That the genre-agnostic, collage-minded stylistic promiscuity and unfailingly indulged experimental instincts (there doesn’t seem to be a sound that the trio aren’t willing to shake, twist or bend here) are coupled with genuinely substantial songcraft is what makes Somewhere Good such a startlingly accomplished treat.

Little Wide Open doesn’t venture far from the tastefully sparkling midtempo Americana that has become the hallmark of producer Aaron Dessner’s work outside his day job in The National. Allow it time to bloom at its own urgency-averse pace, however, and Little Wide Open may just offer the musical equivalent of a warm hug with its disarmingly plainspoken and unrushed contemplation.

The result, somehow, is brilliant: uncontrolled chaos, presented in the most controlled of settings.

Marvelously swinging across the blend of new wave, post-punk, and pop-rock sonics. However, what pulls it down is Dan Nigro’s production work. He turns many of the grooves and guitars distractingly underpowered. .... Despite that specific flaw, it doesn’t slip down Olivia Rodrigo’s sharpest songwriting to date.

So Help Me God is a triumphant return whose sonic ambitions are split in two ways: classical swells don’t uplift the melodies at their finest, but the percussive focus makes Lu’s emotional arc evocative. It’s lopsided as a result, but still successfully delivers impactful moments along the way.

In totality, Florescence is a lovely record that mistakes a change of scenery for a change of self.

There’s a truly sublime sense of murkiness and disgust built into these tracks, like their instruments are made of worms and dank mud.

In very Drake-style, there are some overly try-hard moments on Iceman. .... Iceman is at its best when Drake feels tapped in a more mature frequency.

The album doesn’t just offer a rush of shimmering, sugary indie pop confections, but also a charming invitation to brush off your inner cynic and celebrate all you have to offer the world.

This is ten tracks that build on Ngonda’s debut. If perhaps not as fresh as that record, it proves he is far from a one-hit wonder, or a throwback soul act for a new generation.

If it’s not a return to their earliest sound, it does capture a carefree attitude. It’s far from the sound of a band at a crossroads, this is some of the most urgent music of their career.

Here, familiarly awkward slip-ups mingle with poignant moments.

If Cry Baby doesn't reach the levels of Big Fish Theory or Ramona Park, it's another string to Staples' bow and then some. The new approach feels fresh and revitalising, without toning down the artist's gift for fiery rhetoric.

There’s some pleasingly heavy stuff on here, too. “Malebomb” comes close to full blooded nu metal (a subgenre surely due a major revival in the near future) – but, like, really good nu metal. For all that the style is reviled, there’s no denying that downtuned, thumpy guitars and livewire all-angst vocals go together like baggy jeans and a backwards Yankees cap.

While House of Mirrors doesn’t achieve the vision and scope of Ideal, it brims with fervor, prowess, and technical skill, the band navigating, as expected, exhilarating riffs, riveting solos, and galvanic rhythms.

His newest memory work, The Boys of Dungeon Lane, promises listeners “the story before the story”, but ends up excavating old tricks and administering pop palliatives.

Whilst songs like “Everybody Wants to Be Your Friend (Except Me)” certainly venture close to Smith’s terrain, the moments when the songs are allowed more wiggle room to bloom and expand prove that Mendez has a musical identity of his own.

But for all the stumbles in its softest moments, Modern Woman’s debut offers more potential than it doesn’t. Sophie Harris carries a delightful charm as a performer and songwriter, one that works best when the album leans on its heaviest side.

“Don’t You Know What I Am?” spotlights her spectacular penchant for a vibrant mixture of old-school, outdoor playfulness and lush, elegant arrangements. When Superbloom’s artistic direction is blurry and hinged on excessive and quixotic fantasy, Ware’s star power shrinks to the muddy ground, the music’s grandiosity succumbing to reverent pastiche of the greats.

Limited in other times by the “Midwest emo” label quickly stuck onto them, the four-men formation has proven, definitively this time, that their sound is thoroughly unique, as infinite and ever-shifting as the sea.

The 11-song long record feels like an amuse-bouche, teasing us with Grohl’s limitless creativity and playfulness. Brimming with heightened emotions and vivid colors, Violet Grohl’s surrealist universe promises to hide many treasures and surprises alike, yet to be discovered.

Fratti’s arrangements tiptoe around Orcutt’s jagged idiosyncrasies, creating a melodically rich, soothing yet robustly physical sound that often resembles chamber music that happens to have a healthy lining of dirt under its nails, and which manages to sound simultaneously unvarnished in its uncluttered directness and nuanced in its alluring detail.

Putting more ambition also means more risk taken, yet Monet and her collaborators go through it with confidence.

Ultimately, Everyone For Ten Minutes doesn’t do enough to differentiate itself from the band’s previous outings. Despite some lovely, refreshing variations sprinkled throughout – like the atmospheric slow burn of opener “Sideways” – this is largely the sound of Antonoff planted firmly in his comfort zone.

The audience becomes an audibly thrilled fifth member of the band whenever Butterss and Bellerose land on a more steadily rooted groove, which renders the initially hushed, seemingly telepathic exchanges between the musicians into a collective effort to work up a muscular and hypnotic musical sweat.

It’s not polished, but it's chromatic, jagged, yet it jangles. It’s the sort of record that skates across a pond, leaving no marks, but the ice collapses moments after it graces it.

The Afterparty is messy, amusing at times and intentionally touching on uncomfortable moods, that honesty is appreciated, and the songs themselves feel fine, if underwhelming when they’re describing such potentially big emotions.

It’s brief, and perhaps maybe pushed its sound too far to bring in many new listeners, but for those that enjoyed their previous records it’s certainly a great time.