It's not their best album, but by sticking closely to this pattern, Spiral in a Straight Line is their most cohesive.

Cool World is instrumentally gripping, vocally enthralling, and lyrically calls out the horrors of late-stage capitalism.

Tracks are splintered with sudden bursts of noise, industrial beats, and disjointed synth layers that, on the surface, seem messy. But within that chaos, cumgirl8 finds a hypnotic groove.

There’s a shagginess to some of the tracks here, and a producer without skin in the game might have taken a pair of shears to the record, but that would be tantamount to criminal damage. The Hard Quartet is like four suburban dads starting a garage band on a whim, only with prime beef musicians and a huge label behind them, and if that’s not charming in this day and age, nothing is.

Each track offers a different facet of the band’s sound revealing more with each listen. Dolores Forever may have titled their album It’s Nothing, but make no mistake - this is something special.

The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess is a little lacking in vision and coherence, but this first glittery collection of pop songs from Chappell Roan drips in charisma and hedonistic pleasure. Let’s drop the ‘star in the making’ label – she’s already here.

SOPHIE in part radiates extrinsic positivity. The instrumentals, when listened to singly, are often grim and claustrophobic; it is instead the vocal contributions of her dear friends that invoke the lively spirit of collective relief.

The collection is inventive yet grounded and unpretentious, a genuinely modern interpretation on the tenets of punk that still carry weight.

By leaning into powerful dynamics and their natural propensity for climactic moments, Foxing has crafted a remarkably emotional statement about feeling emotionless.

The album’s strength is drawn largely from these expansive arrangements, which make use of sparsity and density with equal power.

White Roses, My God is an often compelling experiment, but it’s hard not to suspect that its bold, often inscrutable excursions into alien territory ultimately undersell Sparhawk’s immense gifts as a musical communicator.

It is crisply clear and gritty, with a lovely bout of emo-tinged lyricism. It is surely to be considered the strongest body of work of their career, only to be outdone with whatever may come next. Smitten is the sound of a band infatuated with their art, ready for the future, and excited to be a part of it.

Ultimately, Real Deal sees Honeyglaze steadily accessing parts outside their comfort zone, their range expanding with the new territory they gain.

The Dare is trying to present the New York songbook to the Zoomer masses with such generality that he legally cannot be paternity-traced to any one act. Slap a bass on top of some rumbling rhythms and a synth so glitchy that every line feels like a mis-input that made it through post, and all that’s left to do is pull a line from your notebook of “TikTok virality potential.”

Everything Squared succeeds both on its own terms and as a reminder of how original the band was from the outset. Looking forwards and backward with equal acuity, it is a fine achievement.

With Five Dice, All Threes, Bright Eyes prove they can still evoke both intimacy and grandiosity without sacrificing the imperfect edges that made their early work so compelling.

While it’s unlikely to have the same impact as In Colour, as the next step in the development of an eternally unpredictable artist, it’s a rewarding and frequently electrifying listen.

Nothing sparks on 143. It’s all about easy endings and uncomplicated emotions, thus targeted for basically anyone, but what she doesn’t know is that the majority aren’t as tasteless now. The comeback singles are met with brutal reception in every direction. “Wonder” is the only one with replay value, which features her child’s voice and perhaps hints at their undetermined gender identity, leaving it up for them to decide whenever ready (“Beautiful girl”, “Beautiful boy”). The truth is – and she must know even if it hurts her – everything else signals a career nosedive from which her reputation might not survive. On the bright side, though, 143 adds more shade to a colourful year of pop music.

In the face of setbacks, Ford remains resilient, producing something that displays the singer-songwriter as a true force of nature.

An uncommonly diverse yet still seamlessly unified album that is audibly conscious of traditions without ever becoming beholden to them, Odyssey seems destined to be counted amongst the landmarks of the ongoing creatively fertile Brit-Jazz resurgence.

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.

Like much of Horse Jumper’s previous work, though, it doesn’t depart significantly from the canonic playbook, unfurling as derivation or emulation more than a recasting of the genre.

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

While the 18-tracks teeter along the fine line of becoming slightly too long at certain points, it continues to offer an intimate compilation of her thoughts and emotions.

It’s an album that will satisfy fans of Maine’s introspection, evocative storytelling and atmospheric production, but it may not reach the same heights as his most celebrated releases. Still, for those willing to dive into its depths, Shirt offers a homespun experience that further cements Aaron Maine’s place as one of the more singular voices in contemporary indie music.

This is an album that rewards both careful listening and submission to its ravishing atmospherics.

More careful explorations of Cascade’s less instantly obvious depths suggests that Shepherd may well have found a method for seamlessly blending the widescreen, unhurried explorations and subtle variations on a theme that characterised Promises with his foundational roots and ongoing interest in the simple joys of surrendering to hypnotic repetition that drives the pummelling physicality of dancefloor-friendly electronic music, most recently sampled on 2019’s Crush.

Although ten days shows a more subdued form of this euphoria, the personality and intricate storytelling has not faded.

It scrambles the brain, leaves the heart feeling empty, but compels the body to move. Woof scratches that primal itch. It's the sound of a society unraveling, and Fat Dog has captured it.

Johnson wordlessly serenades us as the band plays out over the final credits. A reminder that sometimes the personal hits harder and lasts longer than anything else.

The album closers says “Bon Voyage” in style – with a short but infectious final offering. At just over the three minute mark, sultry vocals dominate – making sure that Viva Hinds is not a record to be forgotten, but sweetly lingers.

Lenderman has produced his clearest vision yet of what it looks like when the saddest & funniest people in the room are the same guy.

It's a soothing, uplifting listen, perfect for those moments when you need a gentle, positive presence in the background. But for those seeking something more, something that challenges the boundaries of what Tycho can do, this album may leave you wanting.

Slater is adept at wrenching every available feeling from a short stint of words, a talent that's gestated wonderfully as the band have found their feet.

Talkie Talkie is a triumphant follow-up to their debut. It sparkles intensely has tonnes of shiny charisma and sustains its shape while trying new things in the second half.

It’s direct, angry, and often joyful – a reminder that making good music well is always worth doing.

Quantum Baby is relaxed and a little uncomplicated but continues her dependable streak as an athlete, sex icon, visionary, and artist rolled into one. The best part is she’s never satisfied staying still.

Wild God is a markedly widescreen offering: the album very literally features both bells and whistles. However, maximalist palette is applied with rare subtlety and appreciation for the alluring spaces between notes, and The Bad Seeds rhythm section (including the inimitable drumming of Thomas Wydler, back in the fold following health problems) infuse the proceedings with an earthy, robust pulse.

YOU’LL HAVE TO LOSE SOMETHING is by far the band’s most straightforward record. This isn’t to say however they have lost what makes them one of the most progressive bands around; sonic textures still overlay collages of obscure samples, whilst the method of individual members writing separate streams of consciousness verses before coming together to record still creates enviable levels of lyrical surrealism.

[James] Ford's renowned ability to bring together ambitiously decadent ideas reigns supreme here. Helping orchestrate a throughline of this patchwork of ideas pays dividends as the grander character and geographical work of their past makes way for more personal offerings as they turn inward, processing the world they inhabit, rather than the one they've mused upon previously.

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.

Imaginal Disk is a testament to good old-fashioned artistry – it’s the product of a band intensely honing what they want to sound like and ending up with a style so unique that it’s barely possible to describe. It’s dorky and strange and dramatic, like the duo themselves. And it sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard.

In seizing control of the means of production, they’ve reached a new peak and have never sounded so accessible. This is music to cry and party to at the same time. They’ll eviscerate you and you’ll thank them for the privilege.

You might call Forever 2024’s ear worm central.

Paradise State of Mind is a refreshing modern offering from the LA-duo, their numbers may have dwindled by half, but their sound is bigger than ever.

The overall resilience also feels like 86TVs represents a brand new day rather than solely an echo of their former selves, even if some musical references from the album’s latter half draw from already dry wells.

It could be a little longer, or more cohesive, but not everyone’s sophomore project is as risky – or, interestingly, as relaxed. Bird’s Eye is a gift, and Ravyn Lenae’s on her way up.

Thanks to Rubin’s acoustic method, which encouraged Laus to play solely on an instrument before working on the production, most pieces have attained what may possibly be called “skeletal beauty”.

This album is pretty good – the beats are nice, the rapping is decently energetic and forceful. But in the context of Peggy’s discography, where he’s invariably flowed like all hell over the most original production in recent hip-hop memory, this falls a little flat. I Lay Down My Life For You is good – but it isn’t quite good enough.

While a full band surrounds him, all that functionally matters here is White. The tracks live and die by his presence, not unsurprising given that we’re dealing with a uniquely possessive auteur.

At an impressive bakers-dozen in length, Everything Still Worries Me is an impressive debut record from the rising pop-princess. Abbie Ozard is a sure-fire one to watch.

To the Ghosts finds them in their most solid and mature form to date.

Strange Burden, while infuriatingly short, is paced and produced acutely.

Smile is messy – but so is the existence that Robinson writes about. At times, that makes the album feel unguided. But mostly, this is the first Porter Robinson album that feels entirely like him. That makes for one of the most compelling pieces of art he has ever released.

The record is at its best when we’re having fun with Ice, which seemed to be her initial ethos. But much of the record is unfortunately underbaked.

Happily, this new start feels fresh. HEAVY JELLY could be the ravishing debut from some doe-eyed newcomers with the visceral energy they’re touting this time around, except therein lies a hardened exterior.

I Love You So F***ing Much sees Glass Animals navigate a tricky tightrope between the ascendancy of their last album and a self-knowing tricksiness that accompanied other works – taunting energy that belies ten tracks showcasing the band at their most introspective.

Griff has a talent made for the stage, but Vertigo is often hindered by its avoidance of risks.

The album’s nine uniformly strong tracks reflect the major life events that have led to an extensive break from the heavy lifting involved in writing and recording as a solo artist.

early twenties presents Burns as a talented singer with a distinct lyrical focus.

It’s densely packed but never oppressive and yet also feels uninquisitive enough not to delve too deeply or for too long.

The record feels strongest at its scrappiest; when it harks back to the charm of her humble beginnings full of compressed vocals and effortless funk.

[Cigarettes After Sex] continue to refine their vision with more clarity, bigger baselines, and a continued promise to envelop you in their hazy, romantic pop noir. It’s that kind of consistency that fans have come to expect; still, one can’t help but wonder how many more releases Cigarettes After Sex will sustain this sound before they risk consistency for experimentation within their artistic boundaries.

Where previously her voice could feel hampered by heavy instrumentation, Charm’s arrangements carve just enough space for it to flourish, allowing her words to speak for themselves behind refined, never overbearing, production.

She explores themes that have been relevant at least since the advent of the Cognitive Revolution 30,000-plus years ago – creation, destruction, ecstasy, transcendence – yet does so in her own contemporary, refreshing, and utterly commanding way.

It’s hard to think of a record with such an uncompromising, borderline claustrophobic dedication to toying with utter unadulterated yet vibrantly rhythmic racket since the distorted finger piano workouts of the first Konono No. 1 record, definite fellow subscribers to a rusted-out aesthetic, and perhaps not coincidentally also from Kinshasa, although BUTU admittedly lacks the variety and shade of its predecessor.

Greene dials down, as was the case with the preceding LP, Notes from Quiet Life serving as a comedown equivalent to the sonic swelter of the former.

Fratti’s voice is honest, almost deadpan, in its delivery of plain and modest phrases – and scoops up to notes like she’s a radio starlet. But that familiarity is constantly unsettled by its instrumental landscape, where scratching strings recall the compositions of Tony Conrad, and song structure is thoroughly disjointed and unpredictable, recalling the arrangements of Marina Herlop and Meredith Monk.

Even for those of us who’d never before considered the possibility of a James Blake and Lil Yachty collab, Bad Cameo somehow provides exactly what you’d expect. Ideas in abundance, terrific variety, a little indulgence, and an end product that actually makes perfect sense.

There’s an enchantment in the album's pacing and sequencing that we journey with the band through each of these emotions and emerge from trepidation with renewed hope, feeling reborn.

From the terrifically bombastic opening of “Intro” to the chiming finish of “A Party” the entire album twists and turns between bursts of energetic pop-punk, frenzied expressions of lust, calmer reflective honesty, and sharply observed moments of uncomplicated joy. American Hero sounds very easy and fluid.

Tapestried by contributions from the likes of Rousay, Roy Montgomery, caroline’s Alex McKenzie and Squid’s Laurie Nankivell, Murphy’s debut is an uncanny and heroic game of hide and seek.

A strong love and fight for life and its experiences drives this album forward.

With Scream from New York, Been Stellar have announced their presence with a gem that’s sure to fire them into wider consciousness.

Ultimately needing her record to be “Cinematic and dreamy”, Nash utilises her boundless creativity to deliver layered soundscapes and intricate narratives in arguably, her most honest and personal project.

Radiosoul understandably doesn’t pretend to be radical in style. His identity remains in the mist, a potent star yet to arise, a minor upgrade from the debut as he suggested in the press.

Cale’s ability to do so many things so well is what makes him a true artist amongst amateurs, but it's also a clear disregard of the need to encourage people to like him that feels refreshing in an age where there seems to be a desperate stampede in the opposite direction.

His creatively unrestrained approach results in a record that is hotch-potch but also one that contains several stirring, noteworthy songs.

Does the record deliver after all these years, then? Occasionally, but not satisfactorily when playing with the tempting what-ifs.

There is a mix of winsome romanticism and righteous anger throughout the album, but it’s occasionally difficult to see which are tongue-in-cheek or genuine.

One of Grant’s richest & most satisfying sounding albums thus far.

A more concentrated soundscape, and a couple omissions, What Happened To The Heart? could’ve been a remarkable stepping stone to a career high. Almost everything feels transitory and unduly explorative, as if trying to discover another niche to excel in.

This is a damn heavy record, but with it, there's faith and optimism of equal measure.

On You Won't Go Before You're Supposed To, Knocked Loose expand in all directions while staying true to their core.

Goat Girl push the boat out while maintaining, for the most part, a considered and deliberate mood across the 48 minute run time, and the few pitfalls are due to ideas that didn’t quite coalesce more than anything. The finest tracks can feel familiar only to grab you and hold you in entirely surprising ways.

Peggy Gou has always yielded her talents to the complete advantage of the listener. On I Hear You, she pays homage to these talents, laying a path that is singularly hers to embark on, one on which she carries the future of dance-music, and all of it’s fun.

There’s something remarkable about Staples’ ability to display such emotional complexity within a relatively brief 35-minute runtime. It is an art he has mastered over the years, yet on this album he manages to pack an immense amount of content in that space – more so than ever before.

At fifteen tracks, the album’s club-friendly repetitiveness can make it a bit of a stretch to get through, especially because a few tracks feel less essential than the rest. But overall, it’s still surprisingly exceptional as a front-to-back listen.

Coope’s feminine and domestic aesthetic is cunningly invoked and then subverted across the tracklist – in parts charming, in parts unnerving, in parts invigorating – producing a record that’s genuinely unexpected and delightful.

Chaos Angel stays inherently pure, expertly produced in a way that Hawke’s airy vocals are free to dance over a gathering of enchanting instrumentation. Still, her poetic writing achievements rest at the foreground of the record, demonstrating a detailed surveillance of her life, in order to acquire some valuable closure in the face of chaos.

While the set brims with a sense of unrest and dislocation, it also rouses an implicit exuberance: though we suffer profoundly, art is redemptive, life is inexplicably beautiful.

Tidal Memory Exo is overwhelming, detailed, textured, and wildly bottom-loaded, but then it continues.

A reprise of the title track with added orchestration and extended strings only serves as a reminder of how lushly the album began and highlights what’s been missing in the latter half. Kahn as the producer can appear less critical than the songwriter and while the whole album possesses an innate beauty some material is very spartan and has you craving more actual songs.

Shaw ultimately takes comfort in the idea that Joe is both an inspiration and a guiding presence for this new music resulting in the band's most creative-sounding and personal release to date.

On a surface level, the melancholy strum of a slow acoustic guitar can come across as another translator for yet more sad songs, yet Atwell tenderly works on herself beneath its topline, where more complexities also lie, refusing to change for the acceptance of others on tracks such as the steadily-paced "Fan Favourite", even taking on crunchy guitars in "Release Myself" for a change in pace.

Even in moving away from indie rock for the time being, Bird keeps his literary flair with him in reappropriating the songs that he is covering. That is the one aspect that makes the whole album subtly magical in its own way even if it might not break as much ground as one would have hoped for.

The renewed cohesion and collaboration may have saved the band during this album’s recording process, airing grievances and settling put-off tensions, but the resulting homogeny of their sound lacks real bite and feels muddied.

A couple of contemporary artists with a similar method come to mind: Caroline Polachek and Christine and the Queens. Like their celebrated works, Hit Me Hard and Soft is equal parts nuanced and multidimensional.