The songs on Everything is Beautiful, by contrast [to Everything Sucks], are warm and sun-dappled; reminiscent of the uplifting, gospel-influenced hip hop of Chance the Rapper.

Musically, it’s lovely – loose, swirling California rock and country, led by gaze-out-the-train-window melodies. ... This album will leave a mark – one that is Moore’s and Moore’s alone.

An album that’s as enchanting as it is astute, from a band to treasure.

Expect reassurance rather than revelation and you’ll find the lesser-worn pages of the American songbook elegantly traced.

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

She has pulled off the difficult trick of developing a new signature sound, without losing the personal perspective that separated her from the pack in the first place.

What’s impressive on 7 is how they show a fascination with genres that should have no business being on the same album, but without the “smash and grab” attitude of so many Western artists. When it comes to music, 7 is is cast-iron proof we all speak the same language.

This cohesive mood piece casts a hypnotic spell.

There’s brilliance here, but it’s when the album slows down that it becomes transcendent.

His latest LP largely lacks killer tunes.

This fourth LP polishes that dancier sound into his slickest dancefloor-ready music yet.

This isn’t so much an album that would rile you to the point of turning it off. Rather, it washes over you, with its mostly average beats (“Forever” is a rare exception) and seemingly random cluster of guest features.

Big Conspiracy is Hus’s second chance – an album that proves he’s just as essential a part of UK music today as he was three years ago.

Supervision is certainly not a bad album, but it’s a far cry from the bristling pop genius of Jackson’s best work.

Glam, anthemic and messy Father of All… may be, but “inspired” and “baddest” it is not.

The problem is, the album – so full of drawling balladry and anodyne lyrics – is deeply unremarkable. Listening to it is like wading through a quagmire of banality.

It’s the album equivalent of someone who can finally handle their liquor. Someone fresh out of their 20s and contemplating life via moments of late-night melancholy, as opposed to worrying implosion.

Hotspot teeters somewhere between their ballad-heavy album Behaviour (1990) and 1988’s shimmering dance record Introspective. ..You sense this album is intended as an expression of hope for the future, rather than a fond look back.

Eminem belittles the trauma of a then 26-year-old Ariana Grande for kicks on “Unaccommodating” by comparing himself to the Manchester Arena bomber. The sour taste of this track lingers well beyond the album’s centrepiece, “Darkness”, which is intended as a searing critique of America’s toxic gun culture. Instead, his use of gunfire and explosion samples feels grossly exploitative.

Through the album there’s a mesmerising rhythm, a kind of rocking horse motion that spurs you on to the next track. ... On Swimming he was adrift, searching for a lighthouse beam that would bring him back to “a place of comfort”. On Circles, it sounds as though – if only for the briefest of moments – he found it.

It’s a solid return – the sound of a band both rejuvenated and continuing the multi-layered sound of their previous releases.

Georgia splices the beat and twists the synths into an eerie doomscape, yet it’s strangely comforting – her reminder that while this night may have ended, there’s always tomorrow.

Certain songs work better than others: “Dog Eat Dog” tries to tackle social injustice but lacks real bite; “Don’t Think”, though, has all the swagger and defiance of vintage Blondie. Most impressive is how much more confident The Big Moon sound as a band.

There is a lot to like about Rare. But it never quite gets out from beneath the shadow of half a decade of behemothic bangers.

For better or worse, Duster sounds as though it was created by humans. Imperfections are packed into structures that are more comprehensible, and far less nebulous. Each crackle, echo and strained vocal makes the limitations of being human seem not only clear, but beautiful in its vulnerability.

Not only is it a drastic step up from an impressive debut, but it shows an artist keen to test himself emotionally, as well as artistically.

It may not reach the pinnacle of sex or sadness, but Fine Line is a fine album nonetheless.

It’s all fine: shiny and efficient pop, smelling of body oil and new car upholstery. But Payne treats each track like a rental car. He gives each song a spin and hands the keys back like a good lad without leaving a trace.