It’s funny, melancholy, randy, touching, disgusting and deeply, deeply strange. It will baffle many--but at 17 tracks and 70 minutes, it has the feel of a magnum opus.

‘Ain’t No Friend Of Mine’ is a brilliantly snotty two fingers up at the world. There’s no danger of finding the same fault in Street Safari, a record even more loveable than PATV’s first.

Accelerate is by some considerable distance REM’s best and most cohesive album since Berry left, and crucially echoes a time when they made their best music, if not necessarily their biggest-selling.

As much fun as the big names prove to be – Thundercat’s turn on ‘Bowling’, .Paak on ‘Moon’ – it’s often more thrilling to hear DOMi and Beck go at it alone.

For the most part, though, After The Disco unfolds at a fertile equidistance from each man’s comfort zone (inasmuch as a polymath like Burton can be said to have one) and the results are a marked improvement.

The record – which is equally rewarding to both newcomers and devotees of the genre – nails the transcendental and transportive qualities Thackray aims to showcase.

It emboldens its listener to feel power in confronting the uncomfortable feelings, and encourages them to absorb every emotion along the journey. It is a shining glimmer of hope in a room full of sorrow, and another string to their ever-growing bow.

There’s no better soundtrack to getting by and falling in love as the world wobbles unsteadily about us.

The Vaccines' debut does a wonderful thing--it reminds you that guitar music still works.

Nine Types...will make those who over-contextualise TVOTR finally quit their chin-stroking and live a little.

If there’s one criticism you could level at ‘Crybaby’, it’s that its slow-burning nature lacks the immediacy or clear-focused thrills of ‘Heartthrob’ and 2016’s ‘Love You To Death’, or the clever concept behind ‘Still Jealous’. But once ‘Crybaby’ truly clicks into place, it makes for another solid collection from a band ever-resistant to categorisation.

What she does do is elegantly weave different worlds together while staying true to herself throughout. It’s a follow-up that seals her as a new icon for outsiders, in whatever shape she takes.

Everything is Love may lack the immediate impact of Jay-Z and Beyoncé’s respective solo latest records, but it’s still interesting to see two of the biggest stars in the world relax. ... There’s nothing glitzy here; it all just works.

His third album in as many years shows he’s on a streak that’s both prolific and high quality.

Post-Jordan Fish, they continue to be what they’ve always been: a creative force that transcends the personalities of its individuals. It entirely justifies the four-year wait, which already feels like ancient history.

From the start, it’s clear that this isn’t some posthumous dig around in a bucket of old offcuts in an attempt to bleed some money out of dedicated fans, but rather a slick and gratifying fulfilment of one of Petty’s long standing wishes. ‘Wildflowers & All The Rest’ feels less like grave-robbing and more like bringing back one of the all-time greats back to life.

On ‘All of This Will End’, she lasers in on community, mortality and how where you’ve come from impacts where you’re going all with her indie pop prowess intact. ... A wonderful album.

A bit of a winner. [17 Sep 2005, p.58]

With its drill influences and eclecticism, this is perhaps the record ‘Donda’ could have been, proving that Fivio has plenty of scope to transcend drill culture.

Lynne’s melodic sparkle, as ever, acts as ELO’s warp drive. He expertly gives tired old genres shots of refreshing stardust.

Their truck-stop talk of tumours, drunk moms and Isaiah 11:6 focus the album on Deep South degradation, but the lush Lemonheads-pop of ‘Drive’, the stoned drive-in glam of ‘That Man’ and the girl-band psych-blues of ‘Baby Mae’ lend this record the tint of a narcotic and poetic take on Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Tusk’ with Jack White on fuzz and Phil Spector on shotgun.

TV On The Radio have returned from an uncertain period sounding remarkably fresh.

If you’re chasing the initial buzz, Little Fictions is quite a hit.

With not a single duffer over another eight tracks, it looks like our eventual Best Of Body Talk compilation might just be the album of the year.

Marcus Lambkin seems to have a thing for awful names and even worse puns. Luckily for us, as Shit Robot, his ability to craft sublime slices of electro house and muscular techno pop trumps everything else about him.

Whether listening to them or foolhardily attempting to describe them, there’s little about Marijuana Deathsquads that’s easy, but that doesn’t make their third LP any less rewarding.

Angry blues stomps such as ‘Early In The Morning’ are the aural equivalent of Wild Turkey for breakfast, while ‘Out At Sea’ combines the grit and growl of the Bastards’ beginnings with a layering of sounds that’s wider, more expansive and ultimately more interesting.

Her second, now with indie Bella Union, is a precious mix of childlike insouciance and adolescent anxiety.