In rekindling their own purpose, the Teignmouth trio have delivered undoubtedly their most consistent and satisfying album since ‘Black Holes & Revelations’.

For this album to have stayed lost and gathering fluff down the back of the sofa would have been a terrible shame. It belongs on the mantlepiece alongside the best stuff he’s put his own name to.

More than any other Rodrigo album, you feel emotionally spent by the end of ‘You Seem Pretty Sad For A Girl So In Love’, but in the best way possible. This must be the most fully realised journey Rodrigo’s taken us on.

You can hear Peters go through her own blossoming. It takes a while to get there – and some of the tracklist could have been trimmed to keep things from the occasional drift – but by the time you reach ‘Girl’s Just Flying’, she’s healed and immune to the effects of her exes.

An immersive album that documents personal growth and brings their experimental ideas to fruition, completing a metamorphosis. ‘So Help Me God’ was worth the wait.

‘Nature Is Healing’ balances sincerity with HorsegiirL’s whimsy for an album of stone-cold bangers.

Although there are times where she can be hypersexual and crass, her approach to love can be much more nuanced than typical pop-rappers are credited for. Whether she’s talking about money, family or heartbreak, Latto sounds increasingly comfortable embracing every version of herself.

The album shows a fresh side to Vince Staples, and the prospect of him building on its piercing, riotous political gaze is extremely enticing.

Although that firepower and sonic versatility existed on her debut, that newfound ruthless streak makes ‘Looking For People To Unfollow’ such a potent reintroduction. It’s a subtle shift, but one needed to confirm that Vandal has established her own definitive identity to build upon.

This is a deliberately more intense, more complex record than ‘Rogue Carpet Disaster’, one that feels like Static Dress are trying to connect more deeply with whoever’s listening.

Despite the absence of any real bombshells, it’s a pleasure to accompany McCartney as he gets back to where he once belonged.

You cannot deny that these records – ‘Iceman’, in particular – are some of Drake’s strongest work in a while. The trilogy doesn’t restore Drake’s invincibility, but beneath the spectacle and the streaming bait is an ageing superstar still stubbornly clinging onto his crown with both fists.

You cannot deny that these records – ‘Iceman’, in particular – are some of Drake’s strongest work in a while. The trilogy doesn’t restore Drake’s invincibility, but beneath the spectacle and the streaming bait is an ageing superstar still stubbornly clinging onto his crown with both fists.

‘Iceman’ is easily the strongest of the three. Across 18 tracks, Drake attempts to tap back into the slick, laidback sharpness of his ‘Comeback Season’ era, delivering some of his least bloated rap in years.

This is the sound of healing, with Ed O’Brien out of his cocoon and in dazzling flight.

On ‘Of Earth & Wires’, Saleh reveals a new resoluteness as a singer-songwriter, fully embracing pop but without abandoning their experimental curiosity. Above all, they’re using pop as a medium to further advocate for social equality and justice.

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.

Nobody is making music quite like Harding, she is a special, singular artist. Just be sure to take the same approach to interpreting her lyrics as you would to any great work of surrealism; the joy is in the wondering, not the knowing.

["Knife In The Heart" is] one of the most entrancing bops she’s made in years. .... Here’s hoping she’s got at least another round left in her.

While ‘Dancing On The Wall’ does tread newer ground lyrically on songs like ‘Big Stick’, and at times dabbles with heavier, rock-influenced sounds, it also doesn’t divert too far away from the hyper-saturated synthpop sound the band have nailed since day one. And in MUNA’s world, precise, irresistible consistency can be just as compelling as constant reinvention.

Citing Prince and OutKast as touchstones, the record has a sun-damaged feel that envelopes the darker material without washing it out.

It’s that sense of twisting bleakness into something that sounds thrilling is what makes the album so effective. Lip Critic take the horror of Kaser’s very personal trauma into something strangely communal and alive.

It isn’t flawless: a few tracks blur together in the middle stretch, and some lyrical moments fall flat. But the integrity and conviction behind the creative statement more than compensate.

‘Fenian’ is a spraypainted brick wall of consistency, amplifying the adventure of The Prodigy and Burial, seamlessly but tastefully hopping genres while keeping the vibe up to retain Kneecap’s knack for having a good time to illuminate the hard times.

Kehlani’s self-titled fifth album is a satisfying time capsule of R&B which leans into nostalgia and celebrates how far the singer has come.

‘Your Favorite Toy’ is a few more tracks of that depth away from being the most vital Foo Fighters record since 1997’s ‘The Colour and the Shape’. For now, at least, they have remembered that no-frills punk, played fast and loud, suits them much better than middle-of-the-road dad-rock.

As much as ‘Something Worth Waiting For’ is a confident, seemingly effortless next step into the musical big leagues, it also feels like a warning from Kapetan to himself: to step off the brakes before the whole beautiful machine that is Friko falls apart.

It feels as if Tomora’s true potential will truly reveal itself on future records after finding their energy as a live act. Still for now, ‘Come Closer’ is a debut worth dancing about: exceptional, beautiful and shit tonnes of fun.

Blazing, brilliant second album.

Her wildcard authenticity and fiery free spirit is the reason all eyes are on her now.

As ambitious as it is ambiguous. In less skilled hands it could easily fall apart under its own weight. In Picton’s, however, it’s a masterpiece.

Like its namesake, the tape hits like the swing of a scythe: wide rather than precise – not every cut lands cleanly, but enough to make the chaos feel intentional.

‘Pompeii // Utility’ is undeniably a long listen, and it occasionally buckles under the weight of its own ambition. But within that excess lies its purpose: a restless, evolving portrait of MIKE and Earl Sweatshirt at a point where convergence feels less like a destination and more like an ongoing process.

A quietly accomplished jazz project.

‘This Music May Contain Hope’ is RAYE firing on all cylinders – and then some. It’s showstopping musical maximalism at its grandest, while still being grounded in relatable experiences and unbridled emotions.

Giggling through the chaos of the past 13 tracks as psychedelic dream-pop fills in the gaps, we can’t help but give in to the cinematic peak of ‘Wor$t Girl In America’, touching us the way all good movies do.

‘Ö’ is fast-acting and short-lived, and there is a temptation to wonder how well, in the long-term, it will hold up to repeat listens. To dwell on that, though, would be to misunderstand an album that is about feeling, rather than thinking.

Nothing here feels ill-fitting, which is testament to the steady, seasoned collaboration between Robyn and Klas Åhlund, as well as ‘Sexistential’’s capacious vision. .... ‘Sexistential’ is a blaze of audacity that invigorates the whole record.

CA7RIEL & Paco Amoroso have described ‘Free Spirits’ as “complex, fun, honest, with a little bit of everything” – and sonically it lives up to its name, revelling in being unconstrained, even if it’s lyrically all over the place.

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

A tour-de-force of production chops that reaffirms Grey’s established position as a key auteur in the future of her genre. More Black Mirror than Twin Peaks, ‘U’ is an intimate hyperpop record portraying snowballing isolation, a digital-age pop star’s yearning under the limelight of the techno-infused Anthropocene.

Harlow deserves credit for veering away from commercial expectations, pursuing a fresh sound, and keeping things short and sweet. But praising an artist for limiting the runtime of a relatively mediocre album is no huge compliment. ‘Monica’ is an easy listen, something jazzy and inoffensive to put on in the background.

Somewhat of a halfway house between Nine Inch Nails, Orbital and Idles – who they are supporting this summer – Chalk are not alone in their mission to unify the dancefloor with the mosh pit. But, unlike the wonky sleaziness of My First Time or the runaway escapism of VLURE, there is a throughline of uncompromising intensity that maybe helps them stand tallest.

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

Largely, Styles taking a new approach to things really works – ‘Kiss All The Time…’ feels like an album that you’ll really want to spend a lot of time with, letting all its layers envelope you.

With ‘The Romantic’, pop’s economical king of ear candy has surely extended his reign.

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

Some contributors slip seamlessly into her world, amplifying her playful spirit, while others feel more like drive-by cameos, impressive in name but disconnected in vibe. The result is a sonic joyride through the world of dance that dazzles in flashes, even if it never quite eclipses the original.

She is deliciously wry, and in the top lyrical form of her life throughout this record. ... There’s also no sense of her second-guessing what her expanded fanbase might be expecting from her sonically. This is, without question, the most musically ambitious album of her career.

It’s a confident, cohesive return that sounds like Keem has stopped trying to prove he belongs, and started figuring out what he wants to say now that he’s here.

‘No Lube So Rude’ might be Peaches’ slickest work yet.

A solid slab of new music from her – the perfect soundtrack for a winter of yearning and discontent.

The album suitably builds on everything that ‘Going…Going…Gone!’ teased, re-confirming Udu as one of the most flamboyant and honest artists in the pop space right now.

Is ‘Masquerade’ a classic? Time will tell, and Cardinals have demonstrated the potential to grow into something more special. At the very least, they’ve made a record that’s sadly but beautifully in tune with these times and the scars of where they’re from.

Unfortunately, by making snapshot songs, he’s created a scattershot album. ‘Piss In The Wind’ plants plentiful seeds for Joji’s next direction – now, he just needs to let the good ideas grow.

Softcult’s debut album is a confident evolution of their prickly punk but also sees them pushing into bold new territories.

The album’s pleasures are tactile and immediate, the kind of R&B built for dim lights and late-night texts.

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.

There’s impressive variety contained within ‘Dead Dads Club’ too. ‘Volatile Child’’s direct indie hooks throw back to the melodic smarts of early-Strokes; ‘Junkyard Radiator’ arrives woozy and disoriented in a drug-addled, psych-tinged haze, while ‘Need You So Bad’ rings with a gentle kind of euphoria.

Patchiness is the main shortcoming of ‘Dreamer+’, interrupting the immersion that Lindgård commands so carefully in tracks like ‘Dreamer’ and ‘Sleepwalker’s Pendulum’. Nevertheless, the record proves Lindgård is a force to be reckoned with on all fronts – as a producer, songwriter and vocalist.

The band once again remain loyal to their signature blend of chugging riffs, angst-fuelled vocals, and enough shreddy-guitar solos to make your head spin. This is an unwavering commitment that remains throughout, and ultimately becomes both the record’s main redeeming feature and its biggest downfall.

The band’s most musically ambitious and diverse record yet.

An album to be remembered for? Probably not, but it’s bold, it’s a laugh, and he’s done it his way.

‘What Happened To The Streets?’ doesn’t musically reinvent trap the way its more cinematic predecessors did, but the new record showcases 21 Savage’s duality – an ascendant star perpetually wrestling with demons.

It’s the work of a group who’ve managed to grow up without losing their spark. On ‘Selling A Vibe’, the trio are still finding new ways to sound like The Cribs – and that’s a more impressive and unusual feat than it might first appear.

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

Though he could push his sound to be a bit more personal, he’s already armed with a generational voice, an explorative mindset and a singular writing style. Something exciting is bound to emerge from the storm.

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.

On ‘Finally Over It’, the final instalment in the series, Walker feels unshackled for the first time, no longer haunted by her public break-ups.

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.

‘Afterglow’ might be ‘Eusexua’ offcuts, but FKA Twigs’ B-sides are so good they can outrank entire discographies. Does it live up to the lofty marketing of its predecessor? Perhaps not. But it still proves that Twigs is one of the most prolific and original alt-pop icons of our times.

Fans of ‘Giving the World Away’ might be disappointed to find that she’s retreated, somewhat, from the ambition and sonic diversity of that release. This kind of sound, though, is what Pilbeam does best; she doesn’t just ape her influences, but channels them with nuance and empathy.

Sometimes the introspection is a touch overcooked, the lyricism stumbling into platitude. But the honesty and self-interrogation should be applauded, and the powerful, richly textured soundscapes behind it all show why Daniel Caesar is revered as one of the most important artists in modern R&B and soul.

Sorry’s mystique has never been greater, and they’ve never been more intriguing.

It is an astonishing record – one that continuously stops you dead in your tracks, encourages curiosity, and builds a new world for you to dive into, while connecting to the sounds of all of Rosalía’s previous releases.

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.

Part of this brilliant record’s charm is its potential to be a low-stakes, high-quality one-off – a curio waiting to be discovered somewhere along the way.

A tempestuous record, one that stays with you longer than the rage and anguish which, here, is as fleeting, yet deeply magical, as the changing seasons.

Although the record is vivid, striking and thought-provoking – with nearly every song on this album a deep, pensive sonic sulk – the south Londoner’s voice is beginning to slip further away from a generation he intended to represent: one that’s done overthinking and just wanting to feel.

Lead guitarist Michael Bradvica, in particular, is an assertive presence throughout. His Nile Rodgers-style “chucking” on ‘Cinema’ gives the track both groove and depth, while his deft playing on the vulnerable, emotive ‘Smiling’ almost creates a dialogue of sorts between himself and vocalist Maisie Everett with transfixing results.

Album number three from Just Mustard is a more three-dimensional, glorious noise – reaching for euphoria while capturing the rollercoaster of comedowns and the spaces in between; driving melody through the malaise on a psych-driven neon bullet train.

By the end of ‘West End Girl’, it’s clear the relationship in this tale might be over, but Lily Allen’s comeback is just getting started.

It’s an accomplished listen – still as deliciously dramatic as ‘Prelude To Ecstasy’, fleshing out their world more and more with daring, dashing songs of true depth.

Part of why it feels like such a beast is Shelton’s total frankness and vulnerability across these songs, which, while welcome and galvanising, also feels exhausting in the way watching someone run a marathon does.

By its fourth track ‘Loser’, the album’s first single, his insecurities are so hammered down to the listener – “I’m a tragedy / tryna figure my whole life out” – that it begins gets in the way of his arrangements, which so far are imaginative and varied compared to the stylistic tedium of ‘The Slow Rush’.

The 20-track project adeptly captures the sadness and social isolation sparked by Young Thug’s time away, but conveys it with such lethargy and incoherence that you’re simply left feeling sorry for him rather than inspired by his storytelling.

Here, this penchant for simplicity shines – her raw, unmistakable voice operating as the album’s unbudging anchor.

‘R Is For Rocket’ isn’t a record that breaks new ground nor delivers constant hits; but it is a promising debut that does a damn good job at what it set out to do: solid songs, played loud.

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.

Gone are the wistfulness and melancholy that permeated her last four albums, yet ‘The Life of a Showgirl’ still sounds curiously muted despite Swift reuniting with pop super-producers Max Martin and Shellback for the first time in eight years.

‘Vie’ proves that Doja Cat remains pop’s ultimate shapeshifter, offering an album that moves, seduces and entertains on its own terms.

The record isn’t as cohesive or experimental as ‘Caution’, it’s not a big musical transition moment like ‘Butterfly’ was, and it’s not as viral-worthy as ‘Memoirs Of An Imperfect Angel’ – but it’s still pretty darn good.

It’s good to hear Sprints develop on ‘All That Is Over’, but to do so without extinguishing that fire is the fine line they walk.

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

The result is a bloated, soulless shell that never finds its own voice.

This is a band living up to their reputation as exhilaratingly free-spirited, not so much proving they deserve all the accolades and fervent fanaticism bubbling around them but demanding it.

‘I Barely Know Her’ is a slick, ambitious collection of songs crafted for big venues and festival stages.

Biffy Clyro have delivered one of their most personal and definitive records to date.