Many have tried to recreate the vibrancy and laidback groove of vintage soul-pop, but to absolutely nail it you need to be someone truly cosmic. Amy Winehouse just about managed it, and Matthew E White is one other such person.

This year’s first great pop record bowls in with a rapturous celebration of the genre's rebellious, trashy potential (and a bottle of champagne and a pocketful of pills to boot).

12 years after the tracks ‘Obsessions’ and ‘Mowgli’s Road’ introduced us to a singular musical talent, Marina’s melodies and vocal hooks still don’t sound like anybody else’s.

With a Balearic pulse and horizontal attitude throughout, this record is ready-made sunshine--MDMAzing pretension-free fun for the masses. This is the album we need in these hard times, even if we don’t deserve it. Put this record on, dance until sunrise, gurn through Brexit and rave until war is over.

Spirituals’ gets more brutalist as it goes on, weaving its way from tropical space-pop through cosmic reggae to the gothic R&B cranks and coils of ‘Ain’t Ready’ and, finally, to ‘Fail First’, a wonderfully New Order-ish concoction of indietronic chug, industrial grunge guitars, spectral cheerleader chants and punkoid yells.

Slay-Z is a blast. What sets Banks apart from her peers is her ability to bounce effortlessly between genres.

Features Blake's richest and most emotionally resonant work yet.

The band have covered all bases this time; pushing themselves to experiment while still celebrating what makes their music so catchy and compelling.

Whatever happens next, Shears has certainly delivered one of the year’s most welcome and infectious comeback albums.

The glorious quirks and inventiveness of Let’s Eat Grandma’s earlier work might be amiss on ‘Two Ribbons’, but its immediacy will likely win them new fans. This is the stirring sound of reinvigoration in the face of loss.

IX sees the Texans at their most focused and thrilling.

It's easy enough just to drift off and let these tracks gently massage your eardrums like a hover of trained hummingbirds. But if you choose to look beneath the surface, each track audibly vibrates with ideas.

Go Go... is a delight, and much less agitated once it's settled down.

The results are beautiful, moving and – regardless of subject matter – brilliantly inventive.

Luckily, no amount of squelchy beats, dubstep bass, trip-hop crackles and gabba breakdowns can suppress their effervescent sense of melody.

After this increasing headway, Ivy Tripp is slicker than its predecessors, but Crutchfield’s emotional rawness hasn’t been glossed over.

Clearly, Houghton's found fertile ground in connecting with her inner rage monster, but there's a different side to the album too: anthemic glam rock reminiscent of Bowie's work with guitarist Mick Ronson.

It’s a deft, heartfelt and above all personal record that pays fitting tribute to Jara’s immense legacy, all the while providing a platform for some of Bradfield’s finest songwriting in recent years.

Escapism’s one thing, but we need artists to sneer at the stars and sing songs about the gutter, and right now no-one does it like Sleaford Mods.

This is a fine record and you can add an extra point to the score if your stereo cost over a grand.

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.

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.

It takes a pretty special type of artist to release 11 zip files of music for free, follow that up with three albums within a year and still pique your interest when a new release crosses the doorstep. But such is the way of Wiley.

Black Midi will almost definitely never make easily digestible or understandable music – they’re probably as excited and confused about where they’re heading next as we are – but to focus on the finer points and try to make sense of it would be to miss the overall point of the band. Simply going down the rabbit hole with these deeply weird, brilliant musicians will never be less than exhilarating.

Despite the numerous directions ‘Greatest Hits’ charges off in and the many styles they splice together, this album never feels like bad cover versions.

‘Back In Love City’ refutes that assumption [being past their prime] emphatically, presenting instead a band still at their very best and still brimming with ideas, invention and – most importantly – a knack for writing great songs.

Each idea is significantly different from the last and this latest album is an immersive look at the grizzly realities of millions.

Post-mainstream breakthrough, Oxnard is a deft dissection of the fallout, just as free-ranging and hopeful as you’d imagine.