Perimenopop is destined to get listeners hot and bothered; Ellis-Bextor remains as cool as ever.

The highs on That’s Showbiz Baby are so thrillingly nutty that it’s hard not to be all-in with the idea of Thirlwall as Britain’s galaxy-brained saviour of pop – at least by the time album two rolls around.

There is evident ambition on Play, but not a holistic or thorough one. Probing attempts to broaden Sheeran’s sound are offset by melodic and lyrical choices that are too safe.

Big Thief have done it again. Despite the 2024 departure of their bassist of nine years, Max Oleartchik, the Brooklyn-built indie band’s sixth album sounds like another instant classic.

The key to Flyte’s music is just how evocative it is, setting the scene perfectly and drawing you into their world.

There are incredible highs here, but too much that feels like a first draft.

These are songs that you can immediately tell will come alive on stage, where CMAT’s effervescent energy is really let loose. On record, they’re still a good listen – but it’s the words, honest and precise, that will keep fans coming back.

You can really relish these songs as outpourings of vulnerability, confusion and anger. They could be perfect to help lovely folk to dance away the pain of messy breakups. But you don’t have to strain too hard to hear them on the incel’s playlist either. Hickey’s a tricky one.

The songs are individually worthwhile, but get lost in the aggregate: Guitar rattles through agreeable ditties about life, love, and music at a clip that makes them blur together.

From the lovely momentum of “Carousel”, complete with fairground chimes, to the shivery, spellbinding flair of “Forget-Me-Not”. She’s as compelling as Julie London on “Silver Linings”, as heart-rending as Sam Phillips on the bold, surprising “Sabotage”. It’s sublime.

Although both the solid, retro stylings of The Love Invention and the more delicately dreamy Flux contain some lovely melodies and beautifully detailed production, the woman herself seems less edgily present than she while haunting 2000’s “Lovely Head” or on 2003’s “Strict Machine”.

No Rain, No Flowers turns out to be a muted effort.

It’s an utterly cohesive record, perhaps to a fault; the individual parts end up consumed by the whole. If you vibe with it, though, Anhedonia has made an album that has real depths to explore – it’s just a matter of finding the right frequency.

If Bite Me isn’t the consistently massive deal Mean Girls fans might have hoped for, it’s still pretty fetch.

At times, Dog Eared can feel like being let into a luxurious, vintage cabin at dusk. Sheepskin rugs on wooden floors, low lighting, open windows. At other times, it’s at risk of becoming classy, crepuscular wallpaper. But given time and attention, the confident craft of the songwriting and mellow musicianship will sink their grooves into the soul.

If you’re a longstanding Belieber by this point, you’re probably used to the tonal shifts of his adult material. But, outside of his hardcore devotees, Bieber remains more of a curiosity than a consistent, coherent creative force – Swag won’t do much to change the conversation.

Far from being burned out (or being bullied into selling out) by the sudden wave of global fame, they’ve doubled down on their own weird energy. Moisturizer's uncanny electricity is off the voltmeter.

Tempest plods a little through his breakdown of the social issues – poverty and addiction – facing modern Brits. There is power and truth in his weary clarity, but it can also feel a little prosaic. The pace, if not the mood, picks up on “Breathe” as Tempest addresses gang culture and describes a scene in which he found himself with blood on his trainers, delivered over a jittery trap beat that recalls Mike Skinner.

Virgin doesn’t find Lorde back in her finest, most exhilarating form. But it’s a record that sees her heading in that direction.

For all its promise that it never quite delivers on, I Quit is still another cool step in the band’s evolution – as well as a great way for fans to get their own step count up.

At 14 tracks, Remembering Now has a slight paunchiness to it – something that grates particularly during the drearier slow numbers, such as “The Only Love I Ever Need Is Yours” and “Memories and Visions”.

This is not Young’s best work. It is, however, a record that should raise smiles on the faces of the faithful.

Addison Rae may have started out as an internet personality, but Addison earns her a seat at the pop table. Rather than a work of fluke or novelty, it marks the arrival of an artist who knows exactly what she’s doing.

She distils her pain, venom and eventual acceptance into 13 perfectly executed songs.

More accomplishes in just three songs the transition between fan-settling familiarity and creative advancement.

Something Beautiful isn’t quite as crazy or groundbreaking as she seems to think, but its spirit of adventure encapsulates what we’ve come to know and love about one of our most frustrating yet endearing pop stars.

Boys These Days – in step with recent records by fellow leading alt-rock lights Fontaines DC and Wolf Alice – is blind to restraints of era or genre, a work of invigorating emancipation rock.

Doherty remains a charismatic scene evoker – even though you can’t follow the thread of all his tales, he still makes you feel you were there.