Like recent releases by Robyn or Solange, this expansive and beautiful record shows Vagabon as an expert at creating pleasure and soulful reassurance from electronic pop – a surprising but welcome heelturn.

Cool It Down is not only timely but a necessary album in evaluating the feelings of the present and looking ahead towards an uncertain future.

This record is a creation: you can hear the adventure in it.

Throwing in references to various Farrow and Ball paint colours, Asos, estate agents, and thoroughly unsavoury characters such as Heroin Stan (stabbed his mam), this is middle-aged angst set to music. Both World of Twist and Earl Brutus have a classic album to their name, and now, so do The Pre New.

Despite the fact that the future caught up with them, this collection shows that there remains nowt so queer as The Human League.

There is a murkier, hypnotic side to the band’s frivolities and the human habit of despising routine until life strips it away. It is this bittersweet thread through Other People’s Lives that makes it so instantly affable and ultimately, relatable, even with Seed’s observational alienation.

The album marks a significant advance for A Winged Victory…, in accepting the challenge of unorthodox inspiration, and doing musical justice to it in highly convincing fashion.

On Sunset could be viewed as an album reinstating Weller as the keeper of mod musical tradition, but it’s also an album that sees him taking a rare glance into the rear-view mirror as he speeds into the '20s.

Twin Flames sees Postdata at his most carefree, in this sense – a split-tone successor to the tumultuous nature of its two preceding albums.

Bad Boy Chiller Crew have taken inspiration from music that was around when times were a bit simpler and having a good time became a whole culture in itself.

An album as intimate as it is cinematic. Rose-tinted melodies wrap around delicate harmonies and show off Jónsdóttir’s disarming vocals as she chronicles her experiences of falling in and out of love in the digital age, and 12 tracks feel not quite long enough to experience the ethereal beauty of Laufey’s sonic universe.

The London-based trio use corrosive riffs, candid lyrics and pop hooks to deliver their most direct statement of self-autonomy yet.

There’s an underlying recognition here, particularly on the part of Miller: parties end. The most opulent train can go off the rails. It’s this juxtaposition – brashness and vulnerability, abandon and a recognition of impermanence – that makes No Hard Feelings an arresting sequence.

It is an impressive, exciting and moving album with slick production, accompanied by thought-provoking art (the interpretative dance performance in the “Black Swan” video, the CONNECT BTS art exhibitions), but it is so much more than a shiny pop album. It is a love letter to pain, to the shadows that live within us.

After Laughter is a deep album with plenty to say. It’s easily the most honest and mature Paramore have sounded yet and also probably, one of the best pop albums you hear all year.

L.A. Witch has managed to capture lightning in a bottle with enough space for you to stand back and observe without getting singed.

Even with the online version trimmed to his ex-label's liking, LP! is a riveting display of hip-hop steeped in its future while also embracing all the music Peggy has consumed up until this point.

The shockingly personal look at every contour of this lofty title FENIAN – all the happiness, empowerment, community, successes, sacrifices, disenchantment, confliction, grief – makes for a far more interesting, humanising record. Kneecap’s fire understandably dimmed, but it never sizzled out.

Shearwater strikes a proper balance between anxiety and artistry on this new record, a tenuous equilibrium that the world desperately needs to find on its own at the moment.

It’s not one for EDM purists or those who like their lyrics with any degree of ambiguity, but if you’re the kind of person who finds the very idea of John Grant interesting, you can revel in the fact that he just got a whole lot more complicated.

The album’s great triumph--The Antlers’ great triumph--is the intelligence with which Silberman’s masterful lyricism is matched to its backdrops.

It’s an album of such focus and dedication to its oddness and brilliance that you can tell just how much work has been put in.

Running Out Of Love isn’t the sound of hectoring; it’s The Radio Dept. getting on with the business of making important records, being one of the most challenging, uncompromising and rewarding bands we have and proving that political music is as vital as ever.

Experimental works like this aren’t typically held up for their broad appeal, but the waves of static peace and disorienting swells that wash back and forth over Cruel Optimism communicate on an open plane where specific meaning is obscured but state of mind is apparent to anyone.

Its 11 tracks taking listeners on an rollercoaster of emotional peaks and troughs, and by the time the closing moments of final track "The Ocean Grew Hands To Hold Me" ring out, you can’t help but feel bruised, beaten and above all cleansed.

Like My Bloody Valentine with m b v, they’ve listened and they’ve learnt and they’ve adapted their sound for a new generation without losing what made them names in the first place. It’s a difficult tightrope to walk, sure, but Slowdive have walked it deftly and returned with an album that doesn’t disappoint.

Allow a while for these songs to seep in, and The Monster Who Hated Pennsylvania will leave you deeply moved, and desperate for more.

The narrative is unsettling, but the music leaps and soars with a boundless energy that could only be made by two people with the utmost faith in each other. It helps that the album’s production sounds rough and homespun.

If you listen to this album with your head, it is a politically charged rally to the people, but if you listen with your body, it is an album designed to make you dance--the hallmark of any release bearing the Kuti name.

When it’s not a really scary record, it’s a really fun one, and most of the time, it’s both.

By dispensing with score and allowing the musicians of Bamako to interpret de Ridder’s violin notations as they saw fit, Africa Express’ In C Mali retains the spirit of minimalism but imbues it with a heart and soul that’s rare in the compositional world.

The Chronic and 2001 were simply collections of great songs and the order didn't matter much; Compton, conversely, is one giant song presented as a specifically sequenced album. While it succeeds as such--a lush, expensive-sounding art rap song-cycle--it fits the Doctor about as well as a baggy t-shirt. Dre makes great songs, not great albums.

Me is both a fabulous anthology of boisterous pop songs, and a timely, revelatory album for a lot of people to live vicariously through.

Big Bad feels like the perfect distillation of the raw energy and menace that Giggs has brought to UK music, only this time it's been taken to a whole new level.

Bubba has a subtle confidence that beds in after each listen. Welcome back mate, we missed you.

s Adams raises her voice and coats her guitar in discordant fuzz, it hints at potentially thornier and more abrasive (yet still intimately majestic) future directions that could address the one and only possible flaw with Metal Bird, the album’s uniformly first-gear pace.

Every listen yields new life oozing from each beat - above all, Anywhere But Here feels like an album that will weather excellently as Sorry go onwards.

It’s a fantastic example of how artists can still come to a project with tonnes of contextual flavour that they want to include and not have it overpower the entire dish.

The presence of a full band in the studio and the proverbial writer’s room gives Raspberry Moon the dynamic presence previous records swapped for a consistent, syrupy atmosphere. While plenty of radiated sunbeam ragers populate the tracklist, acoustic ballads and delicacy are the real calling cards of this album.

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.

What the other releases do so well is that they either hit the spot hard or deliberately miss for effect, but this time round the result seems to be somewhere in between.

Ultimately, while Grey Tickles, Black Pressure should be a career-definiting opus, it just seems unfocussed and uncertain; Grant's barbs aren't as sharp, which means too few of the songs stick like they should.

If there’s any justice at all, the future ahead after the release of this deeply moving, often mesmerising, sparse yet still richly nuanced album will see Chapman conclude his much-overdue journey to wider renown from the shadows he’s operated in for far too long.

A wonderful, accomplished return.

It is a vital addition to an impressive catalogue from a group who deserve your attention.

From its overall sound down to its finer details, Gavin, Maskin and McPherson have hit the mark completely. It’s amazing to see a band that are so unapologetically queer excel at their craft and create an album that is quite possibly, if not certainly, their masterpiece.

From the sharp synth stabs of “Bit Of Rain” to the distorted reflections of album closer “Awful”, all led by Rodriguez’s fantastic vocals, I’m Your Empress Of is a funky, generous and vibrant record.

Callahan is particularly unsentimental. His lyrics often bring to mind lab or field notes. His signature deadpan delivery is consistently elusive. The instrumentation sounds unscripted, largely improvised. In this way, 58 captures Callahan at his most unguarded and unrehearsed.

Jambinai are at their most moving when reduce their ire and create more drawn out, ambient compositions.

It delivers successfully on its objective to keep things light and easy while dancing the night away. It’s not that deep, but it might just be Lovato’s best effort yet.

With Not Even Happiness she’s spreading her wings musically. There’s more polish to the production, yet the joy that is her storytelling, heartfelt singing and inventive guitar playing are the songs heartbeat.

Rocket weaves a patchwork of complex emotions experienced by (Sandy) Alex G and his friends. The album is reaffirming and disheartening at the same time.

With an album this good, feeble little horse are bound for the winner's circle. For now, though, the grass looks plenty green right where they're standing.

Though it may seem ironic that for all the glitches, warps and pops of their earlier material, Mount Kimbie find themselves gravitating towards the simplest of beats, Love What Survives is a close examination of how rhythm can define and alter our perceptions of electronic music.

Short n’ Sweet may arrive at the right time for her, but it’s often too tame, too comfy and untidy – a designated mainstream rather than artistic breakthrough.

There aren’t any synthetic contrivances to be found on this focused, intensely revealing record, for there are far too many of those glitzy baubles around us at all times.

These stellar new songs show that there is still a way to turn that rubble into art as we try and rebuild what once was, and hopefully will be again.

God only knows if Great Grandpa will ever top Patience, Moonbeam. For now, let's cherish it. After all, with this album, they've proven you can't rush greatness.

Each track is like a new stride upon their voyage, each sound a new experience or emotion.

With a blend of fact and fiction, Isbell has created his own Nebraska and secured his place among the greats of country-rock.

Though it may confound the fans who want more of the yelping renegade of old, this is Brown’s most personal and cohesive record to date; difficult, timely, and necessary. To the man’s credit, he can drop so many of his signature tics and tricks without becoming any less captivating an artist.

Grassed Inn anchors itself with sturdy, rhythmic melodies, which is the biggest testament to Blank Realm’s mission of increasing focus and tightening up their ship.

Koenig’s apparent comfort in adulthood, the security and confidence in his newer lyrics--evokes this Facebook-notification angst on a grander scale, a musicalised alienation that prompts stark re-evaluation. It’s unfair to deny even our most beloved artists this progression and growth--they don’t owe us anything – but it’s difficult to be faced with a work that suggests they have grown past the confused state that we still feel rooted to.

With sumptuous harmonies and a live band locked in on every track, .Paak finds a sweet spot between throwback soul and the 21st Century dancefloor. He sounds like the best version of himself. ... An exceptional return to form.

We’re left reveling in an album that is grand in ambition and execution – a sweeping journey of highs and lows worth celebrating.

Mould’s newfound optimism is nonetheless an interesting realignment from the revered artist.

Superficially, Sauna is possibly the easiest, most accessible way into Elverum’s world he has released since he ditched The Microphones moniker, yet the concepts and themes explored remain undiluted, and the album’s complexities have as much to give as you are willing to work to take away.

In 1996, The Fugees set the whole urban blues thing in motion with The Score. With a work of such stark emotional beauty, Blake has picked up the torch once again with Overgrown.

Savages own a gravitas, a brooding confidence and effortless cool, that no matter how cynical or wary of pretentiousness you are, will be suck you in.

Lorde’s tasteful embrace of fluidity in expression and refusal to slide into any conclusive assumption is Virgin’s most compelling strength. Even if the music’s painfully minimalistic and uneventful, her voice is a hurricane with guttural words as its generous source of energy.

Bring Me The Horizon is a band that you can rely on for a constantly evolving output and whilst, POST HUMAN: SURVIVAL HORROR doesn’t exactly diverge away from what the band were developing on last year’s amo, it does capture the bewildering phenomenon that is living through a worldwide pandemic. It is as fun as it is bleak.

The band’s singularity makes their music something of an acquired taste. Hex Key is not accessible to a wider public. Or rather, only bits of it are, such as the catchy choruses of “Take Me” and “Nothing Lasts Forever”.

This 33-minute introduction to the next evolution of Scowl answers a question posed on their debut: “I just wanna know, is this how flowers grow?” The answer is yes. They bloom and blossom into something wonderful that still has a heap of potential ready to sow.

Stately, solemn, slow-burning and seriously beautiful, most of The Two Worlds isn’t far removed from its predecessor’s intimate templates.

There's a substance and cohesion across Preacher's Daughter that's lacking on most debuts – and yet there's clearly so much more to come from this incredible artist and the rich world she's created.

It’s utterly, completely, resolutely and defiantly them. It’s futuristic but warm, nostalgic but distant, pretentious but human.

It is reassuring then to know that through it all Protomartyr lurch relentlessly forwards. Ultimate Success Today has the power of an exorcism, and even if it is not a cure for the sickness, it is somewhere to hide in these dark times.

Not a single moment is out of place. Everything is crafted to induce a reaction. ... Ada Lea has a musical mind that pushes so much further than just some melodies and words.

The band are excellent throughout, adjusting to Murphy’s performances and giving him room to fully explore his most eccentric tendencies.

Ably assisted by his Coastguard players, subtly fleshing out his songs with pedal steel, brass, strings and piano, Distance might well be Dan Michaelson’s finest collection of songs to date.

In other words, Cortar Todo is yet another outstanding release from one of the most original musical acts today.

Now it’s all about reinvention rather than replicating a sound, and by coalescing various influences and styles Chorusgirl have the balance just about right.

Hinson’s yarn-spinning ability that was so beautifully displayed in previous albums has not mellowed--it’s here, and rawer than ever.

Occasionally the electronic sounds can seem too familiar and overused.

7 Days takes care of business, providing 11 tracks of club-ready beats, guaranteed to get any crowd hyped.

Sensitive production brings out the best of DeCicca’s imaginative style, with effective touches here and there of gospel choir and a few intelligently-restrained jazz bass rhythms on an album of self-effacing quality.

This is a finely crafted, elegiac album.

Curve of Earth is sparse, but the trio make up for it with their relatable and confessional take on what their idea of a vast Americana is and how to simply survive within it.

A Picture of Good Health addresses issues more personal. And though predicated on personal experience, it’s a record that looks inwardly while projecting outwards, all the while letting listeners know that however on your own you might feel, someone somewhere has been through the same, and that you’re not alone, no matter how much it might seem like it.

It’s disorientating, harrowing, yet hopeful – the ending needed to complete the circle. The only thing to do now is go back to the start and enjoy it all over again.

Opening with “I lie awake at night cos I listened to a guy theorise about the rise of the Reich” and closing in sweeping falsetto "They don't believe, I can't breathe / All they see, is the skin I'm in / If All Lives Matter, Black Lives Matter,” this and everything in between is passionately despairing, explicitly delivered with emotional rawness.

The slow continued pace, and almost slog of the record encapsulates a universal grieving.

Sitting at ten tracks long, the amusingly titled Party Gator Purgatory whisks through freeform rap (“lookaliveandplaydead”), chilling electronics, and almost cacophonous vocals to make, what could be argued, as the most bizarrely interesting record of the 21st century.

My Big Day is a powerful offering from Bombay Bicycle Club. Vibrant, joyous, and completely delectable, the band have taken a daring U-turn from their usual breezy, laid-back numbers, and its paid off.

This stunningly ambitious yet surprisingly restrained album is a personal inspection of Declan’s current life, putting politics (mostly) aside and abandoning grandeur to think about himself for a minute, gifting listeners a vessel for empathy along the way.

It may take a little longer to get in to, but it’s entirely possible that once you’re immersed in Wakin’ On A Pretty Daze, you might be happy never to surface.

Real’s stew of unabashed honesty, townie bar arena rock muscle, and uncomplicated discussion of life’s and love’s complications feels just like home. It doesn’t get any realer than that.

World’s Gone Wrong manages to turn the Tennessee-based songwriter’s urgent dismay and anger at the socio-political chaos that is tearing America apart into genuinely impactful and affecting art that is likely to endure long after the final splinters of the current mess have been swept away.