aya has created one of those rare sequels that manages to both outstrip and enhance the ideas behind her first album. Following up an incredible debut with something more ambitious and immediate is hard. Most sequels buckle under the weight of expectation. On hexed!, aya doesn't so much rise to it as tear right through it.

A masterclass in brooding, uncompromising techno.

While Shygirl clearly has a reverence for hip-hop's past, she never turns that admiration into staid nostalgia. Over early grime-type beats, we hear what might be otherwise well-worn clichés—sirens, flutes, drip drops and sped-up vocals—but under Shygirl's command, she manages to give them an international twist.

This is all delectable, sure, but what's memorable is how Davidson—who has the dexterity to crack a joke uniting Friedrich Engles and LNR on 2018's "Work It"—maintains her dark sense of humour.

The inclusion of dynamic percussion, as well as Darkside's openness, beckons music that is more kinetic, haphazard and melodic than anything the group has made before. .... Although it's hard not to miss the eerie glitchiness and endless meandering that made Psychic so explorable and viscerally unsettling, Nothing can be unnerving in its own way.

Behind swirling clouds of synth and reverb, her perspective is clear as day.

In anchoring her songwriting in the canon of '90s dance music, twigs shines with a quality we haven't really seen before. Eusexua is remarkably slippery, allowing songs to go anywhere and do anything, but propelled by the prowess of a songwriter in peak form.

While Active Agents And House Boys slows the aerodynamic rush of the duo's live sets, it reveals a new dimension to their work: something you could almost call songwriting.

When she steps away from the overproduced big drops and focuses on body groove, Kelly's world is worth stepping into.

Machine is as visceral as anything he's ever put out, but the album's use of negative space—a cornerstone of what, in that Electronic Beats interview, he identified as dub's "alien unknown quality"—creates a sense of heightened focus you don't get from his vocal albums. These tracks are certainly "floor weapons," as Martin has billed them in liner notes. But they'll work just as well for those looking to quietly meditate on bassweight at home.

Modern pop remix albums have had a lazy streak—tacked-on features, small-minded production and recycled vocals. But Charli comes to the club with new verses, exciting collaborators and a fresh eye for her past work.

Throughout the album's darkest passages we're struck by a sense of possibility: that everything Richard has endured, fought for and overcome has merely allowed space for beautiful new beginnings.

Honey also lack the narrative depth that invited us in so close on Suddenly. If you look beyond the sweet, sticky surface, you'll likely be left craving more substance—until you're distracted by melodies that spin you into infatuation once again. For newer Caribou or Daphni fans who aren't as concerned about the polarising split between Snaith's two projects, Honey still services that dance floor giddiness—with a subtle drip of bittersweetness.

While some of its tracks were closer to completion than others when she died, the album overall still sounds unfinished.

He can't find a way back into the very culture that created him. This tragedy, and its lack of resolution, defines the saccharine and overdone sound of In Waves, whose missing of the mark is evident from its earliest moments.

It's an album of unapologetic bangers, boasting some of the most enjoyable music Shepherd's ever released. But it also sacrifices some of what makes his best work so singular.

It's a career-defining work that lives, shapeshifts, and, crucially, grieves.

The tracks that feel like direct tributes to older, better tunes tend to fare better than the majority of the album, which is hugely sentimental but never sufficiently sharpens its edges to counteract all that mush.

Of course, this repetition is the point of a record titled Endlessness, yet it feels like a central motif seemingly existing for its own sake.

The flatness of their construction, despite refreshingly warm undertones, means the songs easily collapse beneath the weight of Smith's carefully constructed persona, losing the plot on his apparent quest to let loose. Where they might blossom, the album's new cuts mostly bore holes into themselves.

Everything Squared is both a closed loop back to the fundamentals of the band's sound and a new tributary opening up, once again confusing any attempts to accurately place Seefeel anywhere but in their own time and space.

The result is an ingeniously crafted album that, under the right conditions, heightens the senses and inspires heartfelt reflection.

This relationship between Anderson and her subject is what elevates Amelia from mere biography into an enormously moving, poignant creative triumph.

Quantum Baby still delivers on the kind of smoky, sexy numbers that we'd expect from her.

A mind-expanding debut compilation. More than just a primer, A Dancefloor in Ndola is a captivating exercise in crate-diggery. .... Kampire is doing more than putting together a compilation—she is helping form African pop history.

Cellophane Memories ranks among Lynch's best: slippery, bewitching and almost overwhelmingly Lynchian.

Rema remains steadfast on his path to brilliance. HEIS is a capstone of an artist who's left an indelible mark on Afrobeats, but also Rema's realisation of his own singularity—not just in the great Benin Kingdom before him but the world.

Their album together is a beautiful take on doom and gloom, but be warned: there's no promise of a happy ending.