Electric Balloon may be a gamble in more ways than one for the NYC nostalgic collective, but it's one that reaps far more than it sows.

He doesn’t need to hop on the emo rap bandwagon and a more stoic presence is always welcome, but this feels like the first YG album that’s coasting on reputation rather than inspiration.

So Sad So Sexy is by no means a bad record, but while the Li of previous records was refreshing and stark showing us her vulnerability, the slickly produced nature of this means that’s often lost and in its place is cliché as Li tries to hang onto the weighty romance of youth.

Turbo Fruits feel weightless, airless. The smooth production only makes the disappointing lack of clarity all the more unfortunate. I don't know who or what this album is for.

The production makes everything sound suitably epic and heart-strained, but tends to overwhelm its strongest suit--Gracie’s voice.

File under: Works better if you think of it as a remix album.

All these tracks, whilst lovely in themselves, are made ten times better when tethered together.

An uplifting and varied listening experience, if only some of the other tracks didn't have a habit of passing you by.

The result is a thrilling trip into a time and a place where nothing is really quite as it seems and the glamorous mask is slipping away.

Although Green Lanes is a total bore, it is cool how they bear this mask on a handful of different songs. They've made that style of storytelling their own.

There's plenty to like about Strangers to Ourselves; it's just that it genuinely baffles that an LP as sprawling as this can have so many different ideas, and so few new ones.

It makes for an exhausting and engrossing listen, and ultimately can’t be anything but a life-affirming statement.

PINS architect and frontwoman Faith Holgate has always stressed the band's desire to maintain a disparate sonic palette and it's an MO that can be felt throughout the first half of the album.

At times, you catch a glimpse of a singer on the verge of something great, who is only able to suggest it due to limited time, space, or an aesthetic misalignment.

Sundays may not be a collection that will live long in the memory, but when it rises out of its spiritual funk there’s a glimpse of something sparkling in amongst the fuzz and breathy introspection. It’s certainly not a dog of an album. But perhaps it’s not as cute, or as diverting, as a Tanuki.

Lookout Low provides 10 outstanding tracks, each one making clearly apparent the effort put into creating this album was not in vain. This album is certainly going to be tough to beat.

It’s more of the same, but when it’s this groovy, this killer, this consistently beguiling, that’s absolutely no bad thing.

Written during tumultuous times, Ti Amo is the soundtrack to a future as hopefully bright as the record itself.

Ogilala lives and dies by the strength of its songwriting, and while there’s nothing here that even sniffs at the coattails of Corgan’s best work, it is probably the most consistent and least offensively pretentious album he’s put out in, well, nineteen years.

On Hermits on Holiday they have knocked out nine fascinating tracks with effortless skill.

WATTBA still measures slightly disappointing in terms of what we've seen and heard from each artist individually, even this year. What A Time To Be Alive, even as a concept centers itself around the idea of 'now,' instead of striving for the notion of 'classic.' So I'll enjoy it for the time being.

This is the album that will put Lily & Madeleine in the ears and minds of music lovers everywhere.

Blast Off Through The Wicker is the equivalent of an efficient weekend overseas excursion; short, beautiful, and enjoyable, but it won’t leave you tired or wishing you had had longer.

Felt is a surprising addition to their canon of work, which 2016’s Hold/Still deftly hinted they were capable of. While it may not be what long time Suuns fans are after, it’s sure to gain them some new listeners, who shall no longer feel alienated by their intense grooves.

Mostly unlistenable. ... What has previously been a steady but inoffensive deterioration in Lennox’s music has now slid to (what one can only hope is) the bottom of the trough. No track here could be accused of attempting to engage with either the audience or work with recent exciting stylistic developments in alternative music.

Painting Of a Panic Attack, while not their best release musically, may well be their most emotionally mature.

It works well enough as a snapshot of where Everett finds himself as he approaches middle age, but the overwrought agonisation on the past and infuriatingly samey instrumental choices make it a difficult record to love.

Southsiders is extremely competent, and has enough really great beats to more than make up for the general air of insouciance. It's good. It just ain't essential.

A brilliant debut for Temples.

There’s nothing wrong with harkening to ‘80s synth-pop once in a while, but it seems Wild Nothing have explored every nook and cranny of their current sound. It’s time for the incredibly talented Jack Tatum to move on to something more forward-thinking.

It’s refreshingly spur-of-the-moment on an album that’s let down by constant overthinking and underestimating of her abilities. If Minaj wants to make a mission statement of an album, worthy of this title, she needs to figure out a mission statement for herself.

For the time being their concoctions remain a successful blend of sardonic and mystical, and will most likely win them a stream of new fans.

James and Roddick clearly have their sights set on mainstream success, but are instead in danger of sounding like one of the many pretenders that their first album spawned, rather than smart, subtly innovative band they once were.

The album features far too many flabby hip-hop/pop and pop songs.

It's a cliché to say that an album needs a few listens, but it's true of Plastics, as each new play reveals more depths.

Season Sun is a wonderfully charming mix of interesting sounds and textures, featuring plenty of psychedelic and folk inspired harmonies that will grow and seep into your senses and leave you pining for a spontaneous summer road trip.

As a fully formed whole it's lacking; as nucleus around which a future proliferates and ideas expand, it's seriously exciting.

What makes that record sound so left-field is Cedric’s all over the place vocals and Ross Robinson’s infamously loud production.

LNZNDRF might feel a little esoteric to fans of the Devendorfs' back catalogue, but it's a heavyweight enough effort to hopefully ensure that it won't be a one-off.

In the end, Lost Friends is a shape-shifting, intimate, and reflective body of work.

The Òran Mór Session is for Twilight Sad completists only. If you loved the originals, you'll probably enjoy hearing them in a slightly different style. Just don't expect worlds to shake.

The most vital strand of Sparks, probably, is its quality.

Their newer, glossier pop sheen pedestals them as the makers of proficiently written and intently catchy tunes that are inoffensive and innocuous - and never adventurous enough not to be.

It's hard to decide if what Yeasayer have created with Amen & Goodbye is a case of pop genius, of if the result is a load of over the top, art-rock pretensions. It seems that whether Yeasayer are really the future sailors of experimental indie, still remains to be seen.

There are certainly enough signs to suggest that Twerps can join the pantheon of great Australian janglers, and there is no doubting that they have talent and energy to burn.

Between horns, strings, synths, guitars and all the rest this record is definitely an attack on the senses and shows Urie's knack for constructing a radio-friendly hit, but delve below the surface and it doesn't have much to offer. Certainly not enough to justify diminishing returns for a long running act, definitely not enough to keep me coming back for anything but the first few beats.

These Days... is a messy album: half completely unimpressive and half brilliant; botched skits; combined songs and an occasional identity crisis make judging the album as a cohesive whole very difficult indeed.

Listeners will likely feel as though they've heard much of this stuff before and, while not of it is bad, that sensation does not exactly make for a compelling listen.

On album five, they still manage to experiment and sound as fresh as they were when they spat out 'Seventeen Years'.

Often the vocal melodies religiously, and simplistically, follow the melody of the lead instrument, leading to a lack of interesting melodic counterpoint and contrast, and, in almost all cases, they’re the kind of Sesame Street sing-songy melodies that no one over the age of five would unironically enjoy.

It feels less like album and more like a smorgasbord of everything Kimbra loves, and not in a bad way at all.

Late Night Tales is a beautifully constructed, cohesive compilation of tracks which proves the ascension of Jon Hopkins to the highest level was no fluke.

It may struggle for attention-grabbing fireworks, but Build a Boat to the Sun is completely endearing.

Boronia isn't going to change the course of music history, but it could just make a night of yours a little sweeter.

Although sometimes the journey gets bumpy, and Aquilo lose their way to sleepy filler, they always manage to find their way back to the dreamy, lush pop and rich electronic tapestries that makes part of this record such a triumph.

It makes for a veritable smorgasbord of genre pastiche wherein there is plenty of fun to be had in simply trying to pinpoint the artist or even specific song that is being aped. On the other hand, it also makes for a bit of a hit and miss affair.

Light Conductor have made an accomplished album with a retro-futurist sensibility and it is clear that they have moved this project forward under their own terms - long may they continue to do so.

Throughout Mirrors the Sky, Lyla Foy's warm and comforting voice remains the focus.

With Mister Mellow, Washed Out seems to have lost his gift of storytelling that made his debut album a reference to dream pop bands and electronic producers. Skimming through the tracks, they feel soulless and are disguised as part of ‘a concept’.

As a result of this restraint, his latest record is a more challenging proposition, forcing the listener to question the vintage of everything they are hearing, and blurring the lines between all of the various pictures he chucks together.

They don't shatter boundaries or expectations, but instead provide a grand, bedrock-solid opus stuffed with 10-tonne emotional blows and tranquillity most indie-pop groups shun.

All Love's Legal is the kind of record that reaffirms your faith in the power of music.

Songs ebb and flow between different styles, motifs appear and recede like roadside landmarks glimpsed briefly and passed in a blur. The result is an album that even in its slower moments seems to be constantly pushing forward, a hazy, dreamlike soundtrack to a classic road-trip movie.

Thank You For Today is uninspired but competent and honest, a laudable addendum to an unquantifiably meaningful legacy.

CrasH Talk is an unfortunate example of what can happen when someone gets the creative validation they’ve desired, only to find themselves at an impasse.

Though it may take a few listens to reveal itself, Throws is a playful and inventive album that reveals little rewarding moments with each spin.

It may well be overwhelming in the moment, but Migos have provided us with a lot to unpack as we await whatever comes next. Chances are, you'll like this album far more after the glut of material becomes a tad less staggering over some months.

Seinabo Sey clearly has a fully formed vision in her head of where she wants to take herself musically and Pretend proves that it's just a matter of time before she finally arrives at that place.

What it is, is a nice collection of dark trip-hop pop songs influenced by some great names but without forcing you to remember the name of HÆLOS. A little more substance over style will lead HÆLOS to bigger and better things.

While Cherry Bomb's low moments hold back the album's highlights, hopefully the high points are a sign of things to come.

There's no doubting their technical ability, but it counts for little this time around; the hooks that seemed to be the cornerstone of their songwriting last time out are missing in action on this occasion.

Views, made up of twenty polyrhythmic and eclectically curated tracks, is Toronto's ethos and identity in sonic form, an inside joke between Aubrey Graham and the city he's championed since the start.

Noveller is nothing if not consistent and A Pink Sunset Over No One is another fine example of such success.

The House has moments where it seems like Maine might have said everything he’s capable of saying with Porches. However, there are enough positives, particularly around the end, to feel like he’s not bled his creativity dry.

To combine filmic orchestral scores with the punch of hip-hop, the fun of indie-dance, flavours of funk, nocturnal London sounds, glistening electronica, with such natural fluidity makes War Room Stories a genuine pleasure to listen through; and makes it not just an interesting but an important step forward in highlighting the versatility of "the band", as well as in prolonging its perceived shelf-life.

To its credit, it's very listenable and the band were having fun while recording it. However, the potential in lieu of this makes it that much sadder that Gardens & Villa didn't take more time to polish the sounds of last year's Dunes.

The instrumental experimentation is spot-on, not imposing itself too much on the melodies nor serving as a vehicle for virtuosity; they sound solid and everlasting, yet serene enough to know how to take their music to the next level.

Cameron’s reach for the stars will be a divisive listen. He pulls no punches in creating this character, and the ugly language used to do so, will be viewed as unnecessary by some. But it all hangs together pretty well to create a set of songs that largely transcend the lame pastiches that they can stray close to being.

Sometimes, plucking a dandelion from between the cracks of the sidewalk, "just because", is transcendent. And Seraph is one of the prettiest damn dandelions in quite some time.

It's consistent, thrilling and boasts high replay value.

It's hard to imagine a record more slick and fun than Tuxedo arriving any time soon.

On I’ll Be Your Girl, The Decemberists do a few things well, a few things poorly, and most of them acceptably and nothing more. The fact that it never goes completely off the rails is almost as disappointing as the fact that it never finds its footing or seems interested in doing so.

BBF's effort may not be anything ground breaking, but if you're looking for a solid mix to vibe out to, this could be just the ticket.

Whether the transition marks his last shot at regaining his once dominating presence in the crowded trap-saturated landscape or just Jeezy shifting his purpose and place into a more mature direction, Church in The Streets is a respectable shot at both.

It certainly doesn’t break any new ground, but it’s a committed, charming throwback to the early years post-millennium, when rock did one of its perennial about-faces, away from prog-y electronica and back to the days when wearing leather and ripped white or red t-shirts was actively encouraged.

The hummable, sing-in-the-shower refrains are there, but ultimately, its Wildewoman's lack of identity that limits its appeal.

It's hard to determine the highs, lows and fluctuations of the record. That's not to say that the record all sounds the same, but without the visuals that such music seems to promise it can be difficult to remain engaged.

This is indeed an astonishing and absolutely infectious debut album: the urgency that each and every track is communicated with makes even the smallest detail surface as necessary and never misplaced.

Michael is everything one would expect from Les Sins' highly anticipated debut and more.

He is constantly blowing up what’s good about his work, adding extraneous parts, going on wild tangents, obfuscating emotional truth with impenetrable verbosity, veering from good taste to bad in the blink of an eye, or reinventing his band’s sound wholesale. While this impulse doesn’t always translate to an enjoyable experience for the listener, and can be especially trying for longtime fans, who can become overly attached to what they would consider to be Of Montreal’s definitive sound, there’s no denying that Barnes takes your ears to places they’ve likely never been before. There won’t be another album that comes out this year that sounds like White is Relic/Irrealis Mood.

Aside from two or three fillers, this record should be applauded for doing what Consentino does best: writing melodies that stick in your head for days.

The restraint and delicate nature of their performances compliment Stephanie Dose's voice and help showcase her unusual style of singing.

Year of the Snitch elicits the same anxiety-ridden feeling as having two dozen browser windows open at the same time. In its sensory overload, its embrace of ugliness and beauty, of chaos and calm, of proficiency and slackness, and its willingness to by turns troll and impress the listener, it reflects the complicated, frustrating nature of the Internet in 2018.

Being is a bit fragmented, and purposefully so.

You might not revisit this record often, but when you want to step back and step out Altid Sammen in its quiet contemplation will be the record to open up new avenues and expose what it was you were searching for.

This is a lush, intellectual and brilliant collection, constantly teeming with sounds, innovations and ideas.

At its heart it is an album at odds with itself as much as it is with its audience, too weird to gain mainstream popularity, but too pop to be truly revered by existing fans.

Awake is a very environmental album, but not a particularly emotional one.