Immunity is expertly paced, and as good for coming down as it is for coming up.

This album is the stylish and streetwise mash-up of genres that you’d hear on an UNKLE or Gorillaz record. It never really blasts off, but this time it’s more about the journey than how fast you get there.

Music as taut, spare and ominous as The Bad Seeds at their most malevolent. [21 Aug 2004, p.49]

The album is split into 10 blasts of discordant brilliance.

[Joanne is] a leavetaking song of great, simple beauty, more tenderly affecting than anything Gaga’s done before, showcasing the emotive power rather than the force of that great voice. The rest of the album too, rings with urges for us to take care of each other in a cruel world.

It’s the brightest, most listenable collection of songs he’s pieced together in some time.

McBean... decided to have a go at everything. Luckily, he appears to be a natural. [4 Mar 2006, p.31]

Unadulterated genius--we're practically drooling.

This is a brilliant album that will no doubt top some ‘best of 2008’ lists, but it’s hard to work out if it’s a one-off or not.

Tearing through its 10 songs in a shade under 28 minutes, World Of Joy sounds like a band straining themselves to top a personal best. Happily, they’ve managed it.

If you think Jack White's given 73-year-old Wanda Jackson a new lease of life, then think again; she's been kicking up a hot fuss since she ditched that Elvis fella in the mid-'50s.

The powerhouse metal sound that’s earned them a religious following in every far-flung corner of the globe remains firm. But here, they take things further; ultimately letting imaginations run wild in an album that’s more confident and idea-packed than ever before.

So alongside the creeping softness of ‘Dreamliner’--which is full of Alt-J-worthy waves of sensual electronica--we get the biggest noises the band have made to date.

The brightest and most subversive moments on the album come when Dreijer enlist blunt lyrics and wobbling instrumentals to articulate hard-to-explain emotions flawlessly.

DaBaby has emotionally matured over the last six months, a fact that is reflected in his lyrics. Even if he has the superfluous style of the old DaBaby, there’s greater depth here than there was before.

Tinged with Grandaddy and full of hooks that twinkle like the diodes on a robot from 1984, this is an obscenely enjoyable return.

As they prove across ‘Isles’’ 10 intricately-crafted tracks (which were whittled down from more than 150 demos), few other artists can conjure up these much-missed moments of patiently rapturous rave ecstasy quite so artfully.

Poaching multifarious links from dance music's evolutionary chain, MSTRKRFT grind the good-time sounds of Marshall Jefferson-era Chicago house with harder Detroit techno, and use much of the rest of the album to stretch their ideas out.

On the evidence of this stunning piece of music, we'd all do well to give a bit more of ourselves over to the machine.

Brimming with the prickling anxiety and stress that’s become commonplace during the pandemic, as well as the comfort Charli XCX has found in a strengthened relationship, it’s a glorious, experimental collection.

Hs 16th (16th!) studio album, sees him eschew such stylings and instead go for broke on telling tales and flashing his soul

‘None of Us Are Getting Out Of This Life Alive’ isn’t just a testament to Mike Skinner’s intriguing evolution but also proof of his keen eye for curation. It’s good to have him back – and all of his mates, too.

Even shorn of their comedic context, the best of these tracks still have the power to rupture internal organs at 20 paces.

Albarn pulls you close and whispers the codes of his life into your ear. Switch settings to ‘decipher’.

Two years ago, such a mis-match of styles usually resulted in dizzying chaos for the duo, here it’s inventive and enjoyable as they capture teenage life with devastating precision.

This fuzzy, muddy record splits the difference between the bubblegum pop-punk of Furman’s earlier albums, such as 2015’s ‘Perpetual Motion People’, and the more unknowable ‘Transangelic Exodus’.

It may not bother the charts in quite the same way as ‘Slide’ did, but it’s more than enough to remind us that we should dismiss Takeoff, the solo artist, at our peril.

This effort is a bold step that shows no compromise on the horizon.

By the end of the record he’s dissected that toxic old institution with the wit, eloquence and beautiful musicianship. It’s an album that does not only confronts the cult of masculinity and its endless tentacles, but ultimately overcomes it.

No Gods doesn't disappoint.

So, less shoegazing and ’80s pop, more Doors and ZZ Top. Still magnificent, though.

As an honest dispatch from the coal-face, it's glorious indeed.

It's warm, out-there pop that was worth all the care and attention that has been invested in it.

It’s this ability that makes The Big Pink so special for, beneath the dissonance, the artful posturing and the pop hooks is something far more enduring: these guys have got a soul and they’re not afraid to bare it.

With the help of 'Cisco fuzz-pop linchpin Mikael Cronin, they've turned out a collection which displays a fondness for vintage '60s psych and the spooky microdot-pop of Thee Oh Sees.

Some of 'Free The Bees' could have been recorded 40 years ago and some of it could have been beamed down from an orbiting space station 3,000 years further along the pipe than us. [26 Jun 2004, p.54]

Taking so many chances means there are inevitable hiccups, but they scarcely matter.

Squired by The xx producer Rodaidh McDonald, this second album is hugely accomplished.

Through glowing stasis and solemn ceremony, Divide and Dissolve’s sonics of despair and destruction have been crafted into a remarkably life-affirming experience, and it’s never been more needed.

By digging deeper into her heritage and her own psyche, Cabello has created her richest and most compelling album yet.

It's a dream of the psychedelic tropics, a heady explosion of colours, an album that takes what it means to be 'in an indie band' and gives it a good shake.

While there’s a sense that Webster’s not taking the songwriting risks she once was, this transcendent set suggests sincerity suits her.

While it’ll take more than four songs for any veritable flashlight to irradiate Skullcrusher as the answer, this EP will at least start us asking the question.

These heartfelt, confessional apologies are delivered via Jay’s most concise, straightforward album in years. 10 tracks and 36 minutes long, this is a filler-free return to form after 2013’s patchy and bloated ‘Magna Carta Holy Grail’.

The most brilliantly ambitious record of the year.

Causers Of This’ infects your mind with pure psychedelia, splicing such conflicting sounds as soul, freak folk, hip-hop and electronica, and the result hits you like Animal Collective on a comedown, or Ariel Pink with Seasonal Affective Disorder.

The cathartic nature of the album is clearest on the emotive piano and string-laden ballad ‘Praying’, a forceful Lady-Gaga-worthy offering of defiance, as she hollers “’Cos you brought the flames and you put me through hell / I had to learn how to fight for myself”.

They may have been apart for eight years, but less than a minute into opening track, 'Crystal', they've slotted back into their own idiosyncratic groove and the years are pouring off them.... Being in New Order never sounded like half as much fun as it does here.

It’s a moment of pure pop catharsis that leans into the good, bad and messy of infatuation. This is the joy of ‘The Secret of Us’: it doesn’t shy away from the complex or contradictory. Here Gracie Abrams embraces her growing pains and celebrates enduring the difficult moments. She’s never sounded better.

No influence spills into the next song and that makes for fairly rigidly eclectic listening, but it's done so artfully that there's never a sense of stylistic boxes simply being crossed.

A rough and rabid ride.

The process of letting go has resulted in a record on which an acclaimed voice can explore human emotion with more breadth and depth than ever before.

With lyrics that encompass the reality of ageing with all its wisdom and regrets, and with music that employs the deftness of touch that can only come with long-term honing, Arab Strap have delivered their defining record.

‘Please Stay’ is wistful and pretty, but largely forgettable, and the surging indie-rock of ‘First Time’ doesn’t quite hold up against the rest of the record. But for the most part, Dacus proves that looking back at your past might make you cringe, but there is beauty and value in those faltering, gawky days.

It’s a fizzing piece of hard-rock magic.

‘Spiral’ is a gorgeous, often filmic listen that rewards with each spin. Most importantly, Jaar’s enhanced vocal role gives a new voice to troubling themes previously suggested in the stirring moods of Darkside’s music. Eight years was worth the wait.

Bird roars through the album’s 15 tracks, seamlessly transitioning to thoughtful downtempo moments. Broadening her sound to keep up with her perspective, she’s stayed true to her roots while knocking down the genre walls she was once placed within.

‘The Melodic Blue’ offers a confident and fully-realised project, one that shows that he continues to be difficult to pigeonhole.

‘What You Gonna Do When The Grid Goes Down?’ is Public Enemy’s best effort since 1998’s ‘He Got Game’.

‘Let Her Burn’ is worth the wait.

The result is a consistently uplifting set that feels like Minogue’s best album since 2010’s ‘Aphrodite’.

For the converts there’s enough familiarity and boundary pushing to justify continuing to invest in this band, right as they begin playing their first headline arena shows on their upcoming spring tour. But for the doubters and sceptics still on the fence, this album might prove even more enjoyable and surprising. Only a fool would deny themselves this collection of big pop bangers.

Succeeds as a standalone work, regardless of its authors’ statuses in the indie-folk world.

For the most part, Rodrigo has passed the bar she set on that single [‘drivers license’], sharing with us an almost-masterpiece that’s equal parts confident, cool and exhilaratingly real. This is no flash-in-the-pan artist, but one we’ll be living with for years to come.

Confidence is channelled in compelling directions, as The Chats come for everyone and anyone trying to ruin the feel-good party vibes. Poking fun at ticket inspectors, beach racists and boy racers, this record finds them fighting jobsworths and ignorance with laughter.

Mostly Ghettoville is an exciting new landscape to get lost in and explore, even if it does spell the end for Actress.

Beautifully recorded strings and piano occasionally break the intimidating, sustained reverie, and the stark, rolling drums of 'Prime' suggest that Wexler could take this somewhere far darker.

It reasserts Benson's standing as one of America's greatest songwriters.

It may have taken over a decade for Doves to pour their souls into ‘The Universal Want’ but if it turns out to be their final transmission, it will be a worthy closing chapter to their epic legacy.

Bejar creates an astonishing world in just nine songs; it's his finest work to date, and excessive, but irresistibly so.

Vocodered, stretched, distorted, warped, deliberately upstaged by beats so showy they belong in a strip joint - quite simply, she's almost managed to make herself disappear. That bluntly explicit title isn't just pointless irony. This record is about the music, not Madonna; about the sounds, not the image.

By the time ‘Axis of Evil’ rolls around to close things out, you feel as though you’ve been given the fullest scope yet of what the band are capable of.

It's great.

These two rap entrepreneurs have proven that it was worth the wait for another studio album. The years between ‘Revenge Is Sweet’ and their debut ‘Long Way Home’ have been fruitful for the duo, but – for all their dabbling – this is a welcome return to their roots.

Everything pushed to the limit, it becomes abundantly clear they’ve made an album that sounds as at home on the dust-stained subway as it does at the peak of the Empire State Building.

Impressive debut. Somehow, he manages to tame the album’s kinks into a cohesive if not beguiling whole that’s eminently challenging and comforting to listen to.

With the help of former Coral man Bill Ryder-Jones, Liverpool's We Are Catchers (aka Peter Jackson) has captured the melancholy essence of Beach Boy Dennis Wilson's solo album 'Pacific Ocean Blue' and distilled it in the murky Mersey to produce this confident debut.

While Saint Etienne will always sound like Saint Etienne, these songs are their sharpest in over a decade.

Picking us up where the laptop prof's 'Los Angeles' debut dropped us for another nocturnal journey through LA that serves as a moody, widescreen, be-bopping riposte to UK dubstep. Only this time it's a flashier ride.

Starsailor have produced a debut album of real emotional depth.

Against the odds, 'Think Tank' is a success, a record which might not mean much to Strokes fans but which shows Blur's creative spark is undimmed even while their stomach for the pop fight fades.

There's light, shade and careful nuance throughout.

Confident, relevant and full of gorgeous instrumentation, Ella Mai’s debut proves that she is more than worth the hype.

But while 'Dear Catastrophe Waitress' delivered an aural punch above B&S's usual weight, it wasn't quite the return to form many claimed. That return is delivered here, on 'The Life Pursuit', Belle And Sebastian's seventh album and their best since '...Sinister'.

You’re Dead is a madly inventive record, one that takes hip-hop and jazz as starting points, beats them both to death and then brings them back to life in an almost unrecognisable form.

Spiky and cool where 'Songs For The Deaf' was smooth and tanned, tense and alien where that record was baked and ready to party, 'Era Vulgaris' is a record that feels like rust and stings like battery acid.

This is often quite brilliant genre-busting music from a girl who makes a mockery of Lily Allen’s status as the voice of ‘ordinary’ Britain.

Here, Simz is stripped to the root, healing in real time. Raw, flawed and deeply human – this is what blooming really sounds like.

Fans of whiskey-drenched, feedback-fuddled blues-rock, form an orderly line.

This madcap might raise the occasional laugh, but inside he’s crying, and for all your voyeuristic unease, you won’t be able to look away.

Those waiting for another record as challenging as 'Vitalogy' will be left disappointed. But 'Riot Act' is the sound of a band entering a powerful middle-age. They still deserve your attention.

The past eight years have seen Blanck Mass creep forwards to slowly become one of the UK’s most exciting experimental producers. Animated Violence Mild is the pay-off, a fantastic, delirious soundtrack to our demise.

‘Edna’ is proof that he’s the unmistakeable, global ‘King of drill’, and much more besides.

Welcome home, The Boss. [30 Apr 2005, p.64]

Full of fraught, frivolous fun. [11 Jun 2005, p.67]

While the meaning part is sometimes tough to decipher – far more so than her previous work – it’s not the answer here that’s important but the journey. It takes a little time to immerse yourself in Harvey’s world, but once there, you won’t want to leave.

It’s a high-quality project, but we lost Mac way too soon, and that’s hard to accept. So while it’s hard to listen to him talking about self-deterioration and how he spends far too much time in his own head, it’s a privilege to hear him share his inner most thoughts over a bed of sweeping, inventive sonics. This is the album Mac Miller was born to make.

Perfect pop without the pretence, basically.