‘Welcome To Bobby’s Motel’ sees them flexing their muscles and trying to find their own space within it, all while having a hell of a lot of fun along the way. By the end, you’re desperate to find out just who Bobby is and how on earth you can beg, steal or borrow to spend a night in that mysterious motel.

There’s new confidence here, and a sense that she’s stretching herself musically and lyrically.

Factor in some brilliant shards of melody in songs like 'Clearing', 'Call Across Rooms' and 'Holding' and Ruins becomes an unexpected gem: that rare album that reels you in without even trying.

If you enjoy using your brain rather than listening to it fizzle to the strains of Virgin Radio, then buy this.

With this jumble of wordplay and hooky songwriting, they’re unmistakably on fighting form.

‘The End, So Far’ may rattle many of the metal faithful, but for the prowess and lasting impression of this record alone, this is a true Slipknot record. It’s unlikely that many fans who’ve been along for the whole ride would jump ship now.

‘Loss of Life’ is imbued with just enough sweetness that by the time it reaches its overarching message – “nothing prepares you for loss of life” – it doesn’t just make you want to prepare yourself, it makes you excited to do so.

It may have taken over a decade for Doves to pour their souls into ‘The Universal Want’ but if it turns out to be their final transmission, it will be a worthy closing chapter to their epic legacy.

Like nothing else you’ll hear this year.

‘Love, Damini’ had the potential to be the biggest record of Burna’s to date, full of heart and rhythmic passion. But it falls frustratingly short: too often the tunes are repetitive and, other than the aforementioned highlights, don’t show much progression.

A varied album that lacks any monster riffs like the ones White used to write for The White Stripes, but includes enough intrigue, originality and plain weirdness to delight and, in some places, appal.

Thunderbitch the album rolls with precisely as much uncompromising swagger as its name suggests.

From the outset it makes clear that it features songs that aren’t rooted in any one place or time, but are effortlessly stitched together to create a dynamic mapping of modern urban existence.

Get lost in the haze.

'Untouchables' is a record that grows spikes with each listen and is by turns exhilarating, confusing, inspiring, embarrassing and astonishing.

'The Contino Sessions' can mean whatever you want it to. All we know is that it feels amazing. Warhol also said that everyone would be famous for 15 minutes. Death In Vegas' glory starts now.

After exploring some most unlikely corners, Swing Lo Magellan is arguably its best at its simplest.

It doesn't always work, and the softer 'Awestruck' is kinda preachy. But when the vitriol is squeezed into Fugazi-via-My Bloody Valentine-via-Sonic Youth swagger, as on the mighty 'Catatonic', it's admirable.

Like the film it accompanies, the T2 Trainspotting is nostalgic but new, paying homage to its heritage while saluting brilliant new British music. In other words: choose T2.

On the other hand, Part 2 is as unsettling as a record entitled ‘Locusts’ should be. ... What follows is a collection of music that is both deeply cinematic – ‘The Worriment Waltz’ is positively Hitchcockian, ‘Trust Fades’ could be lifted from one of Akira Yamaoka’s acclaimed Silent Hill soundtracks – and yet comes over much like you’d imagine the end of the world would sound.

While Nasty’s catalogue has found her focused on pushing to the extremities of self-expression – baking rock, screamo and punk directly into her rap with reckless abandon – with this record she flexes her chops as an artist with mainstream appeal.

‘3AM (LA LA LA)’, their most assured collection yet, proves they definitely have the tunes to match their outsized personas.

Sonically, it’s a step up from the guitar-driven mayhem that characterised their roots, without just slapping some synths on top like many of their indie counterparts. In reality, they’ve never sounded closer to that wacky, eccentric live band down your local on a Friday night – and maybe that’s where their truest form lies.

A welcome addition to the intricate patchwork quilt of the new wave of Americana.

There are moments on ‘Blue Banisters’ that don’t quite match up to the high bar Del Rey has set for her output. ... For the most part, though, ‘Blue Banisters’ reminds us that, beyond the social media fires and press backlashes, Del Rey is still as great as she’s always been.

The album's more subdued moments--like the disarmingly sweet navel-gaze of 'Simple As This', or the folksy arm-around-the-shoulder reassurance of 'Note To Self'--are its most remarkable ones, where Bugg's voice, usually accompanied by little more than an acoustic guitar, takes on a preternatural wisdom.

Blending philosophy and science with the bloodied, bruised heart of someone who cares about their fellow man, ‘Nothing is True’ offers comfort, reason, familiarity and forward-thinking to give us the soundtrack we need for now.

Coombes’ vocal, of course, gives the whole thing a nostalgic familiarity, but musically it’s an album that, for him, explores some fresh ground.