’s explorations of being somebody prove just as compelling.

Crunching rhythms, subtle brass, and tunes as intoxicating as a blood transfusion from Pete Doherty combine as he tells the tale of a disastrous year full of rat infestations, romantic strife and weight loss.

Once given the time and attention it demands, ‘Warm Chris’ is the kind of album that will eventually take root somewhere deep. Its complexities mean that each listen holds new revelations, the record growing richer and richer over time.

Secure, self-aware and even funny, this could well be the masterpiece they've always promised to make. [11 Mar 2006, p.43]

Scraping off the garage 
rock grit and disjointed sharp edges that characterised his 
previous album ‘Emotional Mugger’ for this definitive self-portrait, Segall scrubs 
up great.

A remarkably intelligent and engrossing record for then, now, and the future.

It’s unhinged, but poetic, assured, direct and deviously loveable.

Expansive, immersive indiepop; how these Pains have grown.

Anxious instrumentals echo the album’s uneasy outlook and fear of the future, and when they combine forces it often makes for an astonishing listen.

As desolate and coldly beautiful as a windswept moor, What’s Between refuses to yield simple answers but rewards deep exploration.

It's a delight to hear. [18 Jun 2005, p.64]

We may be living in shit times but in ‘Everything Was Forever’, Sea Power have produced an album that is both brutal and beautiful, and which offers us all some much needed hope.

It's a success, the influence of the body on the music making it sound positively alive.

Repeated listens unmask 'Ryan Adams' as a great record, and a sleek departure from 2011's 'Ashes & Fire.'

It’s rare for a rock record to feel this exciting, especially coming from a band seven albums deep and, y’know, from Surrey, but every track ‘SUCKAPUNCH’ feels inspired in some way.

Her UK debut album manages to piece together many of the elements of her chameleon-like career (Robyn is essentially a Best Of collection) and come up with what is the most inventive pop album you’ll hear all year.

‘The End, So Far’ may rattle many of the metal faithful, but for the prowess and lasting impression of this record alone, this is a true Slipknot record. It’s unlikely that many fans who’ve been along for the whole ride would jump ship now.

The album was recorded in close friend Ben Kramer's house in leafy Massachusetts and is plush with piano, trumpet (from Will Miller of fellow Chicagoans Whitney) and a more mature take on their Rolling Stones obsession. The five-piece have added consideration and restraint to their usual wheezing approach.

They feel like they could have been made at any time since 1951, yet they sound completely, compellingly new.

Thunderbitch the album rolls with precisely as much uncompromising swagger as its name suggests.

Salute the heavens, then, that the result is an absolutely belting 10 songs.

Ultimately, Jialong is the sound of a producer having the time of his life--and boy oh boy is that infectious.

Hegarty's songs and personality suit the drama of orchestral arrangements, providing him with the perfect platform to 'perform' rather than sing--and his voice works in perfect harmony with the 42 musicians behind him.

Partie Traumatic is the sexiest, most outrageous outright pop album of ’08 so far, hard not to love and (seemingly) even easier to lay.

This collection has a tantalising flavour, the sense of an alternative history of rock.

Repeat listens showcase a project that’s rewarding for both listeners and, by the sounds of it, the artists involved.

Making relevant, accessible, uncringey protest music in this day and age is such a difficult task that most artists have decided not to bother. Anohni has been brave enough to take that risk, and the most vital album of recent times is the reward.

This is The Cribs’ best album to date.

The Big Roar is the kind of epic-yet-intimate debut that does exactly what its title makes out in the most tactful of styles; an LP that ultimately delivers on every count on the four years of promise leading up to it.

Clavish narrates his story against a backdrop of deep subs, eerie synth melodies, and dark ambience that allow his bars to cut through with a real sharpness. If he learns to refine his output a little, there’s no reason Clavish can’t achieve the levels of stardom he’s been tipped to reach.

It's the sound of experimentation working, it's what what the second Elastica album should have sounded like, and it's a compelling story unfolding, with many more interesting twists still to come.

It’s Factory Floor’s second album and it’s their best.

The Tipping Point has more soul, vision and musicianship than most bands muster in a lifetime. [31 Jul 2004, p.41]

Hopefully Total Control can continue because, brutal as it is, Typical System is the year's finest punk album.

So while The Haunted Man deals in less trinkets than its predecessor, it's not scant in splendour.

This is a brave, vulnerable and ambitious work that asks us to recognise and celebrate our own grey areas. It’s an album full of possibility and startling scope, and which, ultimately, finds peace among the pain.

The place where the anthemic, the noisy and the epic meet is where The Men sound most naturally positioned.

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.

It can be a taxing eardrum workout--its beefed-up guitar work (from Walker, Stu Mackenzie and Cook Craig) and jackhammer rhythms (drumming duo Michael Cavanagh and Eric Moore) barely let up. But it’s also loads of fun.

‘Free I.H.’ is a wild ride of cathartic outpourings, big declarations and the freedom to do whatever they want. Weighed down by the struggle but relishing their victory, it’s a record that offers conflict and comfort.

This is a crisp, focused wobble through a primarily 'Philophobia'-derived set with drummer Dave Gow and bassist Gary Miller adding crucial propulsive qualities.

It’s a rare feat for an album to paint a picture that’s broad but intimate at the same time, but Folick has done it here. Her voice, songwriting and ascent are unstoppable; one would do best not to ignore her.

As a whole it’s a bold, beautiful and uncompromising record.

The recently-liberated star rarely misses on ‘Afrikan Alien’ – aside from ‘Soda’, which is a poor attempt at jumping on the Afro-piano wave. But, from showing off his surprisingly angelic vocal chops on ‘Round & Round’ to delivering introspective gems birthed from his self-reflection, this tape is an enchanting glimpse into the inner workings of the rapper.

Father of 4 is a fine body of work that builds a convincing case that Offset is currently best-placed to be Migos’ break-out solo star: once again, the final act of a trilogy proves to be the finest.

Where previously the comparisons to their Radiohead catalogue could warp expectations, the breadth of the material on offer here suggest that it could, eventually, flip that dynamic right on its head.

An album that’s ready to fall head over heels at a moment’s notice. It’s hard not to get caught up in his absolute lust for life.

Heralding the return of John Grant after the demise of his former band The Czars left him contemplating suicide, Queen...sees him back on top form and teaming up with labelmates Midlake.

They’ve used their major-label debut to rally the troops rather than just jeer at them from the sidelines. Every song here is a call to arms or an affirmative flip of the table.

‘A Matter Of Time’ is just as gorgeous as its predecessors, but this time, there’s more darkness shadowing the gleam.

While it captures the contrary, questing essence of Sonic Youth surer than any SY release since 'Washing Machine', it also never betrays the sluggish, arrogant lack of self-editing that made '98's 'A Thousand Leaves' so bilious and unlovable, and the band's self-released 'SYR' EPs so hit and miss.

Take a deep breath, lay back and soak in the technicolour empire Maribou State have crafted on this album--you’ll feel at one with our world for it.

As defiant as ever. [23 Apr 2005, p.51]

This mixtape is a step away from his usual sunny LA sound, but 03 Greedo knew what he was doing when he enlisted the help of Kenny Beats. This link up has resulted in an entertaining, yet simple record, the concept expertly executed.

Utopia is where art, real life and deep experimentation intersects, and it’s utterly compelling.

This record carries some of Phoenix’s most intimate and approachable songs in years.

On their second effort, they’ve evolved into a smarter, sexier and altogether stronger creature.

‘LIFEFORMS’ is an ambitious punk record that speaks of the everyday. Polished but with plenty of grit and light on ego, it’s the most relatable this band has ever been.

Lighting Matches is a record that makes Bedford sound like Hollywood. Whether he gets there on this record, time will tell. But there’s enough class and promise to at least meet his ambitions halfway. He knows what he’s doing.

The Killer starts out monumentally grave, but by its close the sunlight is flooding in.

It’s a record stuffed with imagination and packed with beauty. It’s also a fitting next step for an artist who’s built her reputation as someone who refuses to keep in step with the rest of the world.

There’s not much variation between the melodies of ‘Defender’ and ‘V Formation’--and the closing title track feels like a bit of an anticlimax--but the album’s nine tracks are mostly enveloping soundscapes. There’s a distinct journey through Murmurations, and you might get lost--in a good way--in the middle.

‘Lianne La Havas’ is a far more cohesive record than any of its predecessors, focused around a primary nucleus of intimate vocals, nimble guitar-work and driving percussion.

Familiar ground, but consider this the sound of modern masters honing their craft.

Fact is, if you know enough about Joy Division, New Order and Happy Mondays to want to watch the movie, you probably own everything on this record already.

There’s an occasional tendency for the guitars to spill into the clunky arena rock territory preferred by Lenny Kravitz--who shreds on ‘Face The Sun’ but Wildheart impresses nonetheless.

This is ambitious electronic music rewarding persistence.

Bosnian Rainbows finds Omar in controlled, more conventional territory than he has been in a while. There’s structure, sub-four-minute songs, melody. It’ll never be Nick Grimshaw’s Record Of The Week and it’s still prog, but it’s a punky prog that at least feels like it is actively trying to make friends with you.

Its darkwave soundtrack is all the more sinister, sexy and thrilling for having visuals set to the sound.

If you want to know about the Glasgow scene which spawned Franz Ferdinand, 'Push Barman To Open Old Wounds' is pretty much essential. [21 May 2005, p.66]

This Is All Yours engulfs you like a deep forest. Alt-J Mk II, then: an impressive expansion, with hugely improved connectivity.

Yes, ‘Vince Staples’ was a beautifully personal reflection from start to finish, but ‘Ramona Park…’ enriches the listener’s relationship with the rapper.

If A Head Full of Dreams really is to be Coldplay’s last hurrah, then they’ve gone out with a flashbang of colour and catharsis.

Unlike ‘Kiwanuka’, this album doesn’t keep you guessing. Rather than punching you in the face with a barrage of beauty, it softly rolls pockets of magic into your path. Yet, the softness of its approach does nothing to lessen the impact of Kiwanuka’s long-awaited return.

Poignant package-holiday dance, sun-drunk but urgent with passion.

This might not be the ‘music of the night’ that rotund talent show type Lloyd Webber and his phantoms had in mind, but based on the majority of this album Messrs Kapranos, Hardy, McCarthy and Thomson can definitely take us out tonight.

It’s a hollow, unforgiving, brutal yet utterly beautiful record, full of deep intricacies that won’t let you go. ‘By The Throat’ indeed.

Sunbathing Animal is not an immediate or cushy listen, but it is gripping; a considered and brutal reminder that Parquet Courts’ aren’t necessarily an accessible band.

Though it barely scratches the surface, then, ‘Essiebons Special’ succeeds in its aim to celebrate Essilfie-Bondzie’s legacy.

As the sprawling title-track brings the album to a close around the 67-minute mark, the heft of it all can feel overpowering, leaving you wishing for a more concentrated dose.

For those who can stomach its muscular experimentation, Circles is out of this world.

You can hear Badu’s influence across EarthEE, which flows as freely as its predecessor, but is more sonically detailed and rich.

Cole’s incisive, mic-dropping end to KOD reiterates his importance to the rap game in 2018 and, if you’re the speculating type, could even serve as a taster for an imminent full-length follow-up.

This is very much a post-Stormzy, post-Skepta, post-Drake-going-roadman album, and an important stepping stone along the path to the UK establishing itself as a bona fide world-beater at beats and rhymes.

The result is an absolute pleasure.

A clear progression from 1997's broody 'Vanishing Point' and 2000's abrasive 'Xtrmntr', the seventh Primals album is genuinely their most diverse and consistently thrilling since 'Screamdelica'.

The immaculately chiselled 'Daybreaker' is so beautiful and distant that it almost isn't there at all.

One of the best live albums that NME has ever heard.

Taken as a full album in a single sitting, the drum-heavy tribal starkness of it all could be a little overwhelming; unrelenting, even; but the tracklist is just crying out to be dismembered and spread across your playlists like blood-spattering across a crisp white wall.

It's essentially more of the same kickabout beach-pop that Brian Wilson might have sounded like if he'd listened obsessively to '80s indie legends Felt while he was plaing in his sandpit. [1 Jul 2006, p.36]