So exciting that it should come with a precautionary bottle of Prozac. [6 May 2006, p.33]

Bentham may have struggled writing this album, but the results exude confidence and ambition. Whilst it draws heavily on the slacker sounds of the 1990’s, Bentham brings the genre firmly into 2020 with her fresh take on what it’s like to create in a time where inspiration can be hard to find.

The devil be praised that, rather than visiting the shrink or brothel to deal with his sexual dysfunction, the Grinderman went to the studio instead.

It’s an intricate project – the record also comes with an accompanying 50-minute film – that could collapse under the weight of its concept. Bolstered by its author’s frank pen, though, and instilled with a sense of hope, it’s a powerful listen.

A raw blast of electric power that serves as a career coda, of sorts.

It is an elegant and, quite frankly, utterly beautiful record.

A Weird Exits should prove a solid fan-satisfier or entry point for newbies.

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

Far from just leftovers, the second excellent album to come out of this rich period proves that the well runs deep in Tamara Lindeman’s imperial phase.

Follow-up No Blues finds the band settling into a more consistent sound.

It’s light and transcendent, but also grounded and assured of itself even in its most vulnerable moments.

Can you hear it? It’s here! Biffy finally make that sprint-burst into the rock stratosphere and trample over the competition like badly tattooed elephants smashing through dead branches.

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.

It’ll be under your skin in no time.

The Black Keys are clearly determined not to get stuck in any such rut, with ‘Brothers’ marking the midway point between the garage-rock stylings of their first few albums and the hip-hop influence of last year’s Blackroc side-project album.

The result is an album as art smart as Franz, as disco droll as Hot Chip, as pose pop as The Naked And Famous and as catchy and cool as the Two Door lot on the other lot's Indian cycling holiday.

At 60 minutes plus, it’s too long, and neither Cocker and Eno’s ambient doodle nor 3D’s ‘Invasion’ work. But, nonetheless, ‘Never...’ is sleek, deep and full of ideas.

Gorgeous.

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

There’s an Afro-funk air to the bouncing ‘Money Man’, while the languid ‘Mary Mary’ offers some chilled Orb-style breathing room during one of the most joyful dance releases of the year.

You can’t fault Owusu’s ambition, nor his ability to translate his furies and fears into a response that feels genuinely reactive and urgent. On his third album, he’s made a truly modern version of a protest record.

Gone Now proves he should be recognised as more than a writing partner or producer to the stars, but one of the stars himself.

It's an audacious album of lyrical wit, a defiant record of pugnacious bass, samples from a certain robot-helmet-wearing French electro duo, tangential guitar, synth noise and dark mutterings, much of which concern Smith's experience of the medical profession following a spate of broken bones.

Goddamn it's taken a while, but with 'High Violet' The National's slow and steady evolution can no longer be ignored. This lot are fully grown-up, coloured in and going overground.

It's heady stuff.

An underground delight. [13 Nov 2004, p.57]

This is happy music for hard times, a ray of warm and righteous sunshine just when it was needed most.

Taking common inspiration and twisting it into their own shape, Childhood have concocted a debut that’s more than capable of standing up to the rougher approach of their geographical peers. In doing so, they've uncovered a diamond.

The brevity and density of the album, coupled with the unique production, makes it seem like an epilogue to ‘Some Rap Songs’. Earl Sweatshirt has made another project that listeners will scrutinise and dissect repeatedly. It’s further proof that Earl Sweatshirt is a generational talent.

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

A series of back-to-the-futurescapes that are both lush and subtly unnerving. [29 Jul 2006, p.29]

It's Beirut/Bon Iver/PJ Harvey brilliant, taking Damon Albarn's 'Dr Dee' to sublime extremes.

A consistently interesting set that reminds you that Neneh Cherry didn’t just come up with visionaries like The Slits and Massive Attack, but truly became one in her own right.

When he tells us that “fame is a disease” on ‘Drive’ or laments being trapped in a “penthouse prison” on ‘Cry For Me’, these are hardly original ideas. But they do feel like authentic expressions of anguish from The Weeknd.

Other People’s Lives has achieved a wonderful thing. It is both calm and collected, but wildly unhinged at its core, which bubbles away with insecurities and mysteries. Stats’ record belongs to Ed Seed and his band, but in reality, he’s telling all our stories just as much as his own.

This serves as an honest, vulnerable, and occasionally brutal reminder of what Tegan and Sara have always been best at.

As an exercise is sounding totally, defiantly alive, it is a complete success.

Casual fans may not last even three minutes. But for those who are willing to sit with its discomfort, ‘Perverts’ reveals hidden depths – the same way that eyes need time to adjust to low light. What it reflects is in the eye of the beholder.

‘Daddy’s Home’ is Clark’s most welcoming record yet, defined by an arch humour which also brings its listeners closer than ever, and filled with compassion for the characters who dwell within it.

Screws Get Loose is best listened to live in a mucky kitchen at your mate's cool older sister's amazing house party.

Only the overlong ‘Ice Age’ disappoints on a solid, often stunning record.

On ‘The Prettiest Curse’, they’ve taken their sound and unashamedly experimented with it. They’re all the better for it.

A quiet return to form.

The odd well-intentioned platitude hardly spoils an album of killer choruses on which Ryder’s infectious likeability shines through at all times. Next time he might want to chuck in a few more curveballs, but for now, ‘There’s Nothing But Space, Man!’ sounds like the beginning of what could be a really stellar career.

Shame’s latest offering is a refreshing refuge for those thirsting for music that stirs you up live, and allows you to play witness to a band’s evolution of sound.

As he ricochets through twitchy rave pulses, sugar-corroded pop sheen and chrome-filmed club futurism, Brown is still unmistakably himself – even if not all experimentation lands perfectly.

‘Secret Love’ is an accomplished, assured effort – like its predecessors, yes, but in a manner that subverts the expectations set up by them.

This real-life fairytale is made up of myriad difficult home truths but Marling's hejira, her flight to freedom, makes for absolutely compelling listening. Oh, and there's a happy, redemptive ending to boot.

Philosophically, they haven’t been so focussed since 2010’s ‘The Suburbs’, nor so musically dramatic since 2007’s ‘Neon Bible’. Subscribe.

Listen to the beats and you'll find The Neptunes' best work in years. [27 Jan 2007, p.31]

Still The Boss.

[Silverlined is] a glorious peak on an album that, save a couple of weaker links (‘Angel’ and ‘Just A Ride’) is hard to fault. Thank god Peace are back, and on breathtaking form.

Here is a winsome, lady-driven response to the wood-chopping likes of Midlake, Fleet Foxes and My Morning Jacket that remains refreshingly sweet.

'Untouchables' is a record that grows spikes with each listen and is by turns exhilarating, confusing, inspiring, embarrassing and astonishing.

A classic of sad pop. [23 Apr 2005, p.51]

‘Play Me’ provides a left turn that has no place being this jarring yet pleasurable from any ‘rock’ artist, let alone at 72.

Both muted and epic, Second Love foresees a future where torch singers are forlorn replicants and a post-human’s ElectroFolk.2 port is hard-wired to its heart. You’ll believe they can 3D-print love songs now.

This Old Dog is mostly a gorgeous, perfectly paced record for lazy days outside. But every so often a moment of madness slips in, and this gives the Canadian an edge over his peers.

A seven-track album (it’s Kanye’s current obsession; both ‘ye’ and ‘Daytona’ ran to the same length) can hardly help but feel slight, though the brevity actually suits this collaborative record. It sounds, suitably, ghostly and supernatural.

Yeasayer’s greatest achievement is their balancing act, teetering between heartfelt and overly earnest, between invoking and pastiching past decades, between worldly experimentalism and token tourism.

A 60-minute torrent of positivity, an open-ended love letter to his wife -

Born In The Echoes is a bold reinvention of the Chemical Brothers’ sound, pushing the late-period renaissance that 'Further' heralded to somewhere dark and twisted.

‘CMFT’ isn’t the most profound or intense album Taylor has put his hand to, but it’s certainly the most fun. He sounds in love with life, a man finally free of his darkness.

The instrumentation and overall production are lightyears ahead those of his debut, too. The velvet texture of ‘Everything You Need’ enhances his renowned melodic swagger, as does the tranquil sheen of ‘Rollercoastin’ and the space-age fizz of ‘Paid My Dues’.

On this debut album, Picture Parlour have shown that, in time, they have the skillset and belief to escape the shadow of their idols, and refine their own unique sound that future rock’n’roll bands will be dying to emulate.

The Timothée Chalamet-sampling ‘As If’ sees him defiant and refusing to change. With nods to homophobia and fentanyl addiction, it’s a modern take on bratty emo and the rest of Glaive’s debut album is just as complex.

It’s a showcase for Pusha’s cold-blooded flow and crammed with memorable lines.

Kelis. Genius. Pop auteur. Credible diva. Welcome back.

The five-piece’s debut album is a mini manifesto on harnessing your own power, pooling it with your mates’ and taking on anything the world throws at you.

Though it’s not entirely without precedent, there’s still more than enough innovation here to mark Visiter out as one of the summer’s must-have releases.

‘Culture III’ is more focused than its exhausting 24-track-long predecessor, but a stricter edit here could’ve enhanced the experience even further.

Denser than any of their three albums, New Misery blends catchy solos, beefy drums and thick synth parts indebted to Spiritualized and OMD with Cullen’s voice--which remains evocative of some dreamy American high school utopia.

Working with producer FaltyDL, who’s credited on every track here, Blanco creates a body of work that feels cohesive but not constricted.

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.

While he shouldn’t have to answer all his critics, Bridges does so on ‘Good Thing’ with remarkable aplomb. If he was indeed once a rehash of the past, this time he can’t be tied to one specific time, past or present.

‘Loving In Stereo’ might not quite satiate as fully after the delicious hooks of its lead singles, but in elevating Jungle’s pulse overall, McFarland and Lloyd-Watson have captured what feels like a natural and necessary progression – and a fun, danceable one at that.

It’s not only the consistent songwriting clout that elevates this album from recent efforts by Grande’s teen-star peers, Demi Lovato and Selena Gomez. Even if most of it is co-written, the modish message of empowerment feels honest coming from Grande.

On her second album, Kiesza has defied the odds and made a solid comeback to the pop world. ‘Crave’ is a very promising – and very fun – hint at even bigger and better things to come.

FSOL fans may not be impressed. But for connoiseurs of sprawling, loony progtronica, this other-worldly masterpiece is so far out you need a telescope to see it.

It all harks back to the word-in-your-ear confessionals of ‘Fevers And Mirrors’. Were it not for the whimsical, country-tropical jangle of ‘Hundreds Of Ways’, Upside Down Mountain would very nearly be its equal.

Despite its subject matter, the record’s production and graceful composition prove more calming than dizzying.

It's a gripping darkness that doesn't often lift. It's hard going, but it's worth it, and that is undoubtedly their point.

The barbed musings on dead scenes (‘Dull Boy’) and vacuous hipsters (the aforementioned ‘Big Toe’) add lyrical bite to an album that, sonically, barely strays from good vibes territory.

Pushing the boundaries of their sound and leaning into pointed lyricism, this record is a welcome new chapter for the band.

The Bedlam In Goliath has its unnecessary extravagances but it’s still a grand catharsis from the forces of evil. Or, for those unwilling to allow a little imagination into their lives, just a really fucking good record.

It’s terrific nonetheless, a coiling gothica sci-fi soundtrack that cocoons Richard Pike’s echo-soaked vocal amid pulsing, binary-code electronics.

‘Careful What You Wish For’s quality--along with that of everything else here, not least the closing ‘Silent Night’, featuring a full church choir epically utilised to yank up every hair on the back of the listener’s neck--re-confirms Glasvegas’ position as the most exciting British band right now.

Though ‘Comfort To Me’ retains The Sniffers’ talent for a rowdy rock’n’roll track – the largely instrumental ‘Don’t Need A Cunt Like You (To Love Me)’ blazes in and out of view with one-and-a-half minutes – it also shows a more reflective side to the band amid the silliness.

There’s plenty of furious bluster on the record – vocalist James McGovern sounds incensed on ‘More Is Less’, and ‘Feeling Fades’ remains a razor-sharp torrent of feeling – but maybe its most interesting moments come in the slow-burns.

A smooth gear shift from 2013’s ‘The Best Day’ and 2018’s ‘Rock and Roll Consciousness’, ‘By The Fire’ manages to stand out with ease. Here Moore elegantly channels his sense of poise and calm in a word going to shit, easily proving why he remains a hero in the world of alt rock.

‘Higher Than Heaven’ may not be strictly personal, but it definitely sounds like an album crafted with care, skill and no small amount of flair.

Plastic Hearts finds the pop-star-turned-rock-star going hell for leather – and when Miley Cyrus is at full throttle, it’s an absolute blast. Life has imitated art, and she’s become her very own Ashley O.

The 10 tracks disappear in a brisk 28 minutes, as if to say, ‘Chin up, mate, get on with it’. A heartbreak record--done the British way.

Still shamelessly livin’ it up, with an eyebrow cocked and high kicks galore, ‘The Human Fear’ is – as promised – Franz-y as fuck. You do you, hun; you do it so well.

This debut confidently chronicles every dizzying high and crushing blow that love brings – affairs of the heart have, after all, long been Michaels’ specialist songwriting subject. Most notably, each song is anchored by Michaels’ distinctive one-liners.

Skinner has consolidated everything he’s done before, chucked in where his head’s at now and come up with an album that, while lacking the visceral thrill of ‘Original Pirate Material’, is a minor masterpiece that will mean a lot to a more select bunch of people.

It’s flawed, it’s imperfect and it’s downright odd at points, but it is packed with belting tunes. Most of all, it’s fun.

Seemingly existing on a higher plane, this feels like upended R&B beamed down from outer space, encapsulating everything from the smoothness of Sade to the edginess of Aaliyah.