Made In The AM doesn’t really change anything for One Direction; it's simply another slick set of pop songs designed to strike a chord with their teenage fanbase and win over a few older fans along the way.

It’s clear plenty of good choices have been made here. It’s not quite redemption--only time will tell if he’ll curb the recklessness--but it’s certainly a start at reinvention.

The problem is, these impressive production techniques are in greater abundance than actual tunes. With clever tricks rather than pop hooks, expressionistic (and often mumbled) lyrics and a lack of relatable themes, Aquaria can feel cold and self-involved.

Less of a concept album, more of a patchwork, Mirrors runs together not so much seamlessly as breathlessly.

It’s those sudden, inexplicable breakthroughs, those little lightning strikes of inspiration, that this compilation is ultimately concerned with. And it’s in those moments when these crappily-recorded fumblings become a source of real fascination.

By embracing the pop orthodoxy, you might argue that Boucher has sacrificed some of what made her seem so alien when 4AD debut 'Visions' emerged from the ether back in 2012, but rest assured: she's still laughing and not being normal, only this time, it's all the way to the bank.

This compilation isn’t anywhere near as enlightening or engrossing as its source material, but if you’ve seen the film, read the think-pieces and are now determined to buy the album, there’s just enough here to make it worth your while.

Melodramatic ballads like 'Secret Love Song' and 'Love Me Or Leave Me' aren't as entertaining, but they're outweighed by the sassy kiss-offs of 'Hair' ("He was just a dick and I knew it") and 'Grown' ("Your voice dropped and you thought you could handle me").

There's something disappointing about this, however undeniable the quality of material.

The prevailing air understatement doesn’t detract from Making Time, but it does mean it just peters out. Woon could have done with pursuing the harder edge of ‘Movement’ a bit more. But he does things his own way and, for the most part, that’s a very good thing.

Whereas Ryder-Jones' old band inhabited a colourful, self-contained world of soft drugs, spaghetti westerns and Scouse jabberwocky, his own sonic nook might seem smaller and more earthbound by comparison, but it's no less personal or poignant for that.

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

If tracks like ‘New Town Velocity’ or ’Easy Money’ passed you by, this is an opportunity to reacquaint yourself. The Smiths songs, of course, will be of particular interest.

Guy Garvey’s solo debut follows the classic pattern--he’s off to play trad-based songs that “don’t fit the Elbow template” with his mates from I Am Kloot (bassist Pete Jobson) and The Whip (guitarist Nathan Sudders), don’t wait up. But as it reels out the old lines it proves quite the charmer.

Together, EL VY create an enthralling musical space where Matt Berninger can explore the idea of being Matt Berninger.

Always intelligent but never too clever for their own good, Here We Go Magic finally break into a huge, dumb guitar solo on 'News'. That's where they are, making the challenging accessible, a band forging their own path at last. Never mind, Be Small, this thinks big.

Within the first four songs, 5SOS shout out underachievers, college dropouts and kids battling low self-esteem. They do so with winning sincerity, but even that can’t quite make up for the record’s derivative sound.

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.

It might sound like Real Lies are living in the past, but Real Life is fiercely in the present.

Divers, her unusually tight fourth album, is full of lofty concepts (‘Waltz Of The 101st Lightborne’ sees time-travelling soldiers wage a futile war on their own ghosts) but her crafty tales, signposted by ornate folk arrangements, rarely outpace your imagination.

Nothing else on Confident is quite as much fun [as Cool For The Summer], but Lovato's intensity never wavers as the album alternates between trap-influenced midtempo tracks like the Iggy Azalea-assisted 'Kingdom Come' and bombastic power ballads that show off her mighty vocals.

It’s a shame the editing isn’t as tight all the way through, but these grooves sure are deep.

A remarkable album, one that only grows more awesome with each listen.

If these guys don't have the loftiest ambitions ever, it needn't matter when The Agent Intellect makes post-punk feel like purest rock'n'roll.

An album packed with skyscraping highlights.

Many of the guests are of the squeaky-clean variety--Ella Eyre and Sinead Harnett will be deemed edgy by almost no one – while two Lianne La Havas-sung numbers tackle bossa nova (‘Needn’t Speak’) and slinky disco (‘Breath’). Still, Rudimental know when to light the fireworks.

The London trio's second full-length is a breakneck, open-eared, positivist post-punk canter.

For now, Editors sound like a band in need of precisely what their name advertises.

Sexy, fierce and occasionally very, very silly, this is an album made to be played on jukeboxes in backwater biker bars the world over, loudly.

‘Eyeshadow’ treads more familiar ground, thrillingly injecting the Welshmen’s knack for an anthemic chorus with Thursday’s pulsing, wide-eyed intensity. Rickly fans may be uneasy with No Devotion's softer synthpop moments though.

An intense, emotional record.

These nine songs often build and build only to splutter out in a last, exhausted gasp. And then the next track cranks up and the cycle continues, giving the record a grinding, thwarted sense of frustration.

This is the unmistakeable sound of a star being born: this is an album with something to say, in a voice all of its own.

A record largely comprised of sulphurous gothic rockers such as ‘Lose The Right’ and ‘Be Still’, both of which sound like a band working from muscle memory.

Across the whole record, there's a kind of galactic atmosphere that gives everything an spacey edge.

Back To The Woods is both a consolidation for Haze (they sound like themselves again and there’s clear sonic unity--all the tracks were produced by old friend/collaborator TK Kayembe) and something of a hangover of a record.

The record peaks with its first two songs.... The rest is Condon shirking off the grandeur of his earlier arrangements with his simplest songs yet, but without showing he’s got the songwriting chops to move on.

What A Time To Be Alive often sounds more like a Drake album than the jazzier, busier records that Future usually creates. Yet the Atlanta rapper dominates the record, demonstrating his impressive adaptability.

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

A record like a deep gulp of cold air on a clear, bright morning after.

Emotion is packed with frighteningly relatable songs about love, longing and heartbreak.

Country, spiritual, rock both voodoo and drivetime; it’s a masterfully messy mash-up, yet the contemporary grime and gravel caking Crosseyed Heart is quintessentially Keef.

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

HITNRUN Phase One isn’t one of Prince’s best albums. But neither is it his worst. He hasn’t lost it. He’s just resting it.

The 11-track collection of lugubrious love songs shows Hawley returning to his smooth ice-cream ad soundtracking roots.

An outstanding (dare I say ‘perfect’) debut.

The result is an album teeming with hooks and melodies butting up against countermelodies, and a crisp, vibrant pop production.

This is a smooth, sleek band with their eyes on a bigger prize and they undeniably lose something in the process.

Even if Ones And Sixes doesn't end up the proverbial fan favourite, it maintains Low's status as a reliably moving creative partnership.

Third album La Di Da Di is comprised of 12 entirely instrumental tracks that feel less like stand-alone songs and more like strange sonic experiments cooked up in a lab.

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.

Beneath those perverted pop bounces, though, are some sadder, softer moments, and a reminder that Levi doesn’t just need discordant noise to twist your insides.

While the music may not always match up, the lyrics reaffirm The Libertines’ place as one of the most vital British bands ever and should usher a fresh generation of believers on board the good ship Albion.

It’s to the LA based quartet’s endless credit then, that they manage to not only make their revamping of the sound fresh and funny, but poignant too.

Whether dabbling in light or dark, the Nottingham trio are never anything short of exhilarating.

He may have softened his edge, upped the production and pulled in the stars, but The Weeknd remains an outsider.

He’s an impossible person, by all accounts--especially his own--but also an exceptionally expressive songwriter.

Miley Cyrus And Her Dead Petz is surely the weirdest album made by a massive pop star in recent memory, but more impressively, it's also an essential listen.

The Strypes maturing isn’t surprising or disappointing, but the loss of the identity that made their ascent so startling is. That it seems to have been swallowed up by an unoriginal and dated indie sound is all the more galling.

Yes, PiL have made better records. But it’s nice to know John Lydon still cares enough to rage.

An essential emotional pummelling as well as an aural one.

Foals [has the] potential to be the most inspired and inspirational band of their generation. All they need do now is let go of the safety rail and plunge.

Frustratingly, flashes of the wired energy that got them noticed in the first place are few and far between.

The expansive arrangements feel like unnecessary decoration. But on the billowing ‘You Got Me Time Keeping’ and sweet single 'Sometimes' Black's experiment works, injecting new flamboyance into his introverted songcraft.

One of the strongest punk debuts of 2015.

By the end, it’s more than enough noodling, but you can’t help but marvel as Drinks shred their fingertips.

It’s difficult to share the singer's awe when the musical backdrop sounds so tired.

The five tracks on M3LL155X feel like parts of a whole, musically and thematically connected in a way you wouldn’t necessarily expect from a between-albums EP.

The 10 [tracks] he chose form a supple, sedated record that's immaculate throughout.

With High, they’ve recorded an almost perfect 30 minutes of indie-punk. There’s no flabbiness, no million-dollar production that adds nothing to the songs, no bloated guitar lines or pointless drum fills and nothing that even comes close to seeming in any way meaningless.

The music itself, meanwhile, has become more brooding and lugubrious: in keeping with the old clichés Spector seem to live by, you could characterise 'Moth Boys' as their 'difficult' second album, the product of failed relationships, life on the road and more disposable income to spend on synthesizers.

Eyes Wide Tongue Tied is more testament to subtlety and getting the basics right.

They’ve honed their approach to a point where they can’t really sound like anyone except themselves. Mostly, though, this is the key to the deep likeability of Stuff Like That There.

The problem is, while the music is as violently powerful as ever, the rage, anger and lyrical bite are starting to sound seriously forced.

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.

At 16 tracks long, it’s a dense, textured offering that--on numbers like the lush ‘Love Streams’--manages to shimmer with both nimble experimentation and languid pop finesse.

While Green Lanes doesn’t exactly break new ground, it does refine their warm’n’cosy formula enough to interest.

The record works as just five songs.

Eminem’s cameo on ‘Medicine Man’ is technically superb, but the content somehow comes over both hateful and boring.... But it's hard to deny Compton is brilliantly constructed, a masterclass in 21st century hip-hop.

Bejar’s dismantled the old Destroyer sound, but he’s built something wonderfully disorientating in its stead.

Good news for OutKast fans, basically, although the pair’s debut works best when it’s playing it weird.

The music shambles between arid Americana and early Strokes pep, but ultimately it’s Chapman’s grizzled longing that enchants.

The Wellington five-piece’s sixth album is a fabulous meld of power-pop, electronica and US West Coast harmony that swings through techno-country on 'Prawn', and even dabbles in soulful house on 'Celestial Bodies'.

She might be lacking an obvious crossover hit, but you get the sense that those will arrive sooner rather than later; in the meantime, Georgia has something far more valuable: bleeding-edge vitality.

At times, you want more rage. Other times, more clarity. You can’t doubt Public Enemy’s resolve. But on Man Plans God Laughs, music and message remain a notch out of synch.

Only the plodding ballad ‘Hurt Yourself’ fails to earn its place on the track list, and on the whole Death Magic makes a grander statement than its more rudimentary predecessors. It sounds like Health finally know what they want.

Every album is a chapter in Frank’s on-going aural autobiography, and Positive Songs is his Getting Over It dispatch.

Less, in this case, is definitely more: The Beyond is his best work to date.

Simplicity means the record occasionally feels samey, but it seems mean to criticise something that feels so pure.

A few indulgences like an ‘Auld Lang Syne’ singalong are the main gripes to dampen an otherwise monumental presence.

Gemma and Sophie Bakerwood and Louise Croft exploring electronica, with deep synth tones, crunching glitch and, on ‘Divided By Surfaces And Silence’ and ‘Skip To The End’, flickers of drum ‘n’ bass. Wordless, sighing vocals grace the semi-acoustic techno of ‘Hearts Not Parts’, the trio’s voices rushing through the gaps in the instrumental wash.

Needless to say, this is 45 minutes of Satanism, anti-capitalism, rebel protest, warfare and gore in which every form of sludge/speed/death/pop/goth/punk/armadillo metal is flung onto an increasingly gooey and formless pile, like a torture chamber’s heap of discarded body parts.

To be able to write with universality is the mark of a songwriter’s ambition growing, and here Mac DeMarco is transitioning into one of the best around.

It’s a beautifully crafted album, with Orlando’s lyrics their strongest ever.

Colourful and unconventional throughout, Knockin’ Boots keeps Julio Bashmore’s reputation for bangers firmly intact.

Momentary Masters is his most satisfying, cohesive record yet, and, in many ways, his most personal.

Bahdeni Nami isn’t a bad record, exactly, but it’s not quite the best place to crack into Souleyman’s catalogue (which, if you believe estimates, stretches to a mindboggling 500 recordings).

They build a monumental wall of hardcore noise on 'Egophillia', before taking a wrecking ball to it and screaming wildly into the mess. Elsewhere, there are tight grooves on ‘Disdain’ and ‘Terrible’, and the guttural riffs on 'Starved For’ offer plenty for bleeding gums to gnaw on.