Strange Little Birds is a record that’s human to its very core, revelling in flaws and failures, but never losing hope. And in that way, it’s the perfect mirror for its creators’ 22-year career.

The record never diverts from a tried-and-tested formula, but Crossan brings a modern touch via nifty production tricks and songwriting knacks.

The trio reflect the growing bleakness of the world around them by sounding more fiery and furious than ever before.

Lostprophets have, against the odds, carved something genuinely fresh.

Rarely does a remix EP recalibrate songs so thoroughly while maintaining every inch of their magic, but we should expect the unexpected from Phoebe Bridgers by now.

A union of intelligence and passion. [26 Mar 2005, p.51]

Elegantly-strummed slices of lo-fi Americana.

Probably the most gutsy, timeless recording of his career. [5 Aug 2006, p.29]

This is more than just a superior soundtrack album, and the 18-year-old prodigy can mark it off as another job expertly done. Her approach to alternative pop music is frighteningly adventurous.

It's as idiosyncratic and tinged with goofiness as one might expect for a band with members called Panda Bear and Geologist.

A freshly squeezed record with the pulp left in it.

It gives an alternative to Lipa’s super-polished pop take on the shimmying sounds of the ‘70s, feeling delightfully handmade as it struts through 12 sublime tracks that transport you out of the four walls of your home and into a world much sparklier, sweatier and fun.

An album of eerie, elusive beauty.

Webster’s evolution from her self-titled record is a delight to witness. The songs are more direct and lyrically she’s become a remarkable observer of the little things that make us tick.

Nao’s real flair, though, lies in embracing the old school and making it seem fresh. ‘Get To Know Ya’ and ‘DYWM’ both re-rub late ’80s soul and push it firmly into 2016 with crisp production and an effortless dancefloor feeling. More proof, if it were needed, that Nao--and her odd but addictive vocal--belongs up front.

Strange, out of time, unfashionable, eccentric, obsessed with found sound, full of boffiny tics and tricks. [24 Jul 2004, p.48]

Melodies bristle, harmonies surge, hooks fly dense as bullets in The Raid and Joe Keefe's lush stoner vocals trace out stories of neighbour-annoying hedonism, missing home and boozing and rocking all the way to the afterlife. Fun-drenched.

For all its flaws, 'Up All Night' bristles with passion, energy and, most importantly, amazing songs. [26 Jun 2004, p.53]

Though the guests form a great deal of the fabric of the album, they do so on Battles’ terms, firmly entering their universe. No guest – not even Shabazz Palaces’ flowing verses on ‘Izm’ – steals the show. ... An album – that indulges the weird and wonderful side of Battles while also, simply, giving the people what they want.

While the band's long-standing interest in songs about monsters, vampires and zombies is absent, Fair's yelps of enthusiasm and lightning-strike guitar could wake the dead.

‘Welfare Jazz’ sees them sidestep any so-called second album slump. There’s no huge reinvention of sound – except for some country-ish sounds, typified by the Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn-style call-and-answer ‘In Spite Of Ourselves’, a punk hoedown with Amyl and the Sniffers‘ Amy Taylor – but a definite reinvention of mindset.

Overall, ‘I Told Them’ is not only more memorable and focused than its expansive predecessor, but it’s his strongest album yet.

For all its occasional lack of bite and drama, Halcyon Digest's tender, transgressive pop proves a fine and focused addition to a uniquely haunting body of work. Cherish it like you would a phantom limb.

For now though, this is a very fine record. Not Herculean exactly, but certainly something that NME loves.

Sonik Kicks is the sound of Paul Weller growing old the only way he could--not particularly gracefully, but with no small amount of style.

Fully fleshed out pop songs with endless charm, if this is what living in the moment sounds like, it suits her.

They can still write the most incredibly beautiful songs. [23 Oct 2004, p.49]

There are subtle nods to what’s come before, but for the most part, this record sees Morello adapt with the times to create a record on the cutting-edge of a genre often afraid to evolve.

Hebden has recalibrated his sound to something darker and more rhythmic, without losing a note of melody. [21 May 2005, p.66]

They’ve pitched their comeback between an emotional exorcism for Homme, but with enough fan-service for the die-hards; this is up there with their darkest, knottiest material to date, and will be appreciated all the more for it.

‘TILT’ is a record that proves that campness and ridiculousness doesn’t have to come at the expense of real depth.

This love for dramatic highs and muted lows on this album makes the record a rollercoaster of emotions and sounds, and a polished and entertaining debut.

By now, it should be clear that this lot know how to pen a whopper of a pop anthem – that remains apparent here – but more crucially ‘MUNA’ also serves as solid evidence of a band with many more chapters of evolution up their sleeves yet.

He's made one of the best British albums of the year--that's why he should be feted.

Hardcourage steps on from the broken UK garage rhythms that typify much of FaltyDL’s earlier work and into the sort of soulful, pleasurable house grooves occupied by the likes of Four Tet and Jamie xx.

There’s also clarity in the lyrics--some of his most direct yet.

The likes of highlight ‘Ruby’ and ‘Step Into The Cold’ are gloriously faithful nods to their influences, executed with enough dedication to the head-music revivalist cause to make them far more than mere pastiche.

It’s clear that the members of MICHELLE are moving forwards together in search of something new, but are grateful to be in no rush to find it.

This third album is as good a guitar-pop set as you'll hear all year.

Like cold, clean water, Austra’s Future Politics washes clear the mental muck, leaving you feeling alive again.

Where the songs were once floaty-light, 'The Enemy Chorus' is anchored in electronic menace and murky krautrock undercurrents that make it throb as much as shimmer. [20 Jan 2007, p.31]

It showcases Solange's experimentation at its best, but is only a prelude to a full album in 2013.

This is a colourful, energised collection of work from an artist who could comfortably stay in her own lane, but chooses not to.

That's what they do with pop--layer incongruous harmonies and bastardised riffs to make us look at it anew. If that sounds like too much effort, then Man... isn't for you. If however, the thought of it as a brilliantly unsolvable puzzle appeals, then bow at the feet of pop's new Picassos.

Foreign Body crawls under the skin and stubbornly lodges itself there.

Produced by the band, with help from Pink and former member of Test Icicles Sam Mehran, its follow-up is cleaner and more conventional. But there’s a tease of their old sound before the murk lifts completely.

A brazen, heartwarming, classic '70s bardic rock album, spirited enough to compete with and instruct the Ashcrofts and Gallaghers.

True to title ‘Things Take Time, Time Time’s unshowy songs take hold more slowly, but Barnett’s small snatches of happiness grip you all the same.

Massive in pretension, slightly too long and gothic, but when all the pieces fit, you can't deny its unstoppable power.

It's what The Velvet Underground would've sounded like if they'd been psychopaths. With a heart.

Whatever gear they have at their disposal, WITTR remain almost unbeatable for swelling, atmospheric excellence.

Here, on their seventh album and two decades down the line, Enter Shikari sound perhaps the most joyful they’ve ever been, and even when they become characteristically philosophical, it still comes from a place of positivity.

‘Good Lies’ puts the pair on the edge of a major breakthrough. Its pop-leaning moments are also its most exciting, and the creativity and skill with which they bridge these worlds is thrilling.

‘Venom’ is a consistent album that builds on last year’s teaser project ‘EXPLICIT: The MiXXXtape’, but this time with a significantly raw feel.

Texans Explosions In The Sky have not only stuck faithfully to their roots, they've made the defining album of their career.

There are many marvellous things about Orville Peck’s new six track EP, ‘Show Pony’, which shimmers as brightly as a cowboy’s pair of freshly polished spurs.

So Much Fun is a free-spirited record that comes with heavy doses of ridiculousness, but it’s lovably silly, and is a welcome dose of light relief.

AURORA has often been plagued with this patronising image of being another “ethereal” Nordic witch. This, though, is a fiery record dealing in reality – dancing with the imps rather than away with the fairies. Album highlight ‘My Name’ pulses with a Trent Reznor groove – a flash of evil but all guts, balls and intent.

This is a left-field masterpiece and Brown's best work for a decade.

Ultimately, this is a more mature Rocky: suited, settled and self-assured. The bachelor’s grown up – and somehow, that hasn’t dulled his shine at all.

A great record. A great work.

This is a powerful, memorable collection. Accessible from the get-go, ‘Life Under The Gun’ carries a universal message while staying true to its hardcore roots.

With ‘The Million Masks Of God’, they’ve written something that feels similar to one – a record that traverses every corner of their sound, from beefy rock songs to string-assisted grandeur and acoustic bliss, further cementing their place as an under appreciated band to treasure.

By eschewing the feel-good fakery of some of their peers, they’ve cracked something far more unifying than meaningless, posi-punk platitudes.

It is by all means a stimulating body of work with ample substance, but it doesn’t take itself too seriously. Less focused on his innate individuality, it’s a John Mayer passion project that toasts to the good old days, when musicians were more inclined to follow instincts and feelings than clicks and likes.

With so much honesty packed into the 11 tracks, the album is an invitation and a challenge to go after what you want – without apologising for it.

Positive but with some very real weight behind it, the album’s closing track sees the self-proclaimed God of Partying emerge with a renewed desire to show the whole world a good time.

Malawi’s Esau Mwamwaya, however, is proof that even the West’s slickest and sickliest can be used well by inventive minds.

What they have done, though, is find their voice again, and, for the first time in over 20 years, The Libertines feel like a band with a viable future.

For her less conventional-sounding follow-up, she and producer Prince Fatty have beefed up the basslines, giving her tropical pop songs a dubby atmosphere.

There are plenty of hooks here, but nothing to make a festival tent bounce like ‘Boogie’ or ‘Gold’ can. It’s a small criticism, though, on an album that resets Brockhampton’s compass and sees them straying away from the danger of implosion that ‘Iridescence’ seemed to suggest.

In trying to write an album for herself, she’s made one that will resonate harder than anything she's done before.

Clipping's nightmare is riveting, particularly during its sweat-inducing peak 'Get Up', which uses an alarm clock as a beat underneath breakneck verses.

Often ‘Saves the World’ is brutal in its specificity – with devastating effects.

Britrock's grumpy uncle has regained his gnarled spirit here and fans will feel all the better for it.

This peek into FEET’s trippy world is a often confounding, but on the whole this album is a giddy ride from a British band not afraid to push the boundaries of their own sanity – and, quite possibly, your own.

It was produced by Michael ‘Mike D’ Diamond of the Beastie Boys, though sounds like it’s held together with snot and sawdust, lending the record a sense of spontaneity that runs through all 16 tracks.

Endlessly fun, stuffed full of brilliantly left-field production and ear-worm choruses.

BTS are back doing what they do best – serving as both ambassadors and explorers, fuelled by curiosity and creativity.

From where we’re standing, it doesn’t sound like Gartland needs to change a thing.

These songs feel like the bratty little brothers of the likes of ‘Castaway’ and ‘Blood, Sex And Booze’ from 2000’s ‘Warning’, but with more of a snarl and a need for speed.

‘Harry’s House’ is undoubtedly Styles’ best record yet and presents a musician comfortable and confident in what he wants to create right now.

Only a joyless weirdo could deny that these are fearsomely well-crafted songs, as clean-lined and immaculate as a well-cut suit.

Itâ??s in its latter stages that Viva... truly goes stratospheric: on the magnificent orchestral pop title track, where Martin imagines himself as a deposed French king reduced to sweeping the streets; on the bruised â??Yesâ??, like Dandy Warhols and Depeche Mode lost in a desert duststorm; on the Satanic blues hymnal of single â??Violet Hillâ??.

Tracks like 'Oya', 'Think Of You' and 'River' have a sparse, ghostly quality reminiscent of early Regina Spektor or Björk. Innovative and comforting.

‘Affection’, then, feels particularly special for Bullion, a collection of alt-pop that deserves to be heard by the masses.

Throughout, Gibbons and her collaborators maintain a needling sense of unease that, when punctured, allows for fabulous melodic blowouts.

This album acts as a bookmark of his creative evolution, and its polished production work makes it a good representation of his musical identity thus far.

While De La Soul’s social commentary is incisive, at its core this is an album about David Jolicoeur and the space he’s left behind.

It hides more than xx did, sneaking its miserable joys behind bare spaces, surprise time signatures and subtle dramas. But listen after listen it reveals just as many treasures beneath its layers of shimmering sadness.

‘The Mountain’ as a full-bodied world-building affair; arguably their most rich and complete since ‘Plastic Beach’.

Despite the sense of chaos, there’s a level of sophistication and poise on show throughout. This record showcases Black Lips in a songwriting prime.

They find a balance with the old xx though. Fragility and self-doubt are still themes. Indeed, the highlight is Romy’s pensive, vulnerable ballad ‘Performance’.

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

They seem driven by the joy of making music great again. It won’t change the world, but record is a wonderful world all of their own.

In what might be the biggest compliment I will pay any band this year, the thing that the album most reminds you of is the medley on 'Abbey Road', in the sense that it's hard to pick out individual 'highlights' in what is an endlessly evolving collage.

This is an album of long, mysterious love songs to get lost in for days--seek it out.

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.