What with imitation being the greatest form of flattery, this must be one of the most flattering albums of all time. This is music by Devo fans, for Devo fans, and it’s a hell of a lot of fun.

The group still manages to fluidly blend southern-fried garage rock, soul, psychedelia, and funk on their sixth studio effort, showing no ill effects from the recent shakeup to their tight-knit core.

Not everything on Peacers works, but when it does, it’s the sonic equivalent of driving along a beach with a summer breeze rushing right through you.

At 17 tracks, A Moment of Madness could be more taut and, frankly, have a bit more madness in the mix. Bizu is such a gifted vocalist that it would’ve been a treat to get a few less polished cuts.

Randolph has come home and he’s never sounded better.

Dynamics is, first and foremost, a dance album, and as such, it passes its most critical test with flying colors; at no point during its duration is one unburdened of the desire to dance.

Back to Forever is a fully-realised pop album and grandiose to a fault. It’s got a fair share of cheesy moments, but they’re endearing.

A total package of pop hooks, instrumental genius and gorgeous rhythms, Mulvey presents us with an intelligent record that demonstrates his passion for sounds outside of insular scenes.

It all results in their strongest album for over two decades.

Most disarming moments occur when things quieten down: the gently swirling, beautifully troubled “Turbulence”, for example, describes the daily grind and bustle with almost Nick Drake-ian grace and reticence. The closing "Devotee" occupies similar regions, with a propulsive, creaky organ coda that hints at what might be if Modern Nature got a bit looser next time around.

While it might not appeal to name-checked acts Phil Collins (dead, apparently) or Sting (“Lose the fucking yoga”) those who seek solitude in the British weather, putting the world to rights in the local and who see the beauty in Motorway services and high-vis jackets will be thrilled with a collection that’s Blighty-themed, from a duo whose output is still beautiful.

Each fleeting harmonious moment on the album relies on the one that came before it, and the one that comes after.

Whether this is a Clyro-esque transformation underway, time will tell, but for now, we can revel in their top notch, A-grade rock cacophony as it is.

Musically speaking, there are a few hopefully upbeat indie-folk numbers to provide a certain spark to the otherwise bleak lyrical subject matter.

Fairhurst has delivered his most cohesive record yet, filled with love, sadness, excitement and familiarity – the essential building blocks that helped to fortify the foundations of house music decades ago.

With Saltwater but as a difficult second album goes, this is a total breeze rather than a mainsail-battering ocean storm.

In short, it feels like Ellie Goulding at her most honest, and her most heartfelt.

Tweens pulls no punches, though; this is basic music and these are basic words expressing basic emotions.

While Strange Little Birds might not be Garbage’s most immediate release, lyrically it’s certainly their bravest and 20 years into their career, it feels like they’ve entered a new era.

Bones is a remarkable, chameleonic entity.

It isn’t often that metal is as direct and exhilarating as it is on Viscerals, and despite a series of songs concerned with the more unsavoury facets of life, there is a furious energy at the heart of the record it’s hard not to get swept up in.

No one idea ever outstays its welcome and there’s no denying the passion behind Hynes’ work and the fascinating insights that come with these 17 tracks. It’s an album that feels haphazard but one that is luckily more hit than miss, and an album that ultimately needs to be experienced.

Where You’re Meant To Be conveys the coziness of the room without any tricks or much polish, just a balance among the performers and enough proximity to the audience to capture bits of individual voices here and there.

While it's certainly missing any form of coherency, Witness does feel like you're growing with Perry - going on this journey that's helped her find new ground and a reinvigorated appreciation for all walks of the pop music spectrum.

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.

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.

They are definitely a marketable band (it’s no wonder Katy Perry ripped them off) and Lost Time is Tacocat’s biggest accomplishment to date--27 minutes of bubblegum pop that doesn’t lose its taste.

While its tunes are a little weaker than that of her previous albums, she emulates the “poetry without the words” she mentions on “Sacred”, snapshotting around a subject in order to construct a clear picture. But sometimes the resulting image is a little hazy.

Raven doesn’t feature much of the volcanic beats and unadulterated longing of its predecessor, but its minimalistic approach showcases an artist in the midst of her evolution.

The bold ambition doesn’t go unnoticed.

Bazaar achieves what it goes out to do well, but could do with a few more of the mind-benders they are fully capable of achieving.

Although The Main Thing isn’t perfect, it serves as their version of it as we see Real Estate continuing to be both consistent and reliable as ever.

The record’s strongest moments originate in its audacity rather than precision: Desert Window opens up the ambient ideas she’s perfected in the past into riskier, roomier territory.

Heartache, healing, clandestine make-ups and complicated feelings have saturated pretty much all her discography to date, and the same broken heart bleeds well into the first half of her Girl Of My Dreams.

You do have to dig at times though, to forage and find your own touchstones. Without that effort you may be left wandering around the realm she inhabits admiring the craft without feeling its warm embrace.

Snooper’s vision of egg punk is more hygienic; the full experience is still reserved for the stage. They’ve fantastically magnified a glimpse of that for larger crowds, but in the studio, Snooper aren’t as wild as we thought they were.

There’s no doubt about it. Through their brand of R&B, funk and soul, they nod to legends like Stevie Wonder, Parliament-Funkadelic, and others, while putting their own infectious, modern twist on it.

Despite its tumultuous origins, In Quiet Moments is certainly a more accomplished record than its predecessor. An improvisational grounding and a strong lyrical brief have allowed the impressive list of co-signs to feel more pertinent, and in that, more able to successfully explore thematic material, both sonically and lyrically.

On The Line may not be her strongest work, no matter how much it aims to be but it proves that Jenny Lewis doesn't need to try too hard to become one of the greats. She's already been one for a while.

The album as a whole is a safer affair than Taylor’s previous releases, but for the most part it’s very good, and its cohesion isn’t necessarily a weakness. Still, it’s hard not to approach a new Self Esteem album expecting some kind of life-changing revelation, six months of therapy condensed into an hour-long speedrun.

Amphetamine Ballads probably shouldn’t feel like quite so much of a breath of fresh air--there’s plenty of evidence to suggest that it wears its influences (or has them tattooed, probably) very much on its sleeve--but it carries a threatening urgency so often conspicuous by its absence nowadays.

I Don’t Think I Can Do This Any More won't win over any of Moose Blood’s detractors, but despite those tracks featuring early in the album erring on the wrong side of over-familiarity, the band have clearly made a solid effort in developing their sound and maturing as an outfit. And though by no means a perfect album, it’s far less two-dimensional than cursory listens would have one believe.

Although this might not be a record that grabs you by the collar and slaps you in the face with its genius, for those who are happy to give a little of themselves to bring these songs to life, Along The Way could prove an excellent companion for whatever journeys lie ahead.

Blur the Line is nothing like perfect, but it’s a record scored through with an impressively quick progression; not only have Those Darlins matured musically over the past couple of years, they’ve found something they’d sorely lacked to this point--bite.

On the whole, Hotel Last Resort is nothing special in the band’s career, and doesn’t feel like it, either. It’s simply another solid effort from a group that has yet to put out a bad one.

Pe-Ahi, despite being entertaining, cries out for something we haven’t heard from them before.

On their seventh LP, Joyce Manor find a fine middle ground, and the result is their best record since 2012’s Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired.

Most importantly, at the turn of the arc Tatum rediscovers his grit and tenacity as well as his melodic poise, showing that Life of Pause isn’t just a fascinating dissection of romantic disintegration, it was also necessary.

Albeit diverging in duration from its predecessors at a mere eight-tracks, Lust for Life remains sufficient in scale to carry such a taste for semi-encrypted post-punk wisecracks.

Ultimately, Rock n Roll Consciousness is a collection of songs that would sit as comfortably in and amongst Sonic Youth’s back catalogue as they do within Moore’s own solo work. And that's no bad thing at all.

The distant foginess of nostalgia creeps in the background but doesn't overwhelm the record. A hopeful undertone allows that era to be reflected upon with acceptance and the old feelings to shine as clearly as they can through the mist of memory.

There is not as much variety on Fever Dream as “Alligator” had seemed to indicate, but there is a clear shift – it feels more open, musically, than ever before. There’s a confidence mixed with fragility, like a band born again.

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.

The LP is fourteen songs long, but never feels laboured. This is probably because in true indie pop tradition, most of the songs are under three minutes. With their jangling, sometimes-spiky guitar sounds and indie pop hooks; they wouldn’t sound out of place on the iconic C86 mix tape.

Though acoustic tonality may appear muddy, the confident voice of Supermodels reigns loud and clear.

All That Is Over is direct, furious, sometimes messy, but always alive.

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

They never really embrace as much lyrical darkness as they did on their debut album, though, and they don’t exactly reach for the occasional glimpse of light either. As a result, All Your Happy Life is a lightswitch that keeps awkwardly flickering, intentionally making the mise-en-scène as unsettling as possible.

It’s a charming record, but one likely to be appreciated to its fullest only in the dingiest times of the year, those days when you find yourself in need of a reminder of sunnier months just to keep going.

For the most part, Go Dig My Grave shows an appreciation that steers clear of sober reverence; these are well-worn and world-weary songs to be enjoyed, not artefacts to be handled in a sterile environment with special gloves. Sometimes, however, these reworkings miss the mark.

MAYHEM is more like an inspired album rather than one that inspires, and where Gaga usually flips the game on its head, she’s stuck to the rules this time. LG7 feels like it’s come and gone, and where we’re usually saying ‘wow she’s amazing’, it’s more like a resounding ‘wasn’t that nice’ – not bad, not life changing, but a record I’ll be playing for a while I’m sure.

Chopper doesn’t reinvent the wheel, nor does it steer into anything surprising or off kilter, but it definitely shows how nicely the wheel continues to spin.

Dapperton, by inviting listeners so openly into his feelings and experiences is where Dapperton will find his footing for the next step up. It really is hard to predict just where Gus Dapperton will go after this.

As opposed to the rich, twisted dreamscape of Ignorance, Stars is a record of dense and oblique beauty.

The film’s problematic dryness and refusal to shed light on the all-around complexities of this toxic love are relayed here. Intentional or not, the 34-minute length is one of the project’s two saviours; any longer and tedium would be inevitable.

Unfortunately, for an album that’s main theme is duplicity, it can’t help but feel a little one-dimensional (lyrically at least). ... However, Wasner’s sculpting of emotive music through sound and texture rather than key is special, and Head of Roses is by far her most successful rendering of it.

On the parts of this album that are worth remembering there are subtle signs of a stylistic and emotional shift. You can sense Future dabbling in the extra-rhythmic potential in his vocals, and there’s a delight in Future’s register that’s been notably absent on his records since after Honest.

With Chasing Yesterday it certainly ain’t broke; it may not be as wacky as he imagined it, but it does its job rather well.

["Listen Out"] like so many songs on Last Evenings On Earth, has a fidgety, loosely controlled nature that sees it stray off into almost freeform sections before winding itself back in again, but it’s precisely this inclination to push boundaries that makes Melt Yourself Down so appealing.

The album is fresh with synth, bells and whistles that could be part of an actual gameshow. There are some cracking verses and screeching guitar sections that will sound great live.

Hundred Acres’ environment can occasionally border on the too-cozy and tender, and, as has been the case on previous records, certain songs simply wind down more than they come to any conclusion. Still, Carey ably shepherds the whole sentimental journey.

Young Heart is consistent from start to finish. While it won’t necessarily ruffle many feathers, it’s a coherent addition to an already charming catalogue from Birdy.

This is a fan’s album, made for, helped by and a testament to Idlewild’s worshippers’ passion and patience. For some, the changes will be welcomed with flung-open arms like an old friend; for others, it might just be a little too much to handle.

Interiors is often captivating, always interesting and certainly another confident and assured step forward for Mesirow and Glasser.

Mortal Primetime sees the rebirth of the New York trio; emerging from the shadows of winter to tilt their heads towards the brighter, more fruitful pastures of spring.

This shift further into sounds of the dancefloor obviously comes with no hands in the air hedonism, they stick firmly to their monochrome formula but by adding flourishes of colour to their sound they've made their best album yet.

It’s an admirable pool of ideas, thrilling noises, rare, unpredictable melodies and a huge amount of imagination but to be brutally frank, it doesn’t encourage repeat listens.

English Graffiti is a record full of ideas that has much to commend it, neither a triumphant or disastrous third album, just not a great one.

All the shifts lend the album an odd pop sensibility, the tracks flowing like a bizarre dance amongst the scraps of modernity. Despite these developments, singer Valentine Caufield remains as incensed, vicious, and powerful as ever.

The Other I is a confident collection of tunes decent enough to warrant keeping an eye on 2:54's future movements.

As it stands, the more things change the more that stay the same. But, when you have a formula as egregiously glorious and cacophonous as PUP is no bad thing.

The resulting LP is a record that sonically dwarfs its predecessors, boasting a sound bigger and more fearless than ever before. ... In Plain Sight’s greatest weakness is its refusal to abandon the obvious and lean fully into the successful realisation of its more experimental moments.

Calico Review refers to a type of pattern in which a range of colours merge into one; as much as it may frustrate Allah-Las, the palette of their Calico Review remains a similar hue, but their ability to paint brilliant art with it remains intact.

The New Monday would be a great record to put on whilst cruising around Detroit in the dead of night, the only thing holding back this album is that Shigeto sometimes takes his hands off the wheel.

Though the easy-to-follow lyrics and even easier-to-follow melodies throughout Great Big Blue make it ripe for every summer playlist under the sun, the result is of genuine collaboration and friendship, giving it a charm beyond its obvious summery sheen.

The Ultra Vivid Lament is impregnated with an array of influences ranging from ‘80s pop to ‘90s arena rock to the band’s own (mostly) splendid legacy. There’s also a certain penchant for experimentalism, which takes the listener back to forgotten currents of post-rock aesthetics, even though the band is always commercially careful not to push the boundaries too much.

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.

Sumac are an original voice in metal, and we certainly need more of that. However, as they currently stand, they're merely good. Really, the only thing stopping them from greatness is a lack of self-editing.

The tracks feel as easy as they probably were to craft, and while they are pleasantly paced and succinct, the impact of their previous work is lost.

Their fifth album is one that doesn’t deviate away from their usual template. At the heart of the songs lies the same exuberant energy and youthful abandon found at the core of their debut Waited Up Til It Was Light.

Whilst the album on a whole is routed in vulnerability – Williams the chanteuse, cathartically pouring whatever remains of herself into her most precious form of expression, “Just A Lover” signifies a shift; a marker of unfinished means, as the pieces she’s surrounded by begin to coagulate into an entirely new feeling.

Total Time’s earthly escapism has stars in its eyes and dirt under its fingernails.

If it's nostalgic, unapologetically pop inspired music you like, then this is certainly the album for you.

Rateliff’s faced those feelings head-on and come out the other side with a meaningful album full of subtle beauty, and one that’s buoyed by the prevailing feeling of hope; hope that things will still be alright.

It’s full of genuinely bracing moments that deftly thread punk grit with austere humour and unabashed sincerity. It’s just a shame that what they’re best at seems to have been done so well so recently by other bands.

Considering that The Last Shadow Puppets is just a casual commitment and a bit on the side for Turner, Everything We’ve Come to Expect is champagne-coated, arena-sized pop-rock album that’s slick and accessibly smart.

Overall, there is something deeply satisfying about the majority of the album, anchored by Skepta’s unique vocal delivery and a sonic playfulness that he has long perfected. Skepta has proven himself a pioneer at several points of his career, now it’s just good to him hear at the top of his game.

When Migration is at its best all is forgotten: Bonobo's ability to immerse the listener in a gorgeous electronic escapism is better than ever.