The album Daft Punk should have made. [7 May 2005, p.66]

But Paramore have always been more pop than their fans may like to admit, and this mainstream rebirth feels like a transitional step to something gigantic.

There’s still a lot to love about B&S, but there was something magical, otherworldly even, about them during this period that this compilation captures perfectly.

While Cox is no stranger to gut-spilling, it feels as poignant as ever on this record.

'The Private Press' isn't a remarkable record - it lacks that startling and instinctive excitement capable of pushing music into the realm of the era-defining.

Interpol temper this album with real atmospheric sadness: the guitar sunspots that flare through 'Untitled'; the echo and ache of 'Leif Erikson'; the way the magnificent 'NYC' brings on the dancing horses for a slow sad waltz through the city's sickness; the snap-shut metal box clang of 'Obstacle 1'.

This album proves that Bird is up there with the kings of US alt.country pop like Lambchop and My Morning Jacket.

It’s a reminder that, more than just being influenced by the likes of Joan Baez and Stevie Nicks, she’s now on a par with them. Lana Del Rey is at the peak of her game – just don’t expect her to come down anytime soon.

‘Source’ is a reflection of Nubya Garcia’s hometown; a mirror spotlighting London’s skilled musicians and a reminder of how thrilling this scene can be. The project’s urgency is baked in calming undertones, forcing listeners to be meditative and to connect, and a sense of rejuvenation, providing a call towards a larger sense of community.

There's no overarching narrative to Short Movie--it plays out like a series of vignettes, of moods and moments, people and places--but there is a sense of a journey completed, with a hard-won wisdom at the end of it.

‘Reeling’ is gripping throughout, and the band always seem ready to ascend to another level.

It may be theatrical, but ‘Superache’ still feels deep and honest. Cut through the crescendoes and you’ll find real tenderness.

‘Back To The Water Below’ feels like a return for Royal Blood. Honouring their gut, as Kerr said they did in the studio, has manifested fertile results for their band.

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.

Along with its album-ending coda, it helps to shroud the album in a rootsy, pastoral intimacy fitting for the times and akin to (although significantly meatier than) ‘McCartney’. In between, as you’d expect from a legend who’s been pushing his electronic boundaries on recent albums such as ‘2018’s ‘Egypt Station’, Sir Paul approaches the record with the same adventuring spirit as he did ‘McCartney II.’

As disarmingly brilliant Mutant can be at times, it’s still deliberately obscure.

The first long-play offering by these Pennsylvania teen punks might just be one of the best punk rock debuts of the year.

The duo have used their total creative freedom to make an album which doesn’t sound like the last one, exactly, but doesn’t concern itself with the supposed importance of ‘progression’ either.

Filthy, sexy, thoroughly debauched pop at its finest; Palo Santo feels like a magical album.

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.

An album awash with pretty ambiguities and difficult twists.

By the end of the record he’s dissected that toxic old institution with the wit, eloquence and beautiful musicianship. It’s an album that does not only confronts the cult of masculinity and its endless tentacles, but ultimately overcomes it.

Ultimately Blake isn't yet the singer-songwriter to pull this album off.

The little dude is a poet. Still, at a relatively lean 30 minutes, it’s hard to argue this is a heavyweight album.

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

It's a surprise and a pleasure to report that much of The Ecstatic is--whisper it--simply good, honest hardcore hip-hop given a twist by MD's slurred, inebriated delivery and use of odd imagery.

A brutally romantic record.

Twelfth solo album Saturns Pattern backs up recent promises of another shift in sound, sending him into uncharted, acid-spiked waters.