A considered affair, brilliantly performed but rarely thrilling, with highlights coming in the form of hypnotic slow burners like “The Air’s On Fire” and the soaring finale “Moonlight Understands.”

Lime Garden isn’t shy about their influences, sure, but what many of those artists lacked at the time, soaring choruses that linger for days, they deliver in spades.

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

For the most part, Birding follows the Cocteau Twins template to a tee, seemingly daring listeners and critics alike to find a better descriptor than the all-too-obvious ‘ethereal’. But deary are smart enough to inject some variety, which they achieve by incorporating heavier, almost explosive passages.

There’s nothing too revealing here, but the familiar, comforting touch they always offer is more than welcome.

A sumptuously produced record with an enviable hit-to-miss ratio, Middle of Nowhere delivers more than enough drama, humour, and sparkle to solidify Musgraves’ place on the country music throne.

Easter Lily, released on Good Friday, offers the visceral, emotional experience that U2 fans have been yearning for the longest time.

While they try subtle new tricks, like compressing Grohl’s vocals to almost-grating levels amid muddy sound mixing, their attempts at sounding edgy usually land in a pleasant middle ground.

Ultimately, Something Worth Waiting For is an album of good songs with some sequencing and balance issues. Its problems have nothing to do with quality in the traditional sense, but Friko will need to temper some of their maximalist tendencies if they want to seize the indie rock throne.

Consistent, assured, and suitably varied, Brink is a very impressive debut from a band with a bright future. Confuse them with Scouting for Girls at your peril.

While well-intentioned, the EP overall gave me some pause, as it proved that U2 sometimes can’t help themselves to write placid pop rock songs that don’t disrupt their quest for supreme relevance.

Her exploration of the self in Pain Will Polish Me sometimes feels lacking, which makes the project seem somewhat drab. But it’s the small touches she adds, such as the instrumentals named after her child, Hera, that are unexpectedly poignant.

Creature of Habit is another respectable entry in her increasingly understated and overlooked discography.

Sometimes, as on “Pure Sticker Shock,” the emphasis on open space can drag. Let’s just say that there’s a lack of punchy anthems, but as tracks like “Votive” and “Ballad of the Last Payphone” demonstrate, the supergroup’s brand of tuneful melancholy remains intact.

Sexistential is urgent, direct, and strikingly concise.

Many of the songs here are structured around pull and restraint, mostly drifting in a calm haze before surprising you with sudden bursts of energy. The quieter moments, like on “The Woodland Has Returned,” feel more impactful than their twitchy, spastic excursions.

The sparkling closer “Reverie” and the excellent “Butterfly” deserve special mention, but honestly, side B is uniformly strong. The tragedy of Ricochet is that it follows such a feeble side A.

Of This Earth, like most Shabaka Hutchings albums, dating back to Sons of Kemet, requires full immersion. On his third LP, the jazz polymath takes you on a musical journey that requires both stillness and stimulation.

We Are Together Again aims to repeat the trick [2025's The Purple Bird], with its earnest country twang and cast of familiar collaborators, but ultimately it lives and dies by the quality of its songs—and they just aren’t consistently good enough.

Listening to a couple of tracks in isolation is fine, but taken as a whole, the record feels airbrushed to the point of predictability. Pleasant, of course, and well assembled, but devoid of the spark that characterised their earlier work.

There is no sense of fatigue here. Alongside Sebb Bash, ELUCID sounds reinvigorated on what is essentially a more traditional Hip Hop record than Revelator—and, if I’m honest, a better one.

It might be facile to attribute the highs of IT’S THE LONG GOODBYE to Graham’s backstory, but he and his bandmates tap into something special, earnest, and powerful.

Varied yet elegantly stitched together, Hard Hearted Woman shows the many sides of Cogan, whose story is as resilient as the subjects she depicts.

It is a meaningless shell of a record with few, if any, redeeming features.

While Transmitter doesn’t sound like a late ’60s artefact, it still sounds like Clarke—a refresh rather than a revolution, and a perfectly satisfying one at that.

While The Collective felt novel and boundary pushing, PLAY ME, though similarly adventurous, aims to reflect our daily anxieties with tired commentary that risks dating itself.

Mackenzie-Barrow is clearly a talented songwriter and, taken individually, most of the material here is engaging. Taken sequentially, however, his sparse compositions blur together, emphasising his vocal limitations and rendering Book of Churches a somewhat dour affair.

Their easy-to-digest, familiar sounds will inevitably go down well, but are unlikely to linger in the memory long enough to trouble the headliner. Remember Sports have learned their craft, but they are yet to truly master it.

Their burst of creativity comes to life in a lively tapestry of moods, both musically and thematically, but they make sure to balance the fun with genuine sincerity.

While Swet Death’s strongest moments come when Bachmann is front and centre, doing his thing, there is little here to rival his best work.

The tracks evoke comparisons to artists like David Gray (“Pretty Flowers”) and Josh Ritter (“Heart In The Mirror”), which may provide a side glance or two but perfectly complement his high-pitched twang. Regardless, Meek brings his own flair to whatever he makes.

These tracks resonate through lovely pop music, the core that ties together these songs, but there’s plenty of stylistic range—disco, jangle, chamber pop, Brill Building—to both chew on and delight in.

EXPO never sounds fragmented. .... But at the core of the album’s sequencing lies a sense of formalism that, while surely freeing for a band with a penchant for taking risks, loses some emotional impact.

My Days Of 58 is an unassuming delight and a further feather in the cap of one of most enduring songwriters of his generation.

That Nothing’s About to Happen to Me feels both self-contained and expansive speaks to how Mitski moves to her own rhythm.

Given A Short History of Decay’s variety, intensity, and sense of daring, allied to its strong songwriting, I suspect it will become a valuable reference for students of modern shoegaze long after its current wave has passed.

DISCOMBOBULATED is an idiosyncratic record, overflowing with eccentric charms and a uniquely British (in the best sense of the word) personality.

Wuthering Heights is a competent, glossy synth-pop work, with a handful of soaring highs that are offset by a couple of duds.

Cardinals’ refreshing and impressive debut album sounds raw and imperfect, striking a cheerful yet dark ambiance that embraces gothic romanticism within a distinctly Irish-sounding folk punk sound.

At its best, Laughter In Summer is deeply affecting and genuinely beautiful. At its least compelling (“Children’s Anthem,” “Harbour”), it remains enjoyably wholesome, but falls well short of his finest work, where Glenn-Copeland’s simple lyrical sentiments were adorned with more engaging layers and textures. Still, it feels unreasonable to grumble.

While Vig does a commendable job in providing tasteful sequencing throughout Tenterhooks, the band sticks to a frustrating middle lane as the album progresses.

Ratboys have always sounded like an indie rock band comfortably integrating country elements alongside their core sound. On Singin’ To An Empty Chair they sound a little too comfortable at times.

An intense, serious record. Call it what you want, but in the hands of Mandy, Indiana words like ‘genre’ and ‘style’ feel utterly redundant.

As it stands, Sunlight Echoes is a solid entry in the shoegaze canon, but its innate politeness prevents it from truly standing out in a packed field.

Selecting highlights feels like a fool’s errand. Ballgame’s ballads (“You’re Not My Baby Tonight,” “Goodbye My Love”) soar gracefully. .... The higher-tempo numbers are equally effective.

Megadeth's self-titled swan song is weighted down by its own sense of importance.

Where their songs backfire to a degree comes from bringing in ex-Chairlift member Patrick Wimberly for production duties. .... Still, they're truly at their best when their tuneful choruses come paired with a raw, stripped-down treatment.

Feels more like a steady progression than a revolutionary rebrand, with the accomplished songwriting impressing more than any sonic wizardry.

I find myself increasingly drawn to both instrumental works and music that rewards patience and active listening. Sidings is a bleak delight.

Listening to their accomplished new EP, So Much Country ‘Till We Get There, I’m reminded of both Big Thief’s earlier work and Friko’s wonderful Where We've Been, Where We Go from Here.

If there’s something that holds back the album from even greater heights, it is its overly familiar ambiance, which at times resembles the sweeping film scores typically associated with indie country-western dramas. But that doesn’t in any way diminish Horn’s songwriting, filtered through a warm and pensive haze, which becomes more distinct as her career progresses.

Quality control has never been A$AP Rocky’s strong suit, but he remains a highly capable rapper, with a smooth, easy-to-appreciate flow. .... Rescue the highlights and move on.

There’s a quietly accomplished record waiting to be discovered by those who are prepared to approach with patience.

Their quiet, understated charms reward the kind of focused listening that is seemingly less fashionable in this screen-addled age. III might not lend itself to modern playlist culture, but if you’re looking for a 2026 release to truly invest in, its exquisite beauty will reward your time and efforts many times over.

The old tricks have lost their potency, and without them, the rage and Williamson’s endless torrent of expletives sound increasingly tragic.

There’s plenty to dissect throughout Secret Love, whether it’s through stumbling onto its non-sequitur zingers or consciously untangling its deeper concepts. There’s no wrong way to approach it; it really works both ways.

Balloon Balloon Balloon is not Slater’s best album of 2025—it’s probably not even his second best—but any record that evokes the snotty power pop of Guitar Romantic is worth investigating in my book.

Not everything works in Love Chant. He tries to sound self-serious with his stream-of-consciousness rambling on “Marauders,” but instead, comes across as artfully silly. Still, it’s just one of the many fun detours that Dando takes throughout the album, one whose existence—given his history of substance dependency—feels like a small miracle in itself.

The final three songs aren’t quite as engaging, but it’s clear that Sorry have done enough to ensure Cosplay is worth revisiting—even if a few judicious clicks on the skip button will be necessary.

Maybe it’s not the showiest of returns, but instead, she proves that the toughest battles are the ones that happen inside us.

It is intelligent, thrilling, unique, and endlessly replayable—challenging, yes, but always worth the effort. .... This is her Hounds of Love, her Brat. Yes, it’s that good.

A majestic record of solemn beauty. Not only does Night CRIÚ sound unlike anything else in 2025, it also stands proudly alongside the year’s very best work.

Like so many posthumous releases, Infinite is a tricky record to critique. It’s not Mobb Deep’s strongest record, but given the circumstances, it is a triumph—and a fitting testament to their legacy.

Giddy and tuneful, the band feels more at ease as a tried-and-true guitar pop band, reminiscent of how a band like Los Campesinos! captured the hearts of many an indie rock fan.

Rocket shows far more sophisticated rhythmic interplay than some of their shoegaze-leaning contemporaries on this debut.

While the remaining members, a power trio now, haven’t lost any of their edge, they’re channeling it with renewed energy.

The songwriting on songs like “Wake Up and Smile” and “Maybe I'll Burn My Life Down,” while adventurous to a degree, usually delivers the same result: the layering of a few sonic embellishments to rough-edged anthems that end up clashing against each other. But the main offenders are the most straightforward.

Ultimately, From The Pyre is the archetypal mixed bag, with glorious highs offset by some slightly concerning lows.

While Nestled in Tangles requires utmost attention to recognize their impact as a whole, it mainly inspires one to absorb its cleansing qualities if you look closely enough.

Whether Bleeds marks the end of a nice run or the beginning of a legendary one remains to be seen, but for now, let’s just enjoy one of the stand-out releases of 2025.

There are hints of Shame’s continuous evolution as songwriters. Take the muted, jagged menace lurking behind the austere “Packshot,” which builds into a powerful, guitar-driven crescendo. But for the most part, Cutthroat struggles at balancing that very fine line between accessibility and experimentation.

While his narratives can leave a lot to chew on, Freeman is at his very best when his ragged, guitar-drenched intensity sounds deceivingly loose. He does try to balance the mood more in the exploratory second half, but he's earned that decision after the first half's tight, generous songwriting

While they add a few new tricks to their arsenal, whether adding an extra layer of polish to their tried-and-true hardcore (SUNSHOWER, SOLE) or a touch of bright, jangly new wave (I CARE, SEEIN' STARS), their crossover attempts feel frustratingly half-hearted for a band that genuinely subscribes to the healing power of music.

THE FILM is a showcase of intensity: SUMAC ably matches that of Irreversible Entanglements via alternate delivery, while Ayewa’s passion and spoken outbursts meet Aaron Turner’s guttural howl. Looking at the essence of both entities and their respective creative signatures, it’s somehow both remarkable and obvious how natural each of them sound together on this LP.

The trio compels you to return to it again and again on Ripped & Torn—it's just that catchy—all while paving the way for the next generation of curious teens who have uncles with cool record collections.

The diminished presence of Michael (he does contribute here, but is more of a background figure) leads to a slight loss of variety, but it's hardly a deal-breaker. If you like The Lemon Twigs you will find plenty to enjoy here.

Outside of some slight bloat that nears The Lumineers' territory, the bulk of the album is far too open and compassionate to ignore.

Not everything works here and I found my attention wandering at times. But it is bursting with promise and MIKE's arrival feels both imminent and inevitable.

In refining their approach, Horsegirl stumbles onto a new set of influences that takes away from their true identity. Nevertheless, there are flashes of brilliance -- Frontrunner, accented with a lovely twang, details a story of romantic yearning that hits deeper as it progresses.

One can't help but admire Booker's big swings, and when they are this compelling, everything else becomes a moot point.

At times delightful, yet not without its flaws, this is an encouraging debut.

Minus openly captures the messy beauty of growth in real time in DÍA. And while she sometimes structures these songs a tad oblique, having rewritten some for three years straight, Minus understands that it's better to ease, rather than scrutinize, every aspect of the songwriting process. But never, ever should it be an afterthought.

Sure, the duo's musical palette is a little limited, and Phoebe Lunny’s nasal snarl starts to become a little grating after a while, but the furious lyrics and frenetic guitars certainly make for a fun listen.

There are jaunty little stabs at the band’s earlier post-punk revival sound, but even these are more of a pedestrian shuffle than an exuberant rush. Audacious is pleasant enough in a toe-tapping kind of way, but it’s still something of a misnomer. Elsewhere, the harder Kapranos flails around trying to recapture the magic of old, the more desperate and sad The Human Fear sounds.

Filled with frisky self-confidence, Falcon Bitch and Shmoofy—note the absurd names—bolt through sixteen terse, inventive tracks as they dryly switch and harmonize vocals.

It might not be new and it might not follow the current trends, but this is a rare document of heartbreak and hope with the power to move you to tears and make you smile, sometimes at the same time. It deserves any accolades it will receive and many, many more.

While listening to Disaster Trick, there is a sense that Giannopoulos intentionally distances himself, lingering in his thoughts. Given the traces of emotion he lays out throughout, they curiously let us in in mysterious ways. Credit also goes to the less measured and more textural production, which, unintentionally, allows the songs to become more alluring and inviting.

Johnson and his bandmates shake off their anguish with sweeping, lighthearted melodies that, instead of weighing you down, lift you up.

It might be the best example of her genre experimentation to date. .... I don’t know if any song or album could possibly encompass the entire experience of life, but St. Vincent’s made a pretty damn great effort.

While Aghori Mhori Mei doesn't reach the same highs as some of their defining albums, it does show the original trio of Corgan, Iha, and Chamberlain forging a newfound musical identity in lockstep.

Matching thoughtful lyricism with heightened arrangements, they're building on what they've learned, and all their efforts are clicking at the right time.

The retro-soul resurgence of the 21st Century has seen a number of artists whose names have become bywords for quality: Sharon Jones, Eli "Paperboy" Reed, Lee Fields. With Into the Blue, Aaron Frazer has demonstrated he deserves to be held in the same esteem.

When they let loose, like on the more intricate Bell Wheel, Darcy reminds us why he's such a compelling vocalist when he shows a more playful side. While they have their songwriting down to a science, Cola could elevate their craft with a little more disruption.

BRAT showcases every facet of Charli XCX. She’s a club diva, she’s a pop girlie, she’s a partner, she’s a friend, she’s a daughter, she’s a woman trying to navigate her 30s and she’s a person who’s still mourning the death of someone very close to her. On the evidence of BRAT, it’s also justified to say that, right now, she’s the greatest pop star in the world.

Nearly everything about Audio Vertigo works, offering one of Elbow’s most consistently great entries in their catalog. It’s the type of album that has an easygoing, buoyant vibe and rewards dedicated, repeated listens.

The Mission sets the album in motion, Chasny’s voice angelic and kind of woeful as his opening stanzas are sung. He rarely strays from beautifully knotted acoustic strings, songs like the instrumental Pilar and My Familiar (which features my favorite vocal melody in the album) lush and memorable, the latter enhanced by some chunky strums of electric guitar.

There's a playfulness to their genre-hopping tact, with Moffat fitting his often-loose prose to warped club beats (Bliss), folk twang (Molehills), and 80s-inspired soft-rock (You're Not There). Album opener Allatonceness is their best case yet for repping their label Rock Action, owned by post-rock pioneers Mogwai, bearing a beefed-up muscular riff that expands their sound with emotional force.

She’s made some phenomenal music in her career and a handful of songs on The Tortured Poets Department are welcome additions to her canon. These are sadly outnumbered by bland filler and compromised by an overwhelming sense of stasis.