Not all of it sounds like a string quartet pulling itself apart, or a piano chewing up its own keys. Polished, radio friendly pop hooks snag on the acute, serrated edges of Black Thought’s gloomy verses.

Liberated, no doubt, from the pressures that accompany the devising of a worthy and relevant successor to You’re A Woman, I’m A Machine, Grainger has been able to conjure what is a fairly rich noise pop record.

Thematically, it can seem like a little bit of a kitchen sink job in places, but there’s certainly no shortage of crushingly safe folk songwriters at present; in fact, Jurado’s disregard for convention and appetite for reinvention stick out like a sore thumb amongst the output of many of his contemporaries.

It’s an album that scores highly on philosophy and intellectual curiosity, providing a welcome moment of relief from the frenzy of modern life.

Where past ventures could tend to exude a mannered self-consciousness, Adams acquits himself here with an easy and infectious sincerity.

With strong songwriting and stronger melodies throughout, this album is likely a one-off (minor) disappointment, and PUP will equally likely bounce back from it.

T2 doesn’t really incorporate much in terms of dance-friendly music, and it suffers, despite being a relatively strong collection overall.

Although he may be the keystone that holds this record together, Russell seems more comfortable behind the boards, letting the talents of his collaborators take centre stage. His tight, percussive productions lay the perfect foundations for the all-star cast to take flight, filling in the gaps with trickling melodies and expertly picked samples.

Even in the few moments of weak songwriting or flagging energy, the band sounds powerful and unapologetic. Bad Waitress revels in that power, fusing wiry punk thrills, tangled interlocking instrumentals, and alluring acerbic charms with their debut.

The best songs here are absolutely, sonically at least, the safest. ‘Is It Insane’ is Ella Fitzgerald cosplay, plain and simple, but my god does Keys play the part well. With some jazz-lounge piano, lightly tapped drums and some actual vinyl crackle, the depth and versatility of her voice is on vivid display.

Humanhood spotlights a restless artist as she strives to reconcile minimalism and maximalism, all the while addressing the mysteries of self, other, and the world.

Skip track one though, leave it to simmer a while, and Apocalypse Soon should inevitably be soundtracking at least some of the summer of 2014.

He is clearly putting the time in on Raskit and not short-changing his considerable talent as a vocalist.

Desperate Ground is another great demonstration of what makes this band one of America’s worst kept secrets.

An endearing, lo-fi filtered record not limited in what it has to say.

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.

It won’t be the year’s slickest or tightest alt-pop effort, but it’s plenty adventurous--for the most part, endearingly so.

Ruminations is essential, then; consider Salutations its eccentric cousin, often engaging and occasionally difficult.

What really sets Concrete and Gold aside from the rest is that you don’t feel this one has been written with stadiums specifically in mind.

In Dreams skirts a line of uncertainty between if the album is too over-populated or if the listener is too feint of heart.

If IRL is not as consistent as her previous output, this new album still cements Mahalia as a major R&B/Soul fixture both nationally and abroad.

The album is best viewed as an extension of his physical artwork rather than musical endeavours: dark abstractions and brutally grim representations of mood rather than straightforward instancy.

Grief and hardship have changed Surfer Blood, there’s no denying that. But they deserve praise for making a record that still has its own joie de vivre and doesn’t completely overhaul the alphabet that has made the band a success in the first place.

No matter your view, Scaled And Icy is Twenty One Pilot’s at their most fun, and while it’s not a home run, as a society it’s a time for exploration and change, and the duo have pasted the pastel colours on heavy ready for when the sunshine decides to grace us with its presence.

It’s concise, it’s even, and it feels structured. Its main issue is that it’s nothing that new or inventive and on that basis alone is what essentially damns their efforts. But despite that gripe, Vivian Girls have always surrounded their LPs with charm.

There’s not much on Alpha that does surprise or show us a new side of Charlotte Day Wilson, but the side she shows us is now so masterfully presented and emotionally rich its not hard to be taken by it.

A casual dance music fan may find the lack of variety in terms of tempo somewhat cumbersome, but if you look at this through the prism of Honey Dijon as a DJ it makes total sense.

What a solo album with all of his own bars over all of his own beats would have sounded like, we’ll never know; The Diary does more than enough to fire all of our imaginations, though.

Collectively, it’s certainly Moss’s strongest work to date - a thoughtful, mature album, which delivers plenty of food for thought and a range of sounds, emotions and lyrical quirks to keep most listeners happy.

The slight disappointment of Disc 39 is that Cole’s comfort in his recent life leaves less to be explored than you might hope. That said, there are certainly high-points throughout and the reflection of "Quik Stop" and "and the whole world is the Ville" illustrate Cole’s growth and position now as an elder statesman.

Forgiveness is a confrontational, undiluted journey of self-acceptance and adulthood through cathartic electro-pop infusions and delicate introspections – Girlpool’s new era has succeeded them well.

“Kyoto” is one of the more effective here; stripped of the insistent indie-rock embellishments which made it a single, the rawness of Bridgers’ lyrics is exposed. ... Elsewhere, some versions are less illuminating. ... These songs are still some of the most charming and psychologically nuanced in indie rock’s recent memory.

The muted “Eat You Like A Pill” and FKA-Twigs-esque “Bad Habit” find their home in the warm comfort of swirling, breezy electronics and echoey vocal performances – offering a balanced, well-rounded edge to the record.

This is not a record for quick thrills, or for sombre introspection; it is an album that creates a rich, layered sonic space, in which it invites its audience to lose themselves awhile.

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.

Wooden Head is a more than agreeable rethink of late sixties rock.

It’s disappointing that there’s a few dull moments on Bluebird as they really do stand out against the stronger tracks.

An album that often gets consumed into a pleasant fog.

Antony commands a stadium with his vocals and tone, or in this case the Barbican in London, while the fragile live air has not failed to be captured in the final product of Turning.

Absent any actors to push the narrative along, Here Come the Rattling Trees can drift by during its more passive instrumental passages, but never less than pleasantly so.

Like the best pop stars moving far from their imperial phase, she remains uneven but always fascinating.

Whether Crow is tucking into the midtempo rock bohemia of “You Can’t Change the Weather,” or getting lost in the groovy R&B psychedelia of “Love Life,” she demonstrates that she is a musical everywoman, able to move from knowing convention to wider experimentation.

The electronic elements probably won’t quite be to everybody’s tastes, but even then, the energy with which they’re delivered should be enough to make up for it.

Welchez and Roswell have proven their creative resilience with Dreamless, an album that illuminates the painful moments that plague all of us, while also providing hope that creativity can keep the shadows at bay even in the darkest night.

This is a solo debut that’s been made with love, care, and plenty of ability, and although it has a tendency to veer too far into bleaker territory at times, there’s no denying its subtle magnetism. Nili Hadida’s found herself a new groove, and it makes a quiet yet engaging impression.

Mr. Dynamite's expansive instrumental interludes sometimes disrupt the pacing and punch of the record, defying coherence, but this never seems like anything less than deliberate mischief. It’s merely a performance of the group’s own self-discovery, proudly extending and flexing their new cyborg limbs.

Working Out is a sophisticated sounding record, but with only a handful of standout tracks, it may not be enough.

Blake’s a master at making heartbreak sound beautiful. Now, on Friends That Break Your Heart, he makes it sound like something in service of the best version of yourself.

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.

He's had a reputation for being guarded in the past, but on Trick, we see him wear his heart on his sleeve.

Life Under The Gun is a flawed but enjoyable debut album.

Authenticity and honesty are the hallmarks here of a painful and unsettled rock record. It’s not hard to figure out why his own name was the ideal stage to sing from.

Drill Music in Zion is strong but weighed down by its heavy message and repetitive structure, ultimately highlighted by lengthy runtimes.

Though bleak on the surface, through Jonny, Pierce finds himself embracing the chaos of life, reclaiming his childhood years in a cathartic and self-soothing project that aptly marks fifteen years of The Drums.

At times the record’s pleasantness feels forced, part of a calculated game plan. But at its best, Out Among The Stars is a gentle reminder of how sweet the everyman missives of the Man In Black could be.

It rocks the boat a little too much, but by keeping their bearings, Pool Kids continue to lead from the front.

The record is described as Gibbons’ “most personal work to date”, dealing with experiences of grief, change, and hopelessness – and it makes for a very conceptually decisive project, with a distinctive vocabulary of motion and stasis, weight and lightness.

Her style is still niche, but Remember Us to Life is an important album for anyone invested in Spektor’s growth as a musician and, perhaps more importantly, a storyteller.

With shades of their influences Neil Young, Weyes Blood, and Sonic Youth — as well as the attitude of contemporary New York art-punks Bodega - Silverbacks’ Archive Material is a record that makes the best of a truly bizarre, banal, and jarring time.

Brandon Coleman's debut album is a funk-fuelled cacophony that some will adore, but its over-commitment to a narrow sound means that, unless you fall in love, you may find limited replay-ability in this album.

It’s the careful balance of lyrical self-awareness and indifference amidst post-punk guitar that keeps you on your toes.

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

There’s are threads of heritage strung through Emerald Valley, not just in the vintage ‘70s/’80s guitar pop pedigree of the riffs and rhythms (“One Flew East,” “Break Me” and “Last Chance County” all from the second half particularly stand out), but also in Tucker’s lyrics and delivery, which are earnest and earthy without curtailing her natural dynamic.

Femejism may not have quite the same impact [as their debut Sistronix], but their second album has enough to it to suggest that Lindsey Troy and Julie Edwards will be able to maintain interest our vested interest.

To Love is to Live works best when Beth channels solemnity rather than bombast. The relentless bursts of energy that punctuate the record are often thrown as wild haymakers, yet it’s the cerebral moments before they land that deliver the most rewarding blows.

While edgy, honest and witty observations are made about youth culture, there is a tendency to sprinkle moments of easy listening jazz throughout the record, which is a bit of a downer in a non gothic sense. Still, the brutal honesty and candor are present and much appreciated, one of the few characteristics that truly identifies a Mountain Goats record.

It might not be a styling anyone was demanding for, but once it's in your focus, you won't find a band that do it better.

Who Am I? may be a sidestep on their journey to individuality — distancing themselves from comparisons to The 1975 by emulating Avril Lavigne isn’t exactly a foolproof plan — but for a band still early in their career, it’s another definite confirmation of their potential until they eventually carve out a niche of their own.

For the bigger part of Screen Violence, Chvrches keep things exciting while staying unapologetically themselves.

This isn’t synthpop à la Kavinsky, and there are no bangers here, or--if we're honest--much that will imprint itself upon you when you've played it through a few times.

On the album, the dark, haunting sound and intimate atmosphere of her early work and the muscular '80s inspired synth-pop of Remind Me Tomorrow sit side by side.

It's hard to analyze Segall's music without thinking about his reputation as a studio rat, but Emotional Mugger is an enjoyably warped deconstruction of buzzy guitar rock.

It deceptively makes you think there’s not much happening here but is in fact a highly complex thing that needs care and attention, only then do you realize we have been offered Rostron’s heart on a plate.

The album isn’t easy going: it’s hard to completely love a record as bleak as this.... but Henson has a poet’s way with words and an expressive voice that you’d never tire of listening to.

My Sad Captains have got the words, the sound, and the craft, now if only they’d try a little harder to get everyone’s attention.

He’s at his best when tracks uncoil like little vignettes, leaving small clues that pile up towards the end.

It would have been great to hear the Fox and Millions show without the extra instruments to let the drummers truly shine. Nevertheless, their fury on the A side and their ability to tread the line between hypnotic and sleepy on the flip side creates a joyous, technically astute performance that rewards a patient listener.

There are certainly traces of the band's past traits, except this time they err more on the side of being endearing quirks than being the slightly off-putting extras they once were.

Harperfield shines brightest when Pollock allows big emotion to weigh her tempo down.

So: Dance Called Memory is a very good Nation of Language album – perhaps their most tonally varied since the debut – and for many fans that will be more than enough.

The record makes constant reference to dreams, with the theme appearing in seven of its eight songs. At times it symbolises a joyful disbelief, at other times a moment away from a heavy reality, and at others still a world shared between two lovers. More than anything, the recurring idea of dreams softens the edges of the earth-shaking changes to Bonnetta’s life, letting him drift gently between real life and the inside of his head in search of a view of it all that makes sense.

Krai will never be for everyone, but then it was never intended as so; instead it gives forgotten stretches of Russian land a name for themselves, and in that regard this inventive and progressive release from an exceptionally talented young musician is a success.

To this extent Only God Was Above Us defines itself by a heady mix of retrospection and relinquishment to the future – a coming-of-age awareness writ large in previous phases of their career lent further prescience with the passing of each entry in their canon.

Taken as a ‘new’ complete album it could do with stretching out a little and lighting the occasional fire under the occasionally maintained for a touch too long strolling pace, but it works absolutely fine as a way of shining new light on often overlooked but clearly internally beloved outposts of their two decade career of rainy nights and velvet-lined plush bars at last orders.

Modest means and humble ends shape the character of No Fool Like An Old Fool.

The result is a well-tempered mix of organic and contrived capable of rivaling even the most fertile metropolis.

If you aren’t into skits and novelty voice acting then you might struggle with the twenty five-high track listing. If you are though, you’re in for a treat.

There is much joy to be found here, amidst many a question mark, but the compiling of a 49 track album with seven themes and this ratio of hit>miss is an achievement in itself - which says a lot for Cook’s skillset.

Her songs look straight into the abyss and still reach out for colour. That choice, made again and again across the album, gives it a quiet power, one as a listener you have to be willing to absorb to feel fully.

When Neil leads us away cheekily with the macabre “I’ll never grow old in a graveyard”, the confidence sounds resolute. The trio’s abilities were already in cement, but being uninhibited by past musical ventures has become a marvellously fun, snarling beast.

At times it makes the album feel like a compilation of great lost No Wave acts, but when it all clicks together like on the blistering, agit-hardcore blast "They Know", Deaf Wish are a mighty force.

Phantogram have always been able to craft sleek, cerebral tunes, but it hasn't always been clear that they were having a blast doing it--until now.

Although this debut LP might have its weaknesses, it might also be a sign of greater things to come.

The album is a little verbose in places as Okereke delights and demeans in equal measure past loves and lovers.

The struggle and challenge presented here is worthy our attention if not for pleasure’s sake alone, but for the varied breadth of emotion that each mini soundtrack evokes.

If you're expecting a record which really takes off, Patience probably isn't it, but its downtempo, late night charms aren't hard to find (especially if you chuck it on headphones).

Though Can I Get a Pack of Camel Lights? is a magpie-mix of familiar genres and influences, from Indian-raga-inspired psychedelia to tripped-out electronica, it is also clearly the product of someone freely expanding their sound in multiple directions, and that sense of exploration and fun is infectious.

Menace Beach seem to be taking the opportunity of a rather ominous looking 2017 to create a pretty attractive alternative musical universe for them and their fans to inhabit.