In confronting their own personal heartbreaks and terrors, she and her bandmates have created their most engaging and universal album to date.

This is pop music with complex narratives, and if the masses are willing to listen, they could be the band that recharges the UK charts with genuinely meaningful music.

Rage is, by turns, ridiculous, overly-serious, and self-satisfying. It’s also one helluva EDM record and an intelligent send-up of an otherwise difficult-to-work-with (and work in) music genre.

This is an album of sometimes brutal beauty; a risk taken and richly rewarded through a work suggestive of fragility, yet simultaneously attesting to defiance rather than any maudlin self-pity.

The chaos and contradiction is audible throughout the record, which flips between analog alt-rock and eclectic, genre-smashing experimentation. ... It's this duality that proves to be her biggest strength.

It's all too easy to use adjectives such as glimmering and glacial when describing these kind of sounds but the music here is so expressive you can visualise the sights experienced by its makers.

Juniore’s cinematic yet understated psychedelia provides much-needed opportunity for escapism in these turbulent times, and allows us to dip our toes into a world where all that matters are happenin’ hooks and rad riffs.

No matter how many times she’s labelled ‘the next Grimes’, there’s nought they can do about the fact that this one, well, she’s really one on her own.

THR!!!LER is a significantly more organic record, one where picturing the band having the time of their lives bashing it out in a practice space requires no effort at all.

We never quite reach the mind-blowing heights of the first instalment’s greatest discoveries, namely Larry Jon Wilson’s “Ohoopee River Bottomland’ and Jim Ford’s ‘I’m Gonna Make Her Love Me’, although Donnie Fritts” does-what-it-says-on-the-tin “Sumpin Funky Going On” comes very close, but the quality remains very high.

Drumless and bassless, L’amour is as intimate as a late morning lie-in--bum notes (and there are an endaring few) are left completely in tact, you can hear shirt sleeves swipe against guitar strings, and the almost wordless vocals sound almost like Lewis is too scared to make his feelings known.

The anguished sentiments of the songs resonate whether you understand Spanish or not, with the celestial tones of the tracks serving as an illuminating pathway to either heaven or hell.

This is an album that sits somewhere between Lynch and Lucifer, ethereal in its softer moments and utterly savage at its loudest.

A peerless and affecting album, from start line to finish.

case/lang/veirs is an understated triumph, and a stunning addition to all three songwriters' discographies.

Whelm is a Herculean debut.

On In Conflict the Canadian composer has managed to translate that energy into his recordings ,making his music as invigorating as it is soothing, as exciting as it is impressive and as complex as it is accessible.

They haven’t let the game dictate what they can and can’t do and, in the end, have produced an album that can proudly sit alongside the rest of their discography. Not just as an unusual curio, but as a solid piece of work of that will leave any budding space-explorer wide-eyed with wonder.

As much as this is a horrific and challenging listen at times, Coming Apart is also an utterly captivating and thrilling record and...whisper it...could end up being the best music she’s ever put her name to.

It’s a different sound on Warpaint, that’s for sure, and though it’s friskier and more malevolent in nature--possibly even more damaged and/or emotionally ruptured--they’re far more open. There’s an accessibility, an empathy for kindred feelings.

There are no 'sound-

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.

There’s a slew of modern classics to be cherished on Chorus, which makes it a must have for the completist and a treasure trove of gems for anyone entranced by the combination guitars, pop music and songs about love.

A record that feels so familiar but with just enough surprises to make it exciting too. The three year wait, then, seems entirely worth it; that scrappy Brighton foursome have grown into a bonafide anthem factory with plenty more still to come.

At its best, Life Metal taps into our psyches and rearranges the elements. Sunn O))) have become experts in their harsh and unmerciful take on expanding sound, slowing it to a glacial pace, and finally rearranging it again until it’s unrecognizable.

Run Fast Sleep Naked is pure escapism, from his grandmother’s living room to a studio in Tokyo, every track unveils a pivotal moment in Murphy’s journey and what could have easily fallen into the trap of being stuffy and overproduced excels in its minimalistic mastery and proves that Nick Murphy’s music is truly out of this world.

They’ve struck a perfect balance between pushing boundaries and making people dance.

It’s a very well-rounded EP--every box is ticked--and we’re left clamouring for more when the dust has settled.

Some might consider it messy, and the old adage is, life is messy; well, the latter is true, which lends it its exhilarating beauty.

Three Mile Ditch is raw and absorbing, and it deserves our full attention.

Prism shows a more mature side to the singer, an ability to really connect with her experiences whilst still producing absolute pop smashes. It’s a combination that suits her very, very well.

The melding of beats, instrumentation and vocals congeal to form a silky smooth palate of R&B, old school hip-hop beats, and the tang of straight-up restrained pop rich in life and vulnerability.

2013 is as much an adventure story, autobiography, romantic poem and a classical opus as it is a pop record. But what makes it so convincing comes down to Jones’s passion. Every note of the record convinces you that the Welshman believes 100% that he’s on the right path.

Ultimately, they bolster each other on Do It Again. For the two artists, it’s not groundbreaking--it is a nice dollop of sideways expansion, revealing new areas that neither can quite achieve separately.

Bobby’s Motel is a big, bold slap in the face right from the start. Manic Bobby greets you at the door, takes you by the hand, and leads you straight to the dancefloor.

Edge of Everything is not for the faint of heart: it’s non-conformist and confrontational. Being industrial techno there’ll be a propensity to dismiss this as the sound of pots and pans falling down a steel staircase, but delve beyond the layers of harshness simply reveals one of the best techno albums of 2019.

[The] big pop moments are the most thrilling, moreish moments on All My Demons but there are quieter moments where AURORA also excels.

Their ingenuity and introspection often serves as an antidote to brash, factory-made pop, making them crucial figures within the wider pop landscape. On A Bath Full of Ecstasy, Hot Chip remain as vital as ever.

They’re sounds we’ve all heard before but done spectacularly.

How refreshing it is to hear the sound of disaffection and fury channelled into music as cathartic and primal as this, rather than into either the kind of disorientated rhetoric that dogs our politics or the cowardly, disengaged pap which hogs the pop charts.

Age Of Anxiety sees Hannah Rodgers set a course for her career with a stunningly assured debut brimming with ideas and practically flawless in execution.

Songwriting of this quality, with powers of suggestion and intimations of doubt, deserves an audience well beyond the historically-inclined.

The formative spiral of ideas dabbled with on previous albums recedes, giving way to a pearl of accumulated wisdom - a new beginning for the three-piece that proves reflective, ambitious and openly confessional.

The sheer variety of genres in this remix collection is just one indication of the breadth of influence that N.O.W has exerted over the past two decades.

Strands isn't so much about anything alien as it is about the sublime frontierism we project out into it, built as it is upon an awareness of our many Earthly sins. It's what we'll play when we try to escape out into the void, only to fall inexorably back to our sordid reality to dream once more.

Ultimately, untitled unmastered isn’t TPAB, and anyone expecting something of similar cultural impact is only depriving themselves of one of the year’s early musical gems.

His perfectionism has done him proud, as Telluric is a masterful glimpse into the mind of a man who has much to say, and who says it beautifully.

The nature of a double album means it’s either a glorious artistic statement, or a sprawling mess of self indulgence. An act such as DIIV is so unassuming that it couldn’t be the former, but nor is it the latter.

It’s a challenge and a pleasure; a banger and a crooner; a lover and a leaver, and easily the best album of TEEN’s career.

A record of considerable dimensions, always well controlled though never in the least predictable.

9 Dead Alive has strength, beauty and often a spirit of engagement with the tenebrous. At times, dialogues areunresolved, yet despite (because of?) this, there is vital music-making from two uncompromising artists.

Porij’s confident and assured debut delves into their love for not settling for one genre. Taking you on an adventure through emotions and soundscapes, it’s a fluid record that never stands still. It will appease long-time fans with its infectious and catchy grooves, as well as welcoming new fans to the party with open arms.

[2015’s The Pale Emperor] was the most revitalised he had sounded in years. That energy hasn’t flagged an inch on Heaven Upside Down.

With the tactful musicianship of Holland Baroque thrown in for good measure, Confessions is a record of bottomless charm.

7 Nights is a strong R&B album, but it just doesn’t have the same impact of 7 Days. Each track seamlessly blends into the next, making it a listen that can easily pass you by if left to its own devices.

Brutal in some places and heart-rending in others, Milk Teeth's debut resonates through compelling emotions and ever-changing stylings.

It’s a record as much about falling apart as it is putting yourself back together and undoubtedly one of the debuts of the year so far.

Shamir is unquestionably the star, but the interplay between artist and producer is palpable; it’s a musical match made in heaven (or, perhaps, hell: Sylvester has likened his role to the relationship between the poet Virgil and his protagonist Dante), and the finest moments here have Sylvester providing the trampoline for Shamir to bounce on.

Perceive Its Beauty, Acknowledge Its Grace isn’t an easy sell at a time thoroughly infested with quick thrills and instant gratification. Give it time to bloom, however, and these tracks are infused with plenty of the qualities referred to in the album’s title.

Like the image which adorns the cover, sometimes it’s good to just take in the wonder of the simple things, and the modest but pensive charm of this album is well worth getting lost in.

His creation of such an overt sense of nostalgia, grief, loss and mourning, whilst also making time to make statements on social justice issues is impressive.

The group sit deeper than ever in their grooves on their third outing, and the moments of tranquillity are even more zen. Mordechai offers a rich, meditative escape from the world, something more welcomed than ever in the current climate.

It's less playful than before but feels like an evolution rather than an adjustment. There's a more textural feel than before, edging closer to the muted space of Phoebe Bridgers' Punisher, or Antonoff's work with Lana Del Rey, and it suits Swift well as this point in her career.

This slight quirkiness is part of the appeal of hey u x, along with the 19-year old’s ability to blend relatable and intimate content. Personal themes of loneliness and loss twist their way like a fibre into the very heart of the album.

Echo The Diamond recaptures what made Margaret Glaspy so exciting. Her sense of drama is thrilling, and its quietest moments find the beauty in her raw, prickly vocals.

Abstract philosophizing aside, Sweet Justice remains as immediately gratifying as the rest of her catalogue; its rapping is smoother, its hooks are catchier, and its instrumentals more fine-tuned and studied.

Boy is intense, intrusive, brutally honest, compelling and mature if not ironically titled; it certainly bears nothing in common with infancy.

One of the most infectious collections of pop songs written on an electric guitar this year.

This follow-up is powered by the same blend of the majestically mournful and the teeth-grindingly abrasive, only with less dense textures (a good thing), and a more pronounced interest in propulsive beats and rhythms (an even better thing).

Be it a preemptive rebuke or not, Snares Like a Haircut is assured on its own terms, showing No Age comfortable with music for its own sake.

On this form she’s Bianca on horseback, a new Moroder drop in ’77, bootlegged Larry Levan DJ sets on cassette, the nocturnal delights of the Studio 54 VIP room, casually leaving her contemporaries trying to negotiate guestlist entry at the nightclub entrance

Performance is, thankfully, anachronistic to the point of absurdity--if you close your eyes anywhere in this record, you’ll be transported to somewhere deep in the '70s, where there are no genres because nobody really cares about that kind of nonsense.

She is flourishing and basking in the creative control, which shines through both her songs and the visuals that accompany them.

MORE D4TA or MODERAT 4 is the sound of a group creatively recharged and at the height of their power. To this end, in almost every conceivable way, it's the Moderat album that fans have waited six years for.

An album of woozy nuggets of sonic delirium. Step inside.

On Send A Prayer My Way they apply tasteful country renovations and marry humour, melancholy and joy with timely themes in a way that will only delight fans of either artist.

Each half of the album ends with a relatively sudden shift in pace (“Body Suit” and the contrastingly acoustic “Too Much Colour”), and when you’re consistently bopping along to track after track (which does also risk becoming monotonous, I know) it can be a little jarring rather than the breather they intended.

If Painless exudes the magic of an artist discovering new plateaus, My Method Actor is a refinement of those now integrated proclivities.

The LP offers one of the most compelling and honest explorations of addiction in recent musical memory - it’s filled with grizzly, visceral declarations that underscore the stakes at hand.

Twelve Reasons to Die II suggests that breaking new ground might be a futile undertaking if there's this much juice left in the good old tricks.

On Moth Boys Spector learn from the shortcomings of their debut and comfortably eclipse its quality.

The rare misstep aside ("Mind Blues" churns along restlessly to little obvious resolution), the extremely aptly titled Rhythm must belong amongst the year's more impressive releases.

Plainly speaking, this is psychedelic music, and it’s music that’s both moving and a pleasure to move to.

[This record] showcases a band capable of innovating, pushing themselves and experimenting eight albums deep to come up with an album more than worthy of praise.

Anarchist Gospel is an assured melting pot of disparate influences and ideas that somehow coheres into a unified whole – and ultimately doesn’t really resemble anyone else.

It’s The Wedding Present as we’ve known/loved them since 1991’s tour de force Seamonsters--opening squalls of feedback, a deceptively sweet melody, and Gedge’s lyrics fluctuating between self-lacerating and acrimonious in the midst of ferocious guitars. We’re on far less familiar ground with a number of the other 19 tracks, though.

A Firmer Hand not only cements Hawk’s status as a unique voice in modern culture but also builds anticipation for the exciting directions his future works might take on and off stage.

The instrumentation on My Back is gentle, self-conscious, and loose in structure while that on her earlier works is poised and intricate. This rawness doesn’t make it any less powerful; it intensifies the despondency haze that hangs in the air of each song like a yet-to-rain nimbus.

If anything, Voir Dire is a record that pulls itself apart as it continues, subtly dredging the listener in philosophical bile and pause-the-track one-liners.

Something To Give Each Other isn’t changing the game or reinventing the musical wheel, but ask yourself: does it need to? It’s exactly what it needs to be, and it's done so incredibly well.

For a group so often criticised for the coldness and the metronomic aloofness of their catalogue, this is a record that sounds warm, tactile, and is evidently the outcome of five musicians spending six years on the road together.

While moments on Species don’t quite touch on the grandeur we’ve heard from Moore in the past, the trio more than make-do by enticing us still. They’ve created an album that melds into what feels like a massive piece, our patience is required to see how it unfolds, to realize what’s contained inside, and what to do with that information if we ever uncover it.

This release is not a cliched, sulky attempt to do something new fuelled by the frustrating necessity for a narrative to complement their art. Instead, Sunlit Youth sounds like music Local Natives want to make.

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

Hayter fervently straddles a line between proclamation and judgment, venting and preaching, deliverance and elitism. She is, perhaps, lost and saved at the same time, again wielding paradoxes with grace and ferocity.

Even though Thee Black Boltz may fall short in comparison with the band’s best records, it still offers flashes of brilliance and maybe even some comfort if you’re going through a difficult patch.

They’ve come out the other side with a debut that rips and tears with a whole lot more force. The band hasn’t lost any of its wildness, any of its chaotic energy, though it does feel like they’ve gone through a bit of development: they’re now a full-sized, frothing rottweiler, instead of the growling pitbull pup they were just a few years ago.

It’s the kind of record to laugh, rage, and cry to, very much delivering on its early promise of “All rip'rs / No more skip'rs.” Each moment, whether of effusive joy or of tender intimacy, is anchored in well-honed pop hooks, standout engineering prowess, and larger-than-life personality.