He wields the Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra as deftly as he did his spliff-stained six-string.

Clearly fed with water from a pool full of wide-reaching influences, Mind Control is a record that reveals more about itself with every listen.

It’s tempting to say that ‘Deceiver’ truly excels at its heaviest, given that these moments – the pitiless, piledriving chorus of ‘For The Guilty’; the heaving last gasp of feedback that roars through ‘Acheron’ – are the record’s most memorable. But it’s actually the more fragile moments on ‘Deceiver’ that ultimately prove to be the most emotionally resonant.

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.

Ode to Joy is the culmination of a musical evolution Wilco have been working towards for years. Ode to Joy holds a microscope to the small moments of life – which, thanks to the current political landscape, we’re often in danger of missing – and encourages us to see and cherish them.

Easy to admire, but hard to really love. [27 May 2006, p.31]

It's like the best bits of every extreme metal subgenre: a deathly crossover of sludgy, blackened thrash that will put hairs on your chest.

Unlike Cash, the ego on display here still sounds like it's got the whip hand on the talent and you never really start to like him. [4 Mar 2006, p.31]

Oh My God is a dense listen and though there are more immediate moments (the raucous ‘OMG Rock n Roll’ and the shapeshifting ‘Hail Mary’ are two examples), you can let this album wash over you and wallow in its most intense songs, for they are the ones that will linger longest.

It’s no reinvention, but there are subtle tweaks here and there for a polished record that cements their place as a kick-ass rock’n’roll band with longevity.

The leap from bedroom-dweller to teenage riot instigator has been a swift and fruitful one, and what could be considered derivative is genuine in every sense. Circumstance might dictate that bedroom songwriting is back on the cards for Bea as the slow crawl to the return of live shows continues, but there’s a rock-solid foundation for the years to come.

It’s not necessarily trying to be clever – more that the sheer weight of its many ideas crushes the more visceral response that its obvious instrumental swagger demands from its listener.

Though less immediate than debut "Marry Me," Actor is full of charm, picking its way through disorienting rhythm changes and peculiar progressions.

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.

Repeat listens showcase a project that’s rewarding for both listeners and, by the sounds of it, the artists involved.

A timelessly raw and real ride through this thing called life.

It’s Chvrches’ best effort yet and a glimmeringly great addition to 2021’s cultural highlights, that would be a travesty.

Lone coats everything in the same Orbital-esque melodies that made 2012’s 'Galaxy Garden' such a winner, producing an album that is both intriguingly new and gorgeously listenable.

It’s “pub-punk” for now, but there’s a good chance it’ll take them to much bigger stages sooner rather than later. It’s not big, it’s not clever, but it’s a bloody hoot.

It's just a shame that quieter moments such as 'The Lengths' sound a little weedy in comparison. [4 Sep 2004, p.72]

Mostly this is Nas going back to his former role as a keen street observer, ready to dispense wisdom to up-and-coming youngbloods.

A perfect slice of bedroom psychedelia. [9 Apr 2005, p.58]

It’s a fantastic record, a slow-burn masterpiece that buds gradually and thrives on the oxygen of repeated exposure.

Metals is, in its own right, quite simply the cat's pyjamas.

Plaid's digitally inspired genius is to make electronic noises and the odd sample sound sad and celebratory, while occupying a spot on the dancefloor several galaxies away from Ibiza's gonzo techno

The same old sombre samba, perhaps, but with a renewed sense of direction, it's threatening to take them somewhere fantastic.

With this heavy payload of imagery, it's a miracle that Sparklehorse's third album of backwoods blues hasn't ended up a junk shop of Southern Gothic clichés. Old dog Tom Waits even wades in, hollering like an incestuous uncle on 'Dog Door', while Linkous' rusty cabin music creaks insalubriously beneath. But that's just the first of many wonders of this exceptional record.

Origin: Orphan is the sound of The Hidden Cameras finally proving they can make records as wham-bam powerful as their performances, with deliciously sumptuous results.