For Kasabian fans this will be a fine, perhaps even happy result--another album in a similar vein to satiate your lust for new music, but the nagging thought catches as it wonders how new, interesting or innovative any of this really is; the short answer is no, it's not.

Unconventional harmonies and slurred vocals are an acquired taste, and some of the more out-there lyrical moments might bemuse you first time round, but give it a chance.

There’s more of an improvisational focus to a lot of Thread, where they take on themes such as immigration policy and ecological concerns with their usual storytelling flair. It does have a familiar, intuitive touch; this is Calexico, after all. But the duo never does things with little effort or care.

As well crafted and fascinatingly acute as Enemy Mine is, it lives in an alternate reality: a place where too much need be forgotten in order to grant Enemy Mine what it would otherwise deserve.

SASAMI is a promising debut by an artist who’s been part of the scene for years but has now started down a path on her own. With a gift for confessional lyrics, a dusky, atmospheric touch and an outside-the-box mindset, Ashworth has more than proven that this is the time for her to step into the spotlight.

So, despite feeling that this is a good, rather than great, album, my score for it may have gone up a point or so by the end of the year. Here’s to the return of Tortoise...

She takes some swings on Losing and Smog, but somehow, they don't end up distinguishing themselves too much compared to the songwriters of her generation. Still, Indigo's genuine frankness and distinctive vocals perfectly convey her vulnerable performances.

Contrary to the slipshod musicianship of their older peers, September Girls are more than competent unit that model themselves accurately with a toughened exterior, and most of the flaws arise out of its production inconsistencies; the most glaring being the distracting interchange between vocal clarity and obfuscation between tracks, and the whirring fuzz is stretched out far too thin.

Aside from a few tracks that feel tossed off, too self-aware in their own weirdness, Hawkline does manage to justify his odd behavior with heaps of whimsical charm.

While her choices are clearly articulated, one can't help but feel like she's easing into a comforting cadence that will ultimately lead to her next definitive statement.

American Dream does offer a lot from a songwriting standpoint, and why wouldn’t it? Murphy is a skilled producer with a deft ear for melody. But he’s somehow disrupted that valuable balance of humor and thoughtfulness found in LCD Soundsystem’s past with a more sedate offering that is riddled with mixed messages.

For a debut LP that relies so heavily on a sound that is considered by some as fossilized, this is a very good effort. Urth is meticulously intricate in its more labyrinthine moments, and categorically barbarous for the rest of it.

Even if Lost Girls often sounds like scrapped ideas taken from a larger project, Khan doesn't go too deep into nostalgia—still working firmly within a pop framework.

There have always been shadows cast from the overriding ebullience of Lennox’s work as Panda Bear, but with A Day With the Homies, the shadows are confined by a skyscraping sun, where elastic psychedelic bungees in and out of the surf and basks in its feverish gleam.

Loom becomes tiresome as it reaches its second half, and the lack of lyrical clarity, though sincere in execution, balances poorly against the powerful instrumentation.

Their attempts at country-folk are less remarkable, causing This is Glue to droop towards its middle half, but Salad Boys do pick themselves up with aplomb rather than surrender to their sullen demeanor.

This is not his creative masterpiece, but there is no doubt that one is yet to come.

I believe It's A Corporate World will please its devote followers. I suppose it's not terrible to hear an album soaked in happiness with all the sorrow and melancholy that already exists.

For Long Way Down is an album that, while often samey and, in the grand scheme of things, says next to nothing, heralds the arrival of a highly talented artist.

But outside of their reminiscences about troubled adolescence, which sometimes provide a gratingly innocent tone, How Could it Be Any Different? is otherwise brimful with lighthearted, yet meaningful songs that could actually make a difference.

European Heartbreak is charming, clever and quietly confident. If the world really is about to fall apart, then Amber Arcades has produced something that is more than a worthwhile distraction.

Ultimately Conatus makes for a very sensuous, luxurious forty minutes, but it's minor flaws like these that prevent it from hitting quite as hard as it could have done, and from being the unqualified success that Stridulum II was.

Her sound is a junksale of clutter and certified gems. I can feel you… is her most sonically sharp weapon to date, and full of plenty to get excited about if you rifle through it.

Wild Belle’s debut is a respectable exercise of ethereal pop.

While Ghost B.C. could certainly use a little added variety, both musically and lyrically (maybe Satan could sit out as lyricist for like five songs on their next record), there’s plenty here to admire.

In•ter a•li•a is a blistering return for the band; a record of thrilling paranoia, agitated by brutal, scissoring guitar riffs and slashing vocals.

It’s all a learning curve, which is never a bad thing for a sophomore album. Thankfully, AlunaGeorge have offered us plenty of examples of what they do best in I Remember and, perhaps most importantly, left us wanting even more.

Haines dwells in some synth-driven soul-searching that should’ve been cast aside for a different project. Still, the slick, forceful Art of Doubt accurately identifies where their true strengths lie.

The big thrills come so fast it almost feels like a blur, only equaled to the ravished excitement of making a score on a big night. It’ll knock you senseless, possibly bankrupt, until the urge comes back in full force.

It's no exaggeration that doing two concept records in a row could have been disastrous. But after four years and a whole lot of life, MCR proves with Danger Days that the days of their self-involved, namby-pampy crybaby act are a thing (mostly) of the past. And to think, all it took was the end of days

Dance is best enjoyed when you accept its familiar pleasures--it bursts with pure deliverance, coming from a band that refuses to hang in life support.

It’s almost as if Pinhas isn’t quite committed to offering this much of himself to anyone, as if, in spite of this written and performed maelstrom of odds and ends, he’s proceeding with caution.

The music is rich with personality, and strives to establish uniqueness and incomparability.

It’s a summer record if ever there was one--with even the opening track being named Sun’s Out. It’s a great introduction to the record, where a punchy snare, an uncomplicated bassline and a heat-warped guitar lick combine so easily that it takes a few of Drew Auschermann’s lyrics to be delivered before you even realize they’re there.

These are essentially songs of innocence and experience tinctured by world-weariness simultaneously infused with an earnest lack of guile. A brief criticism would be: a little more sound and a little less fury, please Will.

Some of that punchy vitality has been lost, but never does it obscure Powell’s ability to add bold expressions to her fine-grained accounts.

That’s not to say it’s not a very promising album taken as a whole, and its clear that the two work well together. A little more consistency in their focus and less pointlessly meandering distraction could really see them do justice to their own talents and produce something truly classic.

It is never fun, but is always compelling.

It's easy to criticise Talk That Talk but it's actually a fun and enjoyable record.

It unveils itself as quick as a flash, but when taken in individual portions, Witness has an unforeseen succinctness that provides some stability to his otherwise nervous excitement.

It’s a pleasant listen with some great moments herein.

Oak Island, just out on Secretly Canadian, is a logical extension of that debut's theme and style, but is better crafted--or perhaps just better served--and stands as a good example of how subtlety can sneak up on a person and pack a desolate punch.

Untethered Moon is truly the work of a veteran musician who continues to tweak the same kind of song with the adventurousness of a curious young man.

Take Care isn't without one or two missteps: the rapid-fire drums and nondescript chanting that open Trembling Hands come off a little too much like a cheap Arcade Fire pastiche, while the overlong closing track Let Me Back In is something of an anti-climax.

The album as a whole has that feel; it's perfect late night or Sunday morning music, though this might damage its broader appeal.

Just when Devotion looks like it could be losing its way, the most incongruous track of the eleven pulls it out of the bag.

The album mostly screams avant-garde in its minimalism, sometimes to its detriment, but there's no denying they have the talent to justify the mystery they've built.

It’s an occasionally uplifting, but mainly standard, declaration that suggests they’re currently experiencing a transitional phase as songwriters.

While it’s not short of irritating periods of pretension, it’s par for the course when beauty, indulgence and complexity are key ingredients in the melting pot.

Me Moan is a challenging effort that rewards as much as it confounds, and really doesn’t bring us anywhere closer to understanding Gibson’s true guise.

Placing aside what amounts to unfortunate filler (the friends portions aren't as evocative), Family & Friends portrays the inevitability of growing up and keeping up with outside expectations with a deft touch.

On In a Bind, she reaches for a more spiritual musical expression—taking a page from the mesmeric rhythms of Ali Farka Touré. She finds herself at ease, picking out an arpeggiated pattern flutter over a meditative choral showpiece. Less impressive, though, is how Tamko derails into the dreamy, meandering synth jams she seemed to be at odds with from the start. ... These mood shifts show Tamko at her more inquisitive, proving how far she can expand her reach while using her own resources. And it'll be intriguing to see where her ever-changing nature takes her next.

Much of April is quite lovely. Sure, it sounds like one long song to me, but it’s a nice song, with subtle variations.

Reflections may have required a more rigorous process to complete than any other project he’s ever done, but it is also his most compact to date, which rejects the common belief that bigger always means better.

Dear Tommy may still be lost in the ether, and who knows when Jewel decides to complete it. But Closer to Grey feels like a fully-fleshed concept, and it should be considered the long-awaited follow-up to Kill for Love fans have been clamoring for for years.

Dig into it deeper and you’ll find a surprisingly rewarding account tell-all that sounds like an extraordinary premise to a film. And the score they write for themselves, as thrilling as it is, can be somewhat overwrought at times, resulting in an aural mood that could've used some dramatic nuance.

Jennings appears on the album’s penultimate track, the fine Hurts So Bad, where his harmonies pop out of an average song. It’s one of the few moments on Wyatt’s album where her usually honest writing feels more cliche than distinct. Jennings’ harmonies are fine, but it feels like the tune easily could've been cut. Still, this album’s got plenty of superb moments.

Ultimately, Allison is a pleasure to listen to even in the space where she floats right through your head.

What Terrestrials does reveal about Sunn O))) is their amiability, their unique potential to bring the concept of Sunn O))), if not its distinct sound, to an album that really isn’t quite their own.

If there's any downside, it's that their sophomore album doesn't do anything to distinguish itself from its predecessor. But you know what? When you write songs that are just as strong as your past work, evolution is less of a necessity. If it's not broken, don't fix it.

Many of the songs here are too over-burdened by the minutiae of lives half lived to be transcendent, perpetually on the verge of something greater, yet too often falling just short of it. However, as with life, there are enough small moments of insight and beauty to make it worthwhile.

An epic, widescreen journey which is busy and bonkers but constantly entertaining.

Thought it doesn't make an impression at first glance, The Chaos crosses The Futureheads' entire discography into a wholly satisfying package.

The eclectic range Bey displays in Fidelity occasionally runs into filler, but it also drops clues into what her next big statement might entail.

What emerges is a fascinating, infinitely bleak break-up album, but one without the scope of Disintegration or the raw, intellectual power of Blood on the Tracks.

At times, the band's genre-bending excursions sometimes result in slightly deformed arrangements that are impressive in scope but not in efficiency. But that shouldn't deter one from Deafheaven's wondrous and impressionistic creation. It is, like most of their polarizing body of work, equal parts off-putting and fiercely inclusive.

Although there's nothing spectacular or innovative here, it has to be difficult to simultaneously have a foot in a variety of styles while constructing something that's this easy to listen to.

On an album where Taylor nakedly reveals his most pressing moments of despair, it’s only in the album's handful of brighter moments that you wish for maybe just another small taste of the darkness. Taylor manages to flip his career-long look for the silver lining by acknowledging the pull of the worldly can only be put in a tidy little box for so long.

His performances are impassioned, though sometimes slightly tedious, adding strings and keys over scruffy folk-rock. Ounsworth even alludes to his past brush of fame on CYHSY, 2005, though what we really get are broad, everyday depictions of the mundane.

With a steadfast attention to his orchestration, it helps to illuminate his musical exploration of the West.

Compared to this summer's pop offerings—think of the similarly themed efforts by Billie Eilish and Lorde, both of which deal with the trappings of fame with serenity and blissful detachment, respectively—If I Can't Get Love, I Want Power is provocative, and even ugly, in its most vulnerable moments. Self-indulgent, sure, but its emotional chaos feels earned.

True, most of the themes on 1000 Forms of Fear are pretty generic, but Sia’s lyrics are bold and visceral, and the production is dynamic without being gimmicky.

Goat Girl achieves a new clarity to their dense lyrical content when their murky antics turn more accessible.

YACHT’s music is as simple and enjoyable as their philosophy. You won’t end up ruminating on it all night, but you are very likely to enjoy it while it’s on.

It'd be a stretch to tag them as soul revivalists, but there's no denying these combustible pop tunes are still 26 of the most promising minutes you'll hear all year.

The tracks highlighting Vik are showstoppers as usual, and his dominate wordplay only reiterates why others should drop the mic when any of DOOM’s personas enter the booth.

It's not up there with their very best, but it's actually not that far off.

Over the past few years, it may have seemed like Bridgers was a team player, but on Punisher, she reannounces herself as a solo songwriter reaching her peak.

A Classic Education have created a set that demonstrates proficiency while leaning heavily on an established style.

A lean 5 songs that complement each other over the course of a transcendent 40 minute journey. But he still works with a varying palette of moods, from expansive stoner rock (Exalted) to agitated post-punk (Cusp), all while retaining a sonic richness that feels more like an artfully conceived sonic installation than a traditional album.

While Corgan feels reinvigorated, utterly convinced that's he's finally nailed it this time, the final product doesn't hold up as an entirely ingenious one.

Even if they’re slow in the uptake, and a cursory listen will only reinforce them as makeshift compositions, the tuneful nature of the album begins to flourish with repeated spins.

Archive Material is a strong release for fans of Fad or newcomers to Silverbacks, the type of album that feels like it’ll only get better with time.

Firing on all cylinders and exhibiting the canny combination of eminently danceable rhythms with big hooks and gorgeous synth melodies.

Pyramids leaves its mark as an extremely remarkable and impressive début, and once heard, is unlikely to be forgotten.

Even if does feature the occasional moment to crank their guitars, like in the rushing The Party’s Over, much of Snow follows a wintry path of languidly melancholic songs that reveal a curled-up optimism.

These light and dark contrasts make for a thoroughly compelling listen that, certainly, makes up for Andrew's shortcomings as a lyricist.

With any other protagonists this project could become sickeningly twee, but Vile and Barnett deliver every lyric, no matter how ridiculous, with absolute sincerity. As they close with a stunning cover of Belly’s Untogether, it’s difficult to be cynical about something this utterly charming.

Humor Risk rhythmically shakes off the lingering sad sick and triggers back the talky, rambunctious oddments of wisdom we've come to know from him.

Shortcomings are well disguised, and even when they are exposed, the originality of Papini's storytelling is enough to keep the ears alert for several listens.

Everything Ever Written even ends with a pleasant curveball, the gorgeous Utopia, an illuminating reverie that poignantly illustrates the measures people take to adapt to their surroundings in spite of the final outcome.

It never quite overstays its welcome during its brisk 30 minutes, though once it approaches its more redundant second half, it’s hard to make out whether they’re paying homage to their heroes or if they’re gearing up for a nostalgic tribute tour.

Maybe the lyrics fall a little on the simplistic side, which is frustrating considering the themes here can be pretty bleak despite the sunny and airy sound. But overall, Devastator is a more than enjoyable return for a band that always felt deserved more attention.

The cheeky nature of Rock and Roll Night Club inadvertently elevates its reputation--falling somewhere between classic pop and performance art, DeMarco's talent for writing hooks should spurn any attempt to call it novelty.

It’s unfortunate that the familiar sound of some of these tracks, the nagging suspicion that you heard this once before, is always hiding in the background, because there’s worthy enough material here.

It's a grower - no doubt about that.

While Waysides is unmatched in quality and execution, it sometimes feels a little too neat compared to the lush orchestrations of her breakthrough 2019 LP Bird Songs of a Killjoy. But there are some surprises to behold, coming in late into the album.

The sheer joy behind each song here is what keeps You Deserve Love from the occasion sameness that you could find on The World’s Best American Band.