Those in search of a tightly cohesive album knitted around a single concept have probably come to the wrong place entirely – but for a sprawling answer to the band’s two huge 2019 breakthrough records ‘Two Hands’ and ‘U.F.F.O’, then look no further.

These nine songs often build and build only to splutter out in a last, exhausted gasp. And then the next track cranks up and the cycle continues, giving the record a grinding, thwarted sense of frustration.

The heavier moments refuse to act as a sledegehammer of alt-rock pastiche, which this record could so easily have been. Instead, it’s a showcase of songcraft that’s allowed to breathe and reveal itself. Bring on volume two. The dream lives on.

This is the sound of a band at their most confident, capable of still pushing the boundaries they seemingly reimagined years ago without overwhelming audiences with their own love for endless improvisation. There are no lyrics on this album, but it feels like you can hear these three musicians louder than ever.

‘KiCk i’ incorporates pop, experimental, noise, electronica and psychedelia into one project. Amid a highly acclaimed career, Arca’s latest album presents a new high-water mark.

By the mirrorball moment that heralds the lengthy coda to the closing ‘It Girl’, you’re left giddy and breathless, applauding a 20-year veteran who’s finally found his voice.

The result is a record that’s as fun as it is furious, and as confrontational as it is cool.

Being adventurous can often mean over-reaching but, in this case, the production turns familiar elements into one of Fucked Up’s most intriguing recordings yet.

There’s more space and sophistication to The Spark than we’ve seen from Shikari before.

With a lust for life, the once-dark prince is letting the light in.

An intense, emotional record.

It's a fine build-up to the Selkirk quintet's fourth album, due out early 2013.

If the Dutch producer's last album 'Great Lengths' was an exercise in contemplative, spacious dubstep, then Ghost People is instinctual; muscles tensed in observance of the cerebellum's basest of commands.

As thrilling as Gwen, as badass as MIA. [17 Jun 2006, p.37]

It’s an album steeped in balladry and strummy, sad-girl pop, each track a soft unraveling of her inner world. And yet, coming from Rosé – an artist who has long had to keep her personal life under wraps – this stripped-back approach feels nothing short of bold.

There’s still a sense, at its heart, of a warm, yet slightly neurotic overthinker, sat at a mixing desk in his bedroom, possibly in his big white underpants, and just going wherever the spirit takes him.

The risk pays off.

Cronin’s knack for languid songwriting is enhanced by adding more opulence.

It’s a marvellous return to form for an act that possesses such unbridled creative energy. We’re glad they’ve been put to joyous use this time round.

No great leaps forward from ‘Everything All The Time’ and ‘Cease To Begin’, just lovely, warm-hearted, full-throated harmonies and gentle melancholy.

It’s an accomplished listen – still as deliciously dramatic as ‘Prelude To Ecstasy’, fleshing out their world more and more with daring, dashing songs of true depth.

What could have been an act of self-sabotage or self-indulgence – or both – has transpired to be a welcome reminder of all that this band does best, rooted in raw relevance for today and the cyber-punk energy of tomorrow.

‘Positive Mental Health Music’ is chaotic and warm at the same time but there’s star quality at every turn. It’s not always comfortable, but this is a confident and brazen debut that channels emotional turmoil into something positive and familiar.

It’s the social commentary that makes this experimental album feel vital and unifying. Okereke lyrically eviscerates the politicians who’ve caused divisions based on race, wealth, sexuality and gender, but also offers a vision of hope and a desire for England to rebuild.

This surprise is an entirely pleasant one. [27 May 2006, p.33]

It’s their most mature and measured album, both lyrically and musically.

Even when things get musically darker on the shimmering alt-pop of ‘Posing In Bondage’, there remains a prioritisation of pop melody; the fat is trimmed from all 10 songs on the record, leaving perfectly formed three-and-a-half-minute pop songs that want – and deserve – to be blasting out of your radio.

MBV is not really an album at all, but an oeuvre in fast-forward.