Few pop acts are making heartbreak so straightforwardly danceable at the moment. All hail to Years & Years for continuing to hit us with those laser beams.

Given time and careful attention, CAPRISONGS unfurls to reveal the richest and catchiest melodies twigs has written so far. Its mystique melts into you.

New record is a self-knowing contradiction to The Weeknd’s past celebrations of impermanence via one-night stands and sleazy affairs. Now he understands, even regrets, his flighty behaviour.

If Scenic Drive sets out to be an easy-listening accompaniment to a late-night ride, it’s successful. But if you’re looking for something with more clarity and oomph, your car horn may be the better option.

While there are high points – many of them, surprisingly, found in their Unlocked iteration – the album fails to leave an impression in the same way as the singer’s previous releases. You’ll like it, for sure. But you may not remember it.

This isn’t so much a barnstormer of an album as a reassuringly earthy rock-out among the hay bales.

Yes, it’s all cheesy as a vat of fondue. But it’s also a lot of fun.

It all fits seamlessly together, a rich tapestry of weed-toked slow jams, woozy psychedelic infusions and pimped-out west coast joyrides. ... This record never takes a wrong turn.

The songs themselves are good. Grounded in pathos, they tend to be handsomely crafted ballads about love and its various agonies – but it’s her vocals that sell them.

This re-recording is a better, brighter version of a terrific pop album. Red is dead. Long live Red (Taylor's Version).

This is a 12-track cringefest on which Stewart celebrates carnal love in between songs about his late father.

On their fourth record (as raucous as ever), the Bristol punks put out some of their most interesting and introspective music yet.

This is by no means an easy record to fathom, but it does show – even after so many years – you’ll never catch Albarn resting on his laurels.

On “Write a List of Things to Look Forward To”, backed by beautifully textured Americana instrumentation, she wonders why we keep trying: “We did our best, but what does that really mean?” This album is Barnett navigating her way out of her own head, reminding herself – and her listeners – that it’s good to care about things.

It’s a terrific, family-friendly smorgasbord of a record that delivers all the classic ABBA flavours.

He avoids turning the songs on this album into as much of a box-ticking exercise as they felt on earlier records, managing to weave influences in with a little more flair.

Across the album’s 13 tracks, she flits easily between pop’s peripherals and its core, dispensing emotional catharsis all the way.

Del Rey’s claims that this is her most personal album yet are not quite true – it is far more elliptical and mysterious than it first appears.

There are a couple of stunning vocal performances. Rina Sawayama sings like a galleon in full sail on the big, bold ballad “Chosen Family”. ... Grim moments include Young Thug’s sleazy sex rap on “I Will Always Love You.” ... In the middle ground are a few hummable collaborations (“Learn to Fly” with Surfaces, “Finish Line” with Stevie Wonder).

This album feels like the most cohesive and considered statement of who he is, both as an individual and as a solo artist. Stylistically, it has everything: chamber pop, grunge, classical, Latin, rock.

Music of The Spheres isn't Coldplay at their Viva la Vida finest, even if their undeniably upbeat attitude remains hard to resist. The Pythagoreans believed that music purified the soul. This album offers a more superficial spiritual shower. A fleeting invigoration.

Few artists can make such heartbreak sound so pretty, while still reflecting on all its weirdness and complexity.

Fender has refined both his songwriting and his sound.

At times this [spent two years sitting with these songs] makes for a more considered output; other songs run the risk of overthinking themselves.

Bennett and Gaga dance through [Cole Porter's] witty wordplay and bring nuanced humanity to the deft melodies he dashed off in his suite at the Waldorf.

Her vocals – and the album itself – are dextrous, flexing between those high notes and lower registers at the most unexpected moments.

The great thing about this album is that you can choose to fall down a nerdy rabbit hole with its creators and dissect all the movie themes. Or, you can just let it wash over you while you catch the odd breeze of reference here and there. And though it lacks the direct gut-punch of one of Stevens’ best solo records, it’s infused with the warmth of real friendship.

Close your eyes as you listen to Montero and you can almost feel the rainbow confetti falling from the ceiling and sticking to your tears. This album isn’t the creation of a gimmick-spinner. It’s an album bursting with technicolour heart.