With Love You All Over Again, Tunng reassert their distinct MO while experimenting with their sonic and lyrical reach. Hooky melodies, layered textures, quirkily poetic lyricism. Romanticism meets meta-modernism.

The album is thrillingly foreign yet familiar in its finest moments.

Play Me is at its most interesting when removed from an easy genre.

As a whole Brilliant Sanity is as fresh as it is reminiscent, as catchy as it is challenging and thoughtful--a welcome nod to what has been, with a firm eye on the horizon.

It is both brilliant and uneven. It defies expectations without disrupting the status quo.

With his sophomore album, Lacy has established a few things. He’s talented, driven, and able to connect and resonate with his listeners. He hasn’t harnessed the full power of his ability yet, but as he continues to pave a path in front of him, his Gemini star will shine brightly when he does.

Niki & the Dove are making their own quiet contribution to politics on Everybody’s Heart is Broken Now and at the same time having a subtle evolution, rather than revolution, of their own. Same band, different tempo, slow riot.

Like clear ancestral forefathers Faith, Hex Enduction Hour or The Downward Spiral, this is best enjoyed in small doses and every so often. It’s too good at what it does to be listened to daily. Handle with care and approach with caution.

While further proving that Rogers has yet to find a wholly satisfying balance between understated folk and maximalist electropop, it also shows her to be a multifaceted performer with a dynamism lacking amongst many of her peers.

This combination of stripped-back lyricism and expansive musicality contributes to the sense of The Ascension as Stevens’ most plainly spiritual record to date.

The Future’s Void is an album that, rather than plead with us to disconnect from the online, asks us to face up to a world with where internet, surveillance, selfies, the NSA aren’t going to go away, and to find a way to continue to interact with this technology in a constructive and positive fashion.

Although by no means an instant classic, Nobody Wants to Be Here and Nobody Wants to Leave shows an integrity to The Twilight Sad which cements their position as one of the more creatively important bands operating today.

Traditional Techniques is an album completely out of time — a folk(ish) record about the present day that might be one of the most future-proof of his career.

There’s decidedly no fall from grace here for Grant Hart on The Argument, his most ambitious and accomplished album in years.

Bloodsports is such an assured return, as welcome as it is unforeseen, that Suede have succeeded in rewriting what might be deemed acceptable for a band preparing to enter middle age.

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.

Wye Oak’s forward-thinking approach proves they’re miles ahead of their peers in more ways than one, and if they can keep on moving, things are likely to stay that way for some time.

For die hard Reich fans, these recordings may not reveal anything wildly different than what has preceded in a vast corpus. Reich is a composer whose work contains great nuance, and it is certainly the case for Pulse / Quartet. These are recordings that demand a few listens, they are worth it. Allow yourself to get lost in them.

All of this adds up: if you’ve enjoyed anything Dan Bejar has done under the Destroyer moniker, you’ll love Have We Met. If you’ve never heard a Destroyer album before, you’ll probably love it too.

["Atropos"] (and the record as a whole) is a testament to the enduring potential of the old, mythical Woodstock tradition of a band setting up in a room (or a basement) and waiting for inspiration to strike.

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.

Wailing down the hallowed halls of memory and experience, Chithambo feels the resonation of these moments and channels the hurt through extraordinary delicate songs where harmonies wrap around each other with a spectral quality, and the dripping rain of picked guitar strings decorate the walls taking leaves from the book of Sufjan Stevens.

An album full of calming energy, with vibes to soothe the soul and the mind, and put a smile on your face.

The result is not a focused or sharp record--but it doesn’t need to be. The allure of Noonday Dream comes in its willingness to swell and expand, before Howard sits up and starts kicking, slowly but precisely, to steer the track in a new direction.

It may not always live up to its title, but it’s certainly an interesting branch of what will hopefully continue to be a long and fruitful partnership.

American Head is a rare concept album that actually coheres as a narrative, but can just as easily (but less rewardingly, perhaps) be enjoyed as simply a set of the band’s most potent and moving tunes since the early '00s.

While it’s difficult to not fully engulf yourself in his ethos from the LP’s sit-in folk jam stylings to even crossing over into more celestial territory that finds itself throughout Goes West, Tyler’s dexterity in capturing emotion and conveying a story is rather significant under his instrumental hand – a gift that he’s always yielded, but likely now more than he ever has.

Across Stellular’s twelve tracks we're presented with a strident procession of indie pop that demands attention.

Like any farce, the Kenny Dennis LP is something of an acquired taste, and if the recent existential contemplating all engaged with rap music have done upon being presented with, by the likes of Das Racist, Kitty Pryde, and Riff Raff, a mirror within which to see themselves is any indication, Serengeti’s masterful card will polarize as much as amuse.

The overall effect is still unpretentious and upbeat, albeit with a few more melancholic undertones.

Bleeds is a concise and heavily focused record that can proudly sit in and amongst his best.

The album is inner thoughts given flesh, a voice of candour and comfort soaring towards the future. Where it's leading is anyone's guess, but that's not the point. The point is right here. The point is right now. The point is the almost-hour you spend listening to these songs. And it's nothing short of magnificent.

Eschewing the sleek production of Electric Lady Studios, which must have been mere blocks away, gives the album the raucous feeling of a bar-room jam. ... When the backing instrumentation drops out to leave Leithauser booming those words into an empty room, the album is at its most powerful.

The strength of Don't Let The Ink Dry comes from its mixture of vulnerability and power, both apparent in the vocal delivery where they subsist in harmony.

Are there a few weaker moments here and there? Sure. ... But it’s impossible to be bored as you move from the filthy heaviness of "Giving Blood" to the punchy, melodic "Meteor", all the way through to the gorgeous choral rapture on "Dying Is Absolutely Safe".

Both his tone and skill compliment the instrumental arrangements on each track, often effortlessly switching between his head, the mix and chesty voice are inspiring.

Standout tracks on the mixtape include the fan-favourite “Obsessed With You”, using the queen of viral short-songs PinkPantheress’ “Just For Me”, and the more introspective “Cold Shoulder”, but the last two tracks demonstrate just how much potential we are yet to see from Central Cee.

The 'what if' factor looms large on CHAOS NOW*, but not to the detriment of enjoying the thrilling outsider pop music that Dawson provides both in his overarching messaging and unsteady sound.

A solid enough collection of songs, each with a tight synthpop beat and strong vocal performance, but it isn’t necessarily a career-maker.

It will be undoubtedly considered a ‘return to form’ for fans who might have felt a little aggrieved about Altın Gün’s turn towards a softer direction on their last two records, but for new listeners, this is a superb place to jump on the bandwagon and a perfect introduction to a world of music that they might not have experienced otherwise.

As they continue to challenge conventions and push boundaries, while still being utterly and completely themselves, Protomartyr stand tall as a testament to the enduring spirit of innovation that defines Detroit's rich musical history.

If the band are looking for a platform to build on, this could well be it.

Emmaar [is] possibly the band’s most consistently satisfying album yet.

Hairless Toys is no mere pastiche of a scene; there is no major departure in terms of style for Murphy. It is, however, a surreal and poignant exploration of an iconic cultural movement.

With a wholehearted desire to make music purely for himself, UGLY displays an artistic freedom regained, reconnecting with what drew him to music in the first place. It’s a creative direction that will most likely not stick around, but that’s what makes it that bit more authentic.

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.

Even though it’s Feist’s barest full-length, it’s also her most playful, her most consistently inventive. On the surface it sounds wafer-thin, but at its core there’s no shortage of heft.

Yes, notes and chords are fun and all, but these songs are precisely-controlled messes, and beautifully so. Simply put, Heron Oblivion is a guitar-centric record for those who thought Marquee Moon was too linear.

The Ooz is a meandering, disorientating trip through punk, ska, jazz and hip hop--held together by Marshall’s menacing vocal sneer.

It’s a record of successful explorations of musical avenues. The sparingly-used vocals enhance the instrumentation that, itself, moves between the minimal and the more full-blooded. A first rate illustration of growing musical ambition and inventiveness.

There are times throughout that Viscius appears at ease and elsewhere there are signs she’s simply exhausted and drained. All cried out. But as the album ebbs away with the hushed tones of her singing, “No one loves me anymore” on “No One” it’s as if a huge burden has lifted, finally.

Kamaal Williams’ Wu Hen knows what it is and what it doesn’t want to be. It pays respect to the music it’s imitating and iterating upon, in all of its many forms and in spite of it, it manages to carve out a space in the scenes for itself.

It looks at dodie from every angle, finding her at her most broken, joyous, angry and reflective, among instrumentals that capture the same conflicting pulls. Where Build A Problem succeeds most is translating these struggles into towering drama, making music to listen to closely, feel deeply, and champion loudly.

Despite Furman’s own insecurities and wanderlust, Perpetual Motion People sounds like home.

Minor gripes aside 8385 is a fascinating glimpse at what artists in the 80’s thought the future would sound like; this is the point where post punk electronica such as New York’s Suicide ends, and proto industrial-goth artists such of Ministry and Nitzer Ebb begin.

They feel more effective now that they’ve found a way to write as a focused beam rather than a eclectic lineup of individual musicians, and long-term followers will be thrilled by the album’s back half, which retains their well-established experimental bent.

7 might not be their greatest moment (that right is still reserved for the utterly beautiful Teen Dream), but it is their most exciting.

It’s a record that thrives on trust, experimentation, and the sheer joy of making a glorious, deafening racket together. It also respects its audience enough to be honest, to be fearless, and to deliver something unfiltered and real, bursting with personality. Pigsx7 have never sounded more essential.

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.

He provides a gentle yet absorbing escape from the hypervigilance with which we patrol our own lives. 12 songs that are soft around the edges and wash over the listener in shades of sunset orange and pink, guitars morph and collapse in on themselves like the contents on a lava lamp.

After The Party showcases the band at their boldest and brightest yet.

With each record, Wolf Alice return with more bite, a new story to tell, and new fans to invite into their world, The Clearing is no exception to the rule.

The result is an album that's uplifting without stumbling into the saccharine-dosed forced jolliness that particular word might bring to mind.

It's a credit to the band's (newly streamlined to a trio) increasing ability to tie together the different strands and themes that have cropped up during their previous work that it all builds up into a cohesive, hugely arresting whole.

By the end of some heavy listening, you understand that they’ve found something more beautiful still, all the more so because it is hard won, but just as they’ve had to work to find it, so must we.

With keen ears for melody, turbo-paced beats perspire, and episodic SFX rouses either pure revelry or contemplation. She’s on to a marvellous start.

Charged with Warren Ellis’s plaintive violin, the cracked world-weariness of Marianne Faithfull’s voice imbues the song with real life and contemporary meaning and affirms that Give My Love To London is the album with which she is able to finally reconcile her past and present.

Reason to Believe serves as an ideal introduction to its subject’s works for newcomers, whilst sending converts back to revisit the timeless originals.

This is properly heavy fare, a sound utterly bereft of light yet still richly, intensely, rewardingly musical that makes the evil posturing of the extreme metal posse seem even more daft.

Embracing crippling fear has never sounded so bracing.

While nothing on the album differs dramatically from previous entries to the Half Japanese canon, Perfect offers a solid addition, thirteen new songs to shuffle into a deck that is already rife with heartbreak and ardor.

The album digs for transcendence by jackhammering away at the ills and addictions that afflict individuals and hold us back collectively. Uniform’s journey to zen through anger leads to draining music for the morning after.

Musically and thematically, everything about Little Fictions’ gestation has conspired to create arguably the most taut and urgent album of Elbow’s career.

Show Me The Body make music that isn't easy either; what's so important about them is their ability to drag your gaze in those uncomfortable directions.

Most of the songs on Air Con Eden are enveloped in this haze of hallucinatory imagery and soporific instrumentals. The wrenching “Water” is a shock to the system. Grounded, unironically sentimental, and unlike anything else on the album, it’s a gorgeous piano ballad about unbearable loneliness.

With multiple writers Sideways to New Italy perhaps lacks the focus and clear direction that the music deserves; stark changes in vocal styles can break an aural ‘fourth wall’ and remind the listener that the songwriters, while complementary, are also competing with one another for our attention.

A record full of handsome brass parading around an etch a sketch of ever changing life and love, Weeks holds the frame and with each listen you hear something you didn’t the previous time. A Quickening is your own bundle of joy you can love time and again, minus the diaper changes.

Someone New has a presence that lingers long after it’s finished. This is an album that demands your full attention, sucking all the air out of the room and leaving you to drift in the grey matter of Deland’s mind. After the last notes fade to black, the ghost of Someone New continues to haunt you — it’s an utterly unforgettable record.

Though the EP doesn’t quite feel like bold new territory for the band, it does find them equally blunt and blistering.

While lockdown may have forced Albarn and many others through a dark period, it’s produced some of his most awe-inspiring work.

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.

Each of their songs still contain enough depth of cultural heritage to fill several essays. Persisting too are those harmonies: one of the most distinctive sounds in music today, muscular and powerful when necessary, graceful and hushed otherwise.

Palomino is a return to their familiar and comforting poetic and melancholic storytelling powers.

The ten songs that emerged from that process are a compassionate exploration of selfhood that rewards patience and resists easy answers.

Heartfelt stories such as these show – not tell; King of a Land does so in the last leg, but there’s always a nagging wonder of what the record would’ve been had it done so throughout its entirety.

The record is quietly confident; Gunnulfsen can belt, but she doesn’t need to shout to be heard.

I'd Be Lying If I Said I Didn't Care is not an easy listen. It's a cold lake on a summer's day – not immediately comforting, but if you commit to the activity, you'll be unaware of how long you've been enjoying it. The overarching feeling of optimism keeps the record above water and prevents it from falling into an unenjoyable experience.

The album fades out gently, a dissipation of tension and emotion that you don’t realise is cathartic until it’s over – for this reason, Big Sigh doesn’t just feel like Hackman’s best, but it feels like a distinct chapter marker in her catalogue. She closes the last decade stunningly, and nudges open the next.

Gartland’s songwriting remains occasionally obscure but is sweetened by the record’s focused storytelling.

The sheer volume of material on offer soon succumbs to the law of diminishing returns.

Unsurprisingly, there’s an overarching sense of melancholy, but the more you listen, the more you realise that she’s deftly poetic with her words in a way that’s clearly inspired by some of the great writers of the 20th Century.

All in all, Big Black Coat is another strong release from Junior Boys, a much needed warm hug during these cold winter nights.

At its heart, Tell Me How You Really Feel offers a sense of encouragement, finding reassurance in transience and seeking out a little beauty amidst chaos and turmoil.

The result is an intelligent and thrilling collection of existential punk-rock that has so much more to offer than those two paltry words, “punk” or “rock” could ever suggest.

Ruinism does, at times, often feel more like an experiment than a cohesive whole; a criticism sometimes levelled at Lynch. ... And yet, there’s something about Ruinism that sucks you into its world. It’s beauty amid chaos and it’s easy to let your inhibitions go and just fall into it.

Their execution is highly impressive, Bedroom may be retro in its thinking, but on this debut bdrmm have proved to be forward thinking in execution. An assured and brilliant debut.

The direct intimacy with Slone’s inner-thoughts, witnessed both in terms of its creative flourishes and depressive ramblings, is also indicative of this vividly local feature. It'll be the challenge of managing this aesthetic as they continue to grow, especially following the release of such an excellent record, that could prove central as to where they head next.

Friedman and Weingarten’s friendship remains an ever-constant reference point in their most confessionally open offering yet, the core chemistry between the two leads pulling the disparate and shared pasts together in a unified voice.