Stewart has enlisted the services of several vocalists of an R&B ilk to add a more radio-friendly feel as well as structural steel to the otherwise frantic procession of convulsive electronics, but this is a dizzying listen that is ultimately erratic, but enjoyable.

This retro carnival is a trip, but it’s also a downright mess riddled with poor songwriting choices that are disguised as clever.

The resonance of Let Them Eat Chaos is mammoth, and Tempest’s lexical flair is the difference maker.

Aside from Billie Joe’s willingness to open up on more troubling personal issues, of which he only hints, the majority of Revolution Radio is all sheen and no spark.

The overall effect is pristine and seamless, and the work of a supremely talented composer and producer.

Citizen of Glass is like entering a misty realm of wonder where each unpredictable turn holds a new set of unknowns.

Given the long list of contributors, the singularity and cohesion achieved in Goodnight City is something to be applauded. It is also solid evidence that Wainwright’s creative well has not run dry, but rather thrives upon the influence of others.

FLOTUS is much more than another genre effort, where Wagner deeply alters his usual country bearings and gives it a new and unexpected orientation.

Most of Beyond the Fleeting Gales hits with a uncompromising positivity that often contradicts the sorrowful gentleness in her words.

The dangers of crafting intricate visual and musical landscapes, as is the tradition with Empire of the Sun, are exposed with Two Vines. Getting it right is so rewarding, but it's a daunting task to replicate such a vision on each track. When they fly, they soar. But when their artistic façade fractures, the cracks are just too glaring.

It's difficult to judge a soundtrack separate from the production. But even without the visuals, Lazarus is still worth a listen or two. The performances range from solid to great, and the covers of these classics are often fresh.

Regardless of its more sophisticated tone, the same cannot be said for the album’s rather callow lyrical content, which doesn’t just border on, but fully embraces, mawkish poetic cliches, which causes one to question if the band is truly willing to insert more of their own growth and experiences into adulthood. Which, in turn, reduces their return as nothing more than just a faithful look into the past.

The Wytches mesh of sound is the musical embodiment of sixties surf dressed in severe Halloween costumes, and their ability to turn such agitation into something that is, against all odds, listenable, is a testament to this band’s grasp on their own sound.

Some tweaks are almost imperceptible, but when administered at the right place and the right time, Dusk shows an incidental dynamism that Ultimate Painting haven’t shown before.

We’ve heard enough from Slaves in their fledgling career thus far to know that their sound is always going to be abrasive, but with the exception of Spit It Out, the quirks that made Slaves as appetising a proposition as they were are nowhere near the forefront.

Every musical detour she takes on KoKoro sounds carefully plotted, and though it may occasionally wander without a clear center, it hardly lessens her severe case of wanderlust.

Away may only appeal to those who are truly committed to Shelf’s unyieldingly wry judgment, but the score that accompanies it is beautifully intoxicating.

Pretty Years doesn’t sugarcoat things just for the sake of it: the band is just as apprehensive about life’s everyday troubles, and it’s by holding on to a healthy sense of proportion that Cymbals Eat Guitars retain their quietly visceral power.

It is essentially indie-folk by numbers, with a nervy wistfulness and soft-hued canvas, but its aching beauty prevents the record from stifling a listener with its persistent translucence.

There is very little substance either musically or lyrically, and by the end of the album it feels like the album is already recycling ideas.

These songs are chaotic, unexpected and jarring. Samples, vocoders, and shambling synths crash together in an unstructured soundscape. But if you listen through the anarchy, you will find a stirring, masterful odyssey.

It’s not Pixies as you’d like to remember them, but for the first time in years it sounds as if they’re actually enjoying themselves.

From Gemini Feed’s bold awareness, to 27 Hours’ electrifying finish, The Altar is an accomplishment. There’s much more happening, but its tighter and fuller, filling in the most glaring gaps left by Goddess.

It is a solid and adept demonstration of his strengths as a dance producer and his ear for a hook. Roosevelt is intended to pacify the annual, somber, post-festival comedown. Every now and then, we just have to enjoy it simply for what it is, and not what it may lack.

Warpaint are at the very top of their game, showcasing a full understanding of their sound and the tools needed to get the best out of it. Heads Up is more of a sideways swerve for the band as opposed to a notable shift.

Preoccupations is a strong follow-up to an excellent debut record. It showcases a band that is evolving and finding new ways to stretch out their sound.

Ultimately, Skeleton Tree is the sound of feeling and not expressing sorrow.

Despite the wealth of glowing beats and rhymes, AIM would have benefitted from some unpredictability. Arulpragasam's sound is distinctive, but because she never establishes any kind of progression of ideas or strategically unites her songs around a theme, the album remains repetitive instead of cohesive.