McCombs’ work can be a stylistic patchwork, charming and sparkling in its variety. But across what it’s fair to call just 10 tracks, and with an over-arching theme, it feels constrained, perhaps waiting in the station.

There is plenty here to remind you of their previous triumphs, as well as those of similar labels such as Estrus and Crypt.

Musically, TROUBLE grows more assured as it goes on.

While most tracks capture the hell-for-leather energy and countrified cruises of the Waco Brothers’ renowned live shows, the album also enjoys diversions such as the early Rod Stewart-like ballad Orphan Song and an unlikely but spirited cover of the Small Faces’ All Or Nothing.

The sum of these parts is utterly energising.

With Silent Earthling, TTT present a nuanced and more muscular version of their sound.

The lyrics are--as ever--a highlight.

The change of scenery manifests in the album’s wider sonic palette as the trio embrace classic pop (Down Down), garage-rock (Had Enough), surf punk (Watch Your Back) and even resemble a grunged-up Heart on Perfume.

The blend of half-real and fake bodies, the beautiful and grotesque, sum up what makes this such a fun listen.

It’s messy and, true to its title, chock-full of distortion and fuzz but it’s an organised mess with great instrument placements and wide spaces between the players that allow them to revel in dynamically roaming around these songs.

Indeed, incessantly nattering samples are The Field’s trademark, as acquired a taste as a falsetto vocal or an electric bouzouki, the long pieces sometimes leaving you floating through the Land Of Nod and other times walking through treacle.

A joyful, spirited album that also stands to teach whoever listens to it some vital life lessons.

Opener Jump Into The New World is a bubbly 60s-style pop workout with lush girl-group backing vocals, Dog Fight and Hawaii are in the same vein, but a little more subdued, Rock ’N’ Roll T-Shirt swaggers like ZZ Top, and the band continue their food obsession on Wasabi, Green Tangerine, and the Beatle-esque Cotton Candy Clouds.

Although there’s nothing as lyrically sharp as Content Nausea, as raucous as Sunbathing Animal or as brash as Light Up Gold, Human Performance hits all the right notes for a band with a lot of ground to cover.

Often it’s Himeno’s drums alone which provide any sense of conventional structure, adding hypnotic rhythms to the cicada chatter and guitar feedback of #2 before Zaikawa’s heartbeat-like bassline belatedly joins in.

Containing 10 songs and with a running time of 30 minutes, it’s tantalisingly brief but never short of quality.

Compassion is the trio’s second album, and its eight songs straddle the line between the past and the present, between melancholy gloom and euphoric dance music.

Gibson does occasionally fall into the trap of sounding a little mannered, and this can take away from the well-written songs and from lyrics informed by an interesting back-story.

Overall then: heavy, strong and not that long… but not really designed for dabblers.

The songs here appear to be fragments sewn together so looking to find any cohesive narrative is beside the point, nor is there any pressure for there to be any obvious hits on the album. The effect is that the focus is shifted to Lamar’s vocal performance and serves as more evidence that he’s not only the foremost rapper of his generation, but is fast becoming one of the most effective vocalists full-stop.

With Lost Themes II, John Carpenter and band have delivered an album that not only stands up to its predecessor, but surpasses it. In addition to eerie atmospherics, the album is laden with addictive grooves, and feels sharper.

Hyped as the final batch of unissued material assembled during his lifetime, like most mythical artefacts, the reality proves a little disappointing. Not that there isn’t decent stuff to enjoy here. The Introduction and the Gary Numan-sampling Trucks are both capable head-nodders while The Ex features prime production work by Pete Rock and a brilliant vocal turn by Bilal.

Neptune may be swampier, but as side projects go, this is hardly an excuse for a great departure, more of an exercise in indulgence.

When it hits it really hits, as on the loved-up Target and the delicately hewn Myself At Last. But when it misses it really misses.

Frequently time-stopping as feeling triumphs over technique, Jones has a rarely-found natural way of displaying dazzling virtuosity. Mum would have been proud.

A matured yet playful execution, Kline takes the struggles of being a young woman in the modern world and transforms them into stripped-back offerings that--despite the scarcity of instrumentation and simple song structures--leave a strong impression.

The scruffy Scots have taken a more polite approach with this one, but Hutchison’s ability to touch the listener’s nerves hasn’t suffered and the result is musically uplifting; a well-crafted testament to the band’s song-writing abilities.

These nine largely piano-based songs are sumptuous yet graceful compositions that re-establish Bachmann as a truly exceptional songwriter.