Dirty Projectors have released their career highlight to date and already one of 2017’s best. Encore surely.

The rebounding sounds that dominate Undying Color have a cumulative effect, and form a kind of aural mist within which the listener can get lost. Charming.

Like Iommi jamming with Bonham, Melvins duo Buzz Osborne and Dale Crover lay down the uncompromising riff-rock they’ve been prolifically perfecting since the 80s. Mars Volta axeman Omar Rodriguez- Lopez is the most muted talent present, resigned as he is to bulldozing basslines, so you’ll find none of his trademark proggy noodling here, which is probably for the best. And Gender Bender? Her fierce vocal dexterity channels the spirits of Ozzy Osbourne, Robert Plant, KatieJane Garside, Donita Sparks and even Russell Mael.

Farrar’s a reluctant figurehead for the down there and downtrodden. There are no gilded towers here, no tyrannies of elitist plutocrats, just the open highway and a ride in an old boneshaker with an engine leaking hopes and dreams.

A piledriver of a set, but it pulls you into his world.

Alex Nieto, the story of a police shooting of an innocent man in San Francisco in 2014 closes the album with a fire that recalls an on-form Neil Young. Described by Prophet as his first protest song, it concludes an often exhilarating album.

The texture of the more desolate songs, like Pegasi, the Americana-tinged Simon Says and the folky gospel of Songs Of Old is where the soul of the album seems to really reside, but when the two sides of Hoop’s talent come together, as on Unsaid, it has a magic all of its own.

If ever a record sounded like a herd of elephants, this is it.

It’s only on standout track, Kangaroo, that you could at any point pigeonhole PVT’s latest sound (in this instance, club banger). The remainder is far too elusive, a fusion of too many elements. Not confused, just produced in confusing times.

Unsurprisingly, Noveller has scored many films in the process of building her voluminous catalogue; out on her own, but playing a subtle role in realigning 21st century music.

While it’s probably a good thing that the rest of record isn’t quite as intense as that [Waiting On My Horrible Warning], the 11 songs that follow remain a deliberately overbearing barrage of droning, snarling and unrelenting noise punk.

Brasher, younger-sounding than the band’s previous records, but with the hard-won wisdom that experrience brings.

These floaty psych-funk grooves are more fun than a barrel of chimps, even if the lyrics fret about global warming, nuclear fusion and other harbingers of doom.

Life Will See You Now won’t disappoint the devoted. Pop pleasures are myriad.

The thing is, by Adams’ standards, too many of the songs sound slightly underwritten.

Ty Segall itself reveals--even more so than Emotional Mugger and Manipulator before it--a willingness to park the DIY or garage rock tag, however momentarily.

The mixing of the waters, swirling around Merritt’s pure, soaring vocals, produces a record that’s elegant and intelligent, only country in the same way that Emmylou’s own later work (think Wrecking Ball) could be said to be.

A somber experience to the very end then, Piano Magic’s message--and sound--remains unsettling for the uninitiated. But there’s always warmth there, and when lounged in for long enough, it puts the chills to bed with some finality.

Words surface out of the swirling maelstrom, an occult ritual within the architecture, another tone adding to mood, but always subservient to the texture, which sweeps from the muscular to the persuasively melodic.

Minor Victories have torn apart their debut to uncover something more considered underneath. But apart from that, it’s a brilliant listen.

42 minutes of rewarding new music for those who still believe.

“I’ve got nothing left to say but that’s alright,” he sings in Sunday Morning Feeling, but the 13 intense, joyous tracks here suggest otherwise.

2017 could be the perfect time for Alabama 3 to bust out of their long-surviving cult status. This is the LP to do it.

In short, this compact collection is all quite interesting, and the Rashad Becker mastering makes it sound appropriately big, but it’s essentially one for the black turtleneck crowd, and sports soberly black artwork in order to ram the point home.

Hook-laden choruses and seismic riffs don’t feature heavily in the Fufanu sound--and nor should they. Like The Rapture before them, their sound is one of influences absorbed subtly.

This isn’t folk-rock, it’s folk-rock’n’roll.

Hardwired is a slightly less gripping version of the same, as is Moth Into Flame. There’s some sweet doom in the form of Dream No More, an obvious Sabbath homage, and a nod to their late mentor Lemmy with Murder One. In between, we’re treated to a lot of mid-tempo plodding.

She was a frontwoman, but with a sound that was markedly different to anything that had come before. Tourist In This Town sees a continuation of this exploration, with album opener Broad Daylight shifting from a cappella into an alt.rock crescendo with underlying electronics.