Not an easy listen, but a satisfying one.

It’s rare for music to be both deep and breezy, isn’t it? Minnie Riperton does it on “Lovin’ You” (1974) – all those casual la-la-la-las sinking into something profound. Corinne Bailey Rae did it too, with “Put Your Records On” (2006), flagging the nourishment of some much-needed downtime. Olivia Dean’s second album, The Art of Loving, manages the same feat.

Nothing about Invasion of Privacy is formulaic.

Dave Alvin's latest album may be his best yet, its tales of the flipside of the American Dream set to gritty blues riffs that speak of long months on the road.

He drifts like a spectre through a labyrinth, exploring his favourite themes of sleep, reality and the subconscious. The tones here are stark and bleak, compared to the claustrophobia of 2014’s Tomorrow’s Modern Boxes. ... By the end of ANIMA, you’re left wondering about those dreams that are just out of reach, but also what we risk losing when we look back.

Never once do Sons of Kemet compromise on their fiercely individual sound.

While The Breeders may not be reclaiming their youth on their latest effort, they’re not trying to: they approach All Nerve with the sensibility of a band that embraces how they’ve grown since their early punk days.

Of course, it takes a certain degree of patience (or pretension) to unpick the record entirely, but once unravelled listeners are rewarded with a dystopian world best described as sci-fi sleaze.

Although the fear was that Adam would be spreading his father’s legacy too thin, each track has the weight of a completed thought, not a sketch bulked out.

With the skirling, Arabic-tinged drone-rock textures of his band The Space Shifters augmented by cello and Seth Lakeman’s violin, the album’s miasmic charm imbues even the rockabilly standard “Bluebirds Over The Mountain” with new, mysterious depths.

While Negro Swan elaborates on Hynes’s best work, he remains grounded in cosy bedroom-pop by shambling drum machines, vocal compressors and gratuitous psych pedals.

On Don’t Forget Me, she’s found a beguilingly relaxed momentum.

This is a polished, playful album, though it has a DIY edge to it.

It’s cool to hear Vernon choosing fun at last. It’s a decision that’s opened up a whole new court for his melodies to play in. A slam dunk.

Staples called this his most personal record yet. Perhaps it’s this new vulnerability that makes the album so great. Or maybe it’s the whip-smart one-liners. Or the vivid storytelling. Staples will say this latest triumph is just a dude doing some different things.

Gaga’s return to outsider-empowering form could not be more timely. At a moment when America’s leaders seek to shove its marginalised citizens back into the shadows, she invites them back into the centre of the floor, celebrating their defiant differences in the bright strobe lighting. Maga? Oh nah-nah!

While copious application of phasing offers a link to Tame Impala’s psychedelic roots, the absence of guitar wig-outs may disappoint some fans.

If the Grammy-nominated Forever was their blistering hellscape, Underneath is a glitchy, industrial wasteland.

On her latest effort, the singer-songwriter proves that the power of reinvention suits her just fine.

Nadia Reid’s 2015 debut Listen To Formation, Look For The Signs heralded the arrival of a prodigious talent, the young New Zealand singer-songwriter’s confessional material embodying an emotional intelligence and honesty akin to Laura Marling and Judee Sill, her folk leanings tempered by languid jazz inflections set among a patina of subtle sonic textures. Preservation continues in like manner.

Pre Pleasure is one of those rare records that reveals the whole artist, cheap kicks and all.

The Purple Bird is reassuringly well-crafted and woodsy.

It’s excruciating in its honesty – even for Lenker, who’s hardly known for shying away from her feelings. Now she bares her pain with complete abandon. It’s quite extraordinary.

As beautiful as it is exciting, Suddenly is an uplifting album that embraces the change and shifting perspectives that life throws our way.

It's the most simple, directly dance-oriented they've been since Disco, putting down a marker for the rest of the album.

Experimentation is generally to be applauded, but too often here it works to the detriment of the songs.

While there’s a moreish quality to the off-key guitar of “Imperfect for You” and an unexpectedly golden flush of brass on “Ordinary Things”, Grande’s delicately conversational tone is often left having to compensate for her lack of strong melodic snags.

An album, that restores to R&B some of the adult concerns that powered the genre through its '70s golden era.