Come Closer is a hostage to 90s Euro-Club-isms and torn in half by the lesser devices of two highly talented individuals, a near-first in music where a collab brings out the worst in each participant.

You’re left shrugging, like, okay, whatever. As recalibrations, or simply maturing, goes Cruel World is as mixed and contradictory as her debut.

Hurts Like Hell may feel unremarkable to some, but for those who are constantly contemplative of where one used to be, its subtle yet deeply personal storytelling will be much more touching than expected.

These songs remain uncharacteristically conventional in structure and instrumentation as a disappointing result.

As a project, Strictly 4 The Scythe is overcommitted and faintly ridiculous. Its collective chemistry is intermittent, owing something to its indiscriminately-into-the-crowd exuberance and occasionally tipping into something cynically curatorial. .... These failures are failures of abundance, though. Curry remains an earnest underground champion.

Of The Earth is ultimately easier to admire as an audacious gamble than to love as a fully successful statement: sections of the album feels still under construction, an impression amplified by a handful of fully realised gems, like the hypnotic and haunting highlight “Light The Way”.

Even if it doesn’t feel like a groundbreaking return, many tracks here align with his ingenious artistic consistency.

A comeback, then, that proves the case for Peaches herself while underselling her music.

The result is a collection of futile, brooding songs that tries to encapsulate bigger-than-life emotions but ends up being too afraid to truly delve into them. He could just need a little love from someone, anyone, to get that refined taste back.

Flashes of quality make the album all the more frustrating. If the lyrics came anywhere near his halcyon days, the shortcomings might matter less.

Cerulean, while technically masterful, is just a fine, pleasant dream to pass the time.

Too much of Quicksand Heart feels rushed, or perhaps consciously unambitious, eschewing bold creative strokes in favour of the kind of inoffensive consistency you might put on at a cheese and wine night to set the mood. Its best songs are worth a relisten; taken as a whole, though, it’s something of a disappointment.

It’s so unrestrained that it sometimes loses its grip, condensing several albums worth of ideas into a single project that isn’t quite as compelling as the sum of its parts, the sum of its collaborators, or the sum of its energy.

There’s a pleasant sea-change at the mid-way point on “Togetherness Is All I’m After”, with the dropping tempo allowing some finer feeling and vocal range to return, but tracks like “Cell Phone Blues”, “Love Chant”, and “Marauders”, feel forced and lumpen.

There’s plenty to admire of Swift – her voice, her curiosity, her ability to mine emotional nuance – but that’s been true of every Swift era. What’s missing here is the glue. Similar to Red, some tracks just don’t mesh.

Whereas her blockbuster debut Invasion of Privacy used every minute of its runtime, AM I THE DRAMA? wavers and meanders around tracks that are fine at best and miserable at worst.

This is an album that lacks the fun and hooks of their earlier outings.

The messaging does feel appreciative yet it feels too familiar between its use of commonplace metaphors and lack of clear thematic thread.

If you like “State Sponsored Psychosis”, you’ll enjoy it a tad faster in “The Abduction”. The dazzling backdrops overpower Pelant’s vulnerability, detracting from his authenticity. Nonetheless, they regain their footing with closer “Desperation”, a hopeful, power pop gem affirming where Night Moves currently stand.

The songs are proficiently penned, though often devoid of the juggernaut hooks that elevated previous outings, particularly the exhilarating House of Sugar and stunning God Save the Animals. Additionally, the production MO tilts toward the conservative – well-sanded and well-stirred instrumentation.

Period sounds like a record trying its best to be happy – the striking highs of something like “Praying” are nowhere to be found on this allegedly unrestrained album.

Idols fails to expand on the promise of its grand opening statement, instead resulting in a heavily flawed fourth outing, overly reliant on the use of tired rock caricatures and repetitive song structures.

Why does “High Fashion”’s bassline sound so intoxicating and disjointed? Why does “Headphones On” possess trip-hop stems that are strangely symbolic of the destructive gallows? These interludes, if executed better, might’ve fulfilled and encouraged the listeners’ curiosity such as mine over Rae’s intriguing soundscapes.

I Said I Love You First barely even tries to entertain during its runtime. It’s fundamentally uninteresting music.

Those who invest in their fave singers’ personal lives will no doubt enjoy digging deep into the lyrics. Those who fell in love with the epics and wigouts of 2018’s Historian may find engaging moments on an album too cohesive for its own good.

It’s not a hilarious disaster, it’s not a tabloid tell-all or, you know, actually good. It’s Smith’s late career in a nutshell, just about getting over the line thanks to his star wattage, and all the weirder for its smoothed-out polish.

The record is certainly sparkly, but its hollowness is glaring. SALVATION is so desperate for someone to call it iconic that it neglects what makes an icon anyway – personality.

There is a poetry to the mundanity that serves as Dawson’s subject matter, which he draws out in its best moments. At others, however, his writing gets mired in merely setting down dutifully that which lies before us.