There is great humanity to And Nothing Hurt, a collection of wistful, wounded observations, the work of a person wearied by the world, but no less in love with it for that. There is hope and joy and naivety here, even as Pierce sounds like he’s been kicked in the groin before recording another cracked vocal.

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.

As the lovelorn ‘From Far Away’ floats by, desolate and broken, haunted by the ghosts of art-rock guitars and phantom electronics, it’s clear that Jeff Tweedy still isn’t comfortable on well-trodden roads and that Warm has moments that upend Americana as beautifully as ‘Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’ did with US indie rock. One to let simmer.

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

Rossen is a master craftsman--and one of the best songwriters in modern rock--and with Silent Hour/Golden Mile he's set the bar tantalisingly high for Grizzly Bear's return.

Light Up Gold is one of the best debut albums you'll hear all year.

He sounds similarly out of it on the dreamy-as-hell pair ‘Drunk And On A Star’ (“I’ve gone dizzy, like a ship/ When that water comes into it”) and ‘Ferris Wheel’ (“Well I lose my mind, sometimes”). By the end of this sublime record, you’ll have lost yours too.

Shoegazing in origin, barn-storming in conclusion. [24 Jun 2006, p.43]

Backed by a supporting cast of R&B superstars and bright newcomers, it’s a record of long, lazy summers; sitting back and staring at the clouds.

In the disarray of anxiety, touring and being thrust into the unrelenting bright light of fame, Chatten found a semblance of balance by channelling acute discomfort into a stirring, spotless debut, and what he excavated from the biting darkness is not only beautiful but promising.

The Great Pretenders is an emotional, emboldened triumph.

As a record ‘The Art of Losing’ also holds up a reflection which is both painful and familiar – it captures the unpredictable, spinning chaos of grief with a searing precision that’s hard to turn away from.

The music that Ghost make over twelve tracks, more than ever before, is a truly delicious pop-rock proposition.

Lee’s lyrics are sometimes sentimental to the point of potentially seeming trite, but they’re logical for a situation where love and pain have become so overwhelming that simple statements seem the most trustworthy.

In a world where a cheap squirt of brass is enough to equal "a new direction", the Super Furries' free-range ideas-farming is a vital antidote to the preservative-pumped junk that curdles music's bloodflow.

They're the sentiments and sounds of West Coast rock becalmed and quietened, stripped of fretwanking excess, and invested with a warmth that transcends cliché. A fortunate, if belated release, and a tragedy averted.

In ploughing a unique furrow in pop music, he demands your enjoyment as much as your respect.

A notch below the genius of 'Debut' or 'Homogenic' but precious nonetheless. [4 Sep 2004, p.73]

‘ALIAS’ proves that Shygirl is in full control of her artistic vision no matter the scale.

They have a way of transporting you to a precise moment or emotion. It’s why ‘The Ballad of Darren’ is so memorable and touching: you can feel it, everything, in every line sung or note played.

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.

Sometimes a joke starts wearing thin, but goes on so long that it comes back around. And Eton Alive is a pretty great punchline. Not everything has to be escapist or explicitly political--sometimes you just want to hear people make gags about a world that you recognise. It’s cathartic, it’s entertaining. It says: you exist. Eton Alive makes Sleaford Mods funny again.

A slippery, intoxicating listen. The production and songwriting feel looser and more experimental, liberated from the weight of carrying heavy narratives or nostalgia. When elements appear unfamiliar, Vynehall guides them into similar worlds like he’s just cracked the next piece of the puzzle.

O’Brien keeps us under with rich, sophisticated soul vibes, oceanic piano, languid sax solos and an overlying tone of optimism.

A record, feels truly – and brilliantly – emblematic of the sharp, controlled chaos that Paris Texas have honed over a handful of previous EPs.

It’s an album that fully appreciates that life’s highs and lows are hopelessly intertwined, which only makes them more beguiling. And above all, it’s a strikingly vital pop album charged with love, lust, sweat and regret. You won’t need a bosh of poppers to feel thoroughly intoxicated.

If ‘This Is Happening’ must be a parting shot from this smartest and most human of dance machines, it’s a fine one. Though by LCD’s own standards this takes second place to ‘Sound Of Silver’’s unquestionable gold medal, by any other current band’s measure this is an all-out classic.

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

Even in its more intimate moments, there’s a certain theatricality to ‘Once Twice Melody’, which is home to some of Beach House’s most surreal lyrics.

Packed with meditative spoken-word vocals, this is an even more melancholic record than its predecessor – and a less immediately exciting one, too. But it’s arguably a more complex beast, born of a complex era yet authored by a musician with one eye on the simple, timeless pleasures of the club.

The result, the 11-track ‘A Celebration Of Endings’, is the band’s most concisely satisfying audio adventure since 2009’s ‘Only Revolutions’.

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.

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.

Drawing influence across the board, it's a work that not so much mixes genres as smashes them into one visceral, jaw-dropping hybrid.

This richly diverse record is markedly Petralli’s own.

This time around, Beam is less like some dungaree-wearing, O Brother, Where Art Thou? throwback, and more like the natural - and, frankly, wonderful - successor to the Elliott Smith and Nick Drake school of perfectly beautiful songwriting.

Fortunately the ponytailed Dane has a distinctive voice that’s both tough and vulnerable, and enough personality in the four tunes on her debut EP to stand out from the crowd.

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.

When the band aren’t flexing their muscles on arena-sized rock soundscapes, they prove themselves nimble and dexterous.

‘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.

They have pulled off another album for the modern age, and its stories live in all of us.

This is a dynamic album that is reflective of the muddled world we find ourselves in – delivered with a fortifying sense of honesty from an essential emerging band.

Effortlessly hip and seductively suave. [8 Jan 2005, p.44]

It may feel a little bittersweet set to the current backdrop of global self-isolation but a record as richly textured as this, and with its focus on communal connection, makes it a ripe world to explore in trying times like these.

Some albums devastate you with subtlety, and others bust your lip – Blondshell’s superb debut album is certainly the latter. ... One of the alternative rock albums of the year, and one to treasure tightly for quite some time.

Ire Works is their most controlled effort to date, even more so than 2004's mainstream-friendly (relatively speaking, of course) "Miss Machine."

Opulence is the perfect playground for Zauner’s spiky sensibilities, an allegorical minefield for the morbidity and bloodiness of our hedonistic modern existences. No one nails that like Japanese Breakfast.

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.

Togetherness is the force that continually grounds The Book Of Traps And Lessons despite the dystopian soldiers that march across its drenched landscape.

Stripped of all the sonic flotsam that usually surrounds them, Animal Collective come into their own--if you can ignore the chatter to listen with innocent ears, they surpass ‘good’ and remain bewildering.

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

'Sung Tongs' brought a smattering of organization to the band's chaos, and now 'Feels' finally sees them emerge, blinking, into the sunlight. [15 Oct 2005, p.35]

The album’s stoic title aside, Thundercat’s lyrical reflections on grief, uncertainty and gradual healing are threaded through ‘It Is What It Is’. ... ‘It Is What It Is’ isn’t entirely shrouded in mourning at every turn though: there’s ample fun and musical exuberance here.

Majestic in its scale, but traditional in its subject matter and narratives, Western Stars is a wonderful thing.

Gratuitous filth, basically. It’s funny, but also a pity, because Yeezus is so tight, so bold, that with a few tweaks Kanye could’ve made his rock for the ages. As it is, he’ll have to settle for one of the best records of the year.

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.

An urgent, free-wheeling bundle of fun, You Can’t Steal My Joy is a debut that adds joy to new wave.

Never afraid to push boundaries or show vulnerability, James creates a compelling world of sound with ‘Gentle Confrontation’, and does so with grace. An incredible achievement.

If ‘Re-Animator’ felt like it was lacking the kind of knockout blow that Everything Everything have provided on every album, they saved it until last. Recent single and album closer ‘Violent Sun’ is the biggest revelation here. You could mistake its opening seconds of The Boss’ ‘Dancing In The Dark’, or its propulsive surge of drums and synths for New Order.

An intoxicating cocktail of seductive beats, exhilarating choruses and sleek production, ‘What’s Your Pleasure?’ is pure escapism.

Fantastic songs that are easy to embrace and return to.

If you imagine the noise God makes just before he eats a slice of cheese on toast, then comparably, that’s how satisfyingly yearning the 65 minutes of 'Takk…' sounds.

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

By allowing her songs to breathe, leaving space for contemplation, ‘Inner Song’ is a perfectly-arranged album where each track has a part to play: an emotive-yet-euphoric collection that’s made for late-night reflection, Kelly Lee Owens has made one of the most beautiful records of the year.

A cacophonous, fearsome and shadowy delight.

Neko Case’s sixth album is typically sumptuous and lusciously heart-rending.

This record comes to cement her place. With it, marks the next chapter in Dean’s career, one as a popstar risen.

Burn is her first album recorded with a full band, though the resultant fuzzily glam swagger doesn’t forsake her wise style, instead coming off like Bill Callahan covering T Rex.

Mostly this album succeeds on attrition and attitude, much like ‘Bodak Yellow’ did.

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.

Though Singularity's 62-minutes can get extremely heavy--Hopkins fondly calls its gargantuan centrepiece ‘Everything Connected’ a “massive techno bastard” – it’s still a near-perfect trip, and one that confirms Hopkins’ status as one of the genre’s brightest talents.

There’s little hope in ANIMA. Little in the way of joy. It sounds exactly like a record trying to say something about 2019 should sound. ... Fittingly, there’s shades of the 2007 videogame Portal here. A bit of Blade Runner.

Sometimes you wish Meloy would just put away his studied thesp-schlock and say, "Man, I'm sick of singing about Victorian peasants. I got dumped once. I want to write about that..." [27 Jan 2007, p.31]

Lurches spectacularly from lounge-jazz to avant-vaudeville and takes a pop at everything in between. [14 Jan 2006, p.34]

An 11-track album that finds them at their most dynamic and urgent.

British hip-hop finally got serious--and Loyle Carner is leading the charge.

This is nuanced, purposeful songwriting from an artist growing in power.

Playful and sincere, mature but childlike, featherlight and occasionally heavy, this assured record sees Whack pull off a Jenga-like balancing act.

In 2021, Low aren’t merely playing rock music gently and slowly: now they’re attempting to rewrite the language of the genre.

Rips is a reminder of rock’s glorious communal potential.

Thankfully this album doesn’t fall into the trap of posthumous records that feel like they’re shamelessly re-animating a corpse and therefore should have been left on the cutting room floor. Instead, this collection of tender songs finds Cohen at his most calm and reflective.

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.

So contagious is their enthusiasm, you could start thinking that black-clad nihilism has kept music to itself for way too long.

'Yoshimi...' sets yet another benchmark.

At times, Negro Swan crosses over from album and into a radio station from a world just outside ours; Dev Hynes has created a fabulous collection of cascading sounds.

‘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.

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.

Sonically, the production is as flawlessly genre-spanning as Lizzo herself: pop at its core, but with constant references to her jazz roots and historical love of twerking.

It’s another glimmering triumph from the counterculture great.

So, business as usual then; SFA have made another enormously enjoyable record, but one that is unlikely to ‘do an Elbow’ and suddenly make them a serious mainstream proposition again.

This music is the electronic, Warp-inspired answer to Brian Wilson's 'Smile.' [31 Jul 2004, p.41]

Though this is not Bon Iver’s answer to ‘Brat’ summer by any stretch of the imagination, many of these same existential questions also linger on ‘SABLE, fABLE’ – a record that grapples with his own identity as much as it does the twists and turns of life. Though some fans feared this might well be an epilogue to the Bon Iver project, it comes across as more of a rebirth.

Whereas Mogwai’s more recent work threatens to make a formula familiar, Fuck Buttons’ fizzling DIY laboratory still has the invention and ingenuity to surprise.

He expertly delivers gang stories with such authenticity that no wonder he’s still loved in his hometown. With ‘Vince Staples’ Kenny Beats has helped Long Beach’s finest release another spectacular record – even if it’s a slow-burn.

Josef K's candy-striped take on post-punk isolationism sounds both ancient and modern. [18 Nov 2006, p.31]

Ultimately, ‘Mayhem’ feels like a great Gaga album because it’s just so much fun. At times, it’s a bit like reconnecting with an old friend who makes sense even when they seem to be chatting nonsense.

Our Love, then, is the moment it all came together for Caribou.

From the crisp, hip-hop accenting on the drums to the full-bodied bass and vivd synths, Currents is an audiophile’s wet dream.