‘Love + Light’ feels like it soundtracks your entire night out – from your first steps into the club to arriving home after hours of raving.

Otherworldly pop that’s sweetly gripping.

Luckily Planningtorock, alias Janine Rostron, has delivered 'W', a masterpiece of art-pop experimentalism that gleefully expands on her debut.

Their classics remain buried in web mixes, but this set captures PC Music’s sublime pop philosophy.

“The album’s aiming for something timeless,” Michael recently told Mojo, and it’s impressive how often this record lives up to that ambition.

This is not a subtle record, but these are not subtle times. So grab a Marshall stack, put it through a fascist’s window and let’s start the revolution. Now.

Interpol temper this album with real atmospheric sadness: the guitar sunspots that flare through 'Untitled'; the echo and ache of 'Leif Erikson'; the way the magnificent 'NYC' brings on the dancing horses for a slow sad waltz through the city's sickness; the snap-shut metal box clang of 'Obstacle 1'.

As changes of pace go, it should be far more jarring than it actually is, but instead it shows a much softer side to a band who should own this summer with their brilliantly heavy two-man mania.

Even if ‘Access All Areas’ doesn’t overwhelmingly herald the return of R&B girl group dominance, the massive momentum FLO have built over the past two years hint that the dam is about to break.

Despite a sprightly run time of just under 38 minutes, the pair cover vast ground, much of it new, across ‘Alchemy’. However, after several sporadic vibe changes, the album’s overall cohesion feels slightly lost, though perhaps that was the intention due to the personal circumstances in which it was created. Nonetheless, it’s clear that Guy and Howard are enjoying their newfound creative freedom to push beyond what’s expected of them.

Ultimately, it’s this blend of new-found maturity and crowd-pleasing choruses that transform Ezra’s second offering into the perfect progression from the sound of his debut.

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.

For those patient enough to wait for this record to relinquish its quiet delights, the treasures waiting to be discovered it are rich indeed.

Not only does it shine a light on what inspires one of the greatest living American songwriters, it also works to preserve the greats of the past and ensures that the best music and stories continue to survive.

They're at their strongest when at their hardest.

Adrian Toubro sings like every word causes him a jolt of pain, but his songs are literate and fine-crafted, reading like distilled existential dramas.

Only four tracks, but enough firepower to blow up the dancefloor.

It's far too early to say whether they will reach the same lofty heights, but there's something of New Order in Hot Chip. There's the same mix of art school-meets-working man demeanour, an unabashed acknowledgement of the debt popular music owes to clubland and a wry lyrical conceit.

This is an understated gem of a record.

A notable progression from the foursome, and plenty of huge riffs to enjoy at the summer festivals.

Sylvan Esso’s fourth offering doesn’t dwell in solitude, despair, or desire for escape. Instead, it resides in what is left after the darkness clears: tighter connections to the surrounding world and the people who populate it. To borrow Meath and Sanborn’s own words, the album is a bold and defiant example of what could happen when you walk back into the world, “wilder and stranger” than before.

Boasting their strongest set of songs for an age.

Maya Hawke might not be preparing to go back to school, as the character at the heart of this record would be but, if she were, ‘Moss’ would guarantee her top grades.

They're silly but their songs demand to be taken seriously, just like Prince, Ultravox and Bowie. And yes, they're like MGMT--in that they're great.

Ten tracks of exuberant, blissful pop later and it looks like the Mackem lads have actually come good on their promise.

This, their third album, continues the Atlantans' slow but upward career trajectory to date, almost akin to an American Elbow in that they're grandiose, utterly lovely, but unlikely to sell any records for at least another couple of releases down the line.

This is a frequently dazzling piece of work from one of hip-hop’s most ambitious and imaginative stylists.

Villagers fans will no doubt love this record, which has the capacity to obtain a new fanbase with O’Brien’s newly found sound.

Gives hope to a hip-hop stuck in a mire of mediocrity. [18 Jun 2005, p.64]

It sounds like a long-overdue coming-of-age. It’s never been easy being a fan of Doherty, but it’s certainly getting more rewarding.

‘McCartney III’’s freshness lends it to both faithful covers and complete rewrites – there’s no baggage to these songs.

Beautiful. These are soft, lush pieces that deep-dive into life’s everyday moments and turn them into something extraordinary.

It’s the sound of the man inside the ball feeling an unknowable fear and trying to accept it. The rest of us should join him in his strife, if only to enjoy that psychedelic drone groove. It’s an anxious riot.

The mental processes, emotions, and reflections that have defined a transformative period, and the years that preceded it, all come to life here.

Easily their finest record yet, a genre-shrugging masterpiece of delicate musicianship and warm feeling.

There’s plenty of fun, filth and frills to go around with McHale’s latest venture.

Vek truly exploits the benefits of being in a one-man band: all instruments and ideas can be used as often or as sparingly as he likes; the feelings of the Mellotron and crumhorn session musicians do not need to be taken into account.

As the album unfolds, the band continue to nail the balance between rebellious anthems and cutting social commentary.

Ode to Joy is the culmination of a musical evolution Wilco have been working towards for years. Ode to Joy holds a microscope to the small moments of life – which, thanks to the current political landscape, we’re often in danger of missing – and encourages us to see and cherish them.

Though they've shed the cheap - but undeniably fun - Day-Glo immediacy of 'Fever...', it's been replaced by a range of expressions that most artists will only stumble upon by their fifth release.

We know what we’re getting from here: effervescent pop-punk smashes with a political edge. The lyrics are more personal here than on previous Sløtface albums, as Shea dissects her experiences growing up in Norway with American parents.

If you were looking for a new Bowie, Patrick Wolf is proving himself the Thin White Duke's successor in more than just his extravagant dress sense.

On 'Octopus' The Bees find their groove and sound blissfully unaware whether anyone else is listening. You should, they've made their best album yet.

There are cheesy moments--Jesso pretends to cry on 'Crocodile Tears', and 'Can't Stop Thinking About You' mimics the theme from US sitcom Cheers--but the compelling fragility of his demos remains. Because of that, Goon is a triumph.

With 'Here Come The Bombs', frontman Gaz Coombes does a surprisingly adept job of retaining [former band, Supergrass's] oddball pop sensibility, but shaping it into something that's, if not mature, then at least slightly less frivolously young and free.

Compulsive and conflicted.

McCartney’s always been about inclusivity and openness, but this latest glimpse into his life feels like a particularly enlightening one.

Their time in a diverse array of groups on the Leeds scene results in a record that’s at once funky (‘Dead Horse’) and spunky (‘Witness’, ‘The Incident’) – even when they slip into cliche (‘Rich’) they sound better than most.

An intoxicating listen, Honeymoon is designed for the red neon glow of a smoky cabaret bar, a Californian answer to the chanson tradition.

Before you even consider the sonic and melodic innovation paraded through the album there’s so much crammed into each of these fifteen songs (without any one of them sounding overproduced or cluttered) that repeated listening is a must.

Metals is, in its own right, quite simply the cat's pyjamas.

Few albums designed to sound like a party actually play like one, but Bruno Mars has pulled it off with style.

A collection of gorgeous, sultry songs that contend with the angst of feeling like you’re the only person who is truly awake and alive in an otherwise sleepy world.

Encore essentially mingles mellowed ska and reggae with funk disco, Latin hints and spoken-word pieces.

Highlight ‘Swamp And Bay’ offers a rare hook-laden respite with a country-ish radio jangle and scuzz-rock climax, but everything stays consistently true to the core of the record: a very human and honest partnership, in a universe all of their own.

AJ Tracey’s debut is perhaps the best of the current crop; twisted, vibrant and ever-shifting, but linked with that confident voice.

The run time might seem a tad lengthy to some, but it would prove hard to tire from a voice as listenable as Tala’s.

Sadly the last couple of songs on ‘The Bonny’ disappointingly tail off and almost feel tagged on. Thankfully there’s more than enough on here to help us dream of better times ahead.

Van Etten tackles heartache with refreshing sharpness, distilling complex sentiments into something beautifully simple.

The Lost Tapes is no barrel-scraping… it's more dark magic straight from the source.

Frontman John Dwyer still sounds like he's singing through a kazoo, the drummer is still obviously banging away on cardboard boxes and keyboardist Val-Tronic plays like all her fingers are broken. [5 Mar 2005, p.50]

On the evidence of this impressive and winningly authentic second album, Cara is increasingly unforgettable.

Whilst jazz and dance are at the forefront of this album’s heart, you can trace a multitude of other genres under its surface, from grime to rock and funk to pop. It’s an ambitious work full of scope, where Boyd continues to innovate and impress.

The fragile piano melody of 'Just Like You' stands out, but this 90-minute piece is best digested whole, as another accomplished Reznor film score.

Climax polishes Beastmilk’s iron-curtained grandiosity slightly (‘Ghosts Out Of Focus’ is eerily like Suede), while maintaining the Cold War-era paranoia in their lyrics.

The result is original, surreal and hypnotic--a brilliant debut.

Sonically, it’s his most polished record yet. London producer kwes delivers a soulful, melancholic sound that helps Carner move from dynamic, multi-syllabic storytelling to a more honest, reflective voice.

It's as though all the contrariness of Blonde Redhead's angular past has dissolved into a fascination with pop ('This Is Not'), '60s soundtracks ('Melody Of Certain Three') and naked piano ballads ('For The Damaged', featuring one of The Black Heart Procession on the ivories) without sacrificing any of the heart-stopping dynamics or confessional psychodramas.

Propelled by sharp, angular sounds, ‘The Center Won’t Hold’ craves connection above everything else in a world that can often seem desperately lonely. Each dirty and distorted throb (unlocked to full potential by Annie Clark’s gift for making guitars sound positively devilish) seems to yearn for another body to hold onto.

Lead guitarist Michael Bradvica, in particular, is an assertive presence throughout. His Nile Rodgers-style “chucking” on ‘Cinema’ gives the track both groove and depth, while his deft playing on the vulnerable, emotive ‘Smiling’ almost creates a dialogue of sorts between himself and vocalist Maisie Everett with transfixing results.

This is an enormously enjoyable album that doesn’t just deliver on its kitsch potential; it also makes you feel both moved and exhilarated.

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

Charli’s second mixtape of the year isn’t just about proving she’s more than your average pop star, but about her settling into her role as innovator, celebrator, and curator supreme.

There are sparks of new wave brightness and Beatles lustre, ensuring an album about uncertainty and dejection remains beautiful throughout.

There’s no broad concept or industry-busting roll-out, just 10 pristine, richly satisfying tracks; no more, no less.

Here he delivers a 14-minute psychedelic disco odyssey ('Comment Revoir Oursinet?') about missing his teddy bear. The rest of 'L'Aventura', his sixth album, is deep-pile funk ('Sous Les Rayons Du Soleil'), bouncing electro-soul ('Aller Vers Le Soleil') and as cheesy as a Camembert cravat.

‘That! Feels Good!’ is a maximalist tour de force of glossy pop sounds. A liberating collection that seeks to paint a three-dimensional picture of Ware – as “a lover, a freak and a mother”, as she sings on ‘Pearls’ – this album sees her embrace a Sasha Fierce-like alter ego in a celebration of dancing and female agency.

‘Melodies On Hiatus’, adopts the same spaciousness of the territory it was created in, allowing Hammond Jr to spiral and sprawl out sonically. ‘Melodies On Hiatus’ may seem meandering at times, but eventually it lands where it needs to be.

A debut brimming with bile.

In pursuit of an authentic sound, Humberstone proves that she’s not only inhabiting her own space – and beckoning listeners in – but also building out the walls.

Through a rich exploration of genres and a new level of emotional depth, it becomes clear that ‘Skeletá’ was made with a new vision in mind, and comes as the promising start of a new Ghost chapter.

An enchanting record of twists and turns.

I’m Going Away sees The Fiery Furnaces abandon their surrealist tendencies to work outside their comfort zone, experimenting with structure and euphony to reassert their status as our most vital musical siblings.

From the outset it makes clear that it features songs that aren’t rooted in any one place or time, but are effortlessly stitched together to create a dynamic mapping of modern urban existence.

The whole thing fizzes with a wired guitars-on-sleeve honesty and an artful intelligence more akin to The Mars Volta after an emergency jazzectomy thanThe Datsuns’ deadheaded dolt rock.

It’s always best to take what M.I.A. says with a pinch of salt bigger than the NHS would recommend but if AIM really is her last album, it feels like a fitting parting shot.

At its most euphoric, 'In Case We Die' is reminiscent of the cast of South Park forming a Polyphonic Spree tribute band after an all-night feast of sugarcubes and E numbers. [13 Aug 2005, p.58]

It's clear this group have ways of getting beneath your skin. [20 May 2006, p.33]

There are no real bangers here, but for once that’s not a disappointment cushioned by wafty ballads. Instead the low-key, moody production throws the spotlight on the words and the images brought to play by Beyonce as serious album artist, encompassing bulimia, post-natal depression, the fears and insecurities of marriage and motherhood, and lots and lots of sex.

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.

The absence of quirky samples and lame big beats make it all sound, right now, strangely radical.

‘Don’t Forget Me’ shines in its simplicity, with Ian Fitchuk (Kacey Musgraves, Stephen Sanchez) as the sole collaborator. Here, through a whole-hearted embrace of the folk, country and Western that underscored her upbringing, Rogers’ seems more at home than ever. Yet, ‘Don’t Forget Me’ exists as a meticulously crafted homage to the road trip.

A constantly surprising and relentlessly melodic pleasure.

They've made a sincere, unironic record about how great life can be if you want it to be.

This urgent and important record will ensure the veterans don’t get lost in the shuffle.

There’s a reason that the London-via-Kendall four-piece, centred around siblings Fiona and Will Burgess, have been attracting such attention. In fact, there are 11 of them on this debut full-length. Much of it’s down to Fiona Burgess’ sad yet sultry vocals and the way they stretch across these dreamy, largely synth-based songs.

‘FACE’ might not be flawless but even in its missteps it reflects the turbulence of modern life – and especially of the last few years. If Jimin’s mission on this record was to stretch himself creatively and distil that dissonance in these songs, it’s one he’s accomplished.

After You shows an artist rejuvenated and fired up, and hopefully back on track to stick to a more timely release schedule in the next decade.