While still offering glimmers of Jaga Jazzist’s undefinable, futuristic aspirations, the maximalist ethos of Pyramid ultimately comes across as oddly old-fashioned at a time when acts like 75 Dollar Bill are redefining the hypnotic potential of instrumental soundscapes.

Lyrically, Ape is among his best records, even with a few missteps on tracks like “Fancy Man”.

At its best, >>> retains the weirdness but manages to staple it to some fairly colossal tunes, with an emphasis on huge grooves that nods towards Barrow’s background as a drummer.

The staggering amount of feelings spent and tales fabricated draws the listener into the story as much as it may pull them out of it.

Born In The Echoes continues their fusing of psychedelic head music with the dancefloor, and while it doesn’t break new ground, it’s a timely smack on the nose to the pretenders to their throne.

where Neuroplasiticy brilliantly built on Cold Specks' debut and breathed life into every track, Fool’s Paradise excels at singular moments and seems to struggle for air and space overall.

The album drifts by comfortably and could benefit from a few surprises, both tonally and musically. However, there are definite standout moments, such as “Oh Oh” and the bouncy “Angel”.

Everything here works, but that’s hardly great praise.

If this album was written and performed by humans I would say that, at best, it's a gratifying listen of retro arcade game inspired electronic music and, at worst, a whimsical yet unremarkable collection of instrumentals. Good fun, yet a little inconsequential.

Too often his raps are egotistical, self-pitying, trashy, crass or just clunky- distracting from the sonic feats behind the vocals.

Although the sometimes scattergun approach to genre-hopping has its drawbacks, what’s great about Policy is the future possibilities it allows Will Butler.

Pulling out the stitching from vintage rock sounds, they liberate its cloth from the need to fit over preset shapes.

Taking their cues from alternative sub-genres of the last thirty to forty years, Girl Scout offer their own self-effacing contribution to infectiously febrile effect.

It’s a real pleasure listening to the group traverse a new obstacle in working more with external artists. And while this album may lean on them too heavily, this is undoubtedly the same BROCKHAMPTON.

It seems they're traversing into territory that may feel foreign at times. Still, each project, especially The Runner, has seen them remain true to who they are and the music they make while still managing to add a new dimension and layer of complexity to their story and vision.

It’s not all as instantly catchy as its opening track, but you can bet it’s a grower, post-break-up or not.

Dawn is just the beginning for Yebba, and the sun is only rising on her promising future.

Somehow intimate yet vast, Summer Through My Mind is a record that you may not like or even “get”, but you can lose yourself in the familiar sense of disorientation and confusion of life that is revealed by a divine understanding within the songs themselves.

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.

While the first third of the LP shows a band more focused than ever, the lack of playfulness proves a detriment going into the middle chunk of Everything Harmony. ... The third to last track, “Ghost Run Free”, offers hope for fans.

That isn't to say the record is particularly socio-political, it's just that nestled between the grooves are wry examinations of the aforementioned, often only revealing themselves after several listens.

Its attempts to live up to the bare-bones stylings of his last “folk” album fall somewhat short.... Still, the songs themselves are as strong as ever--this may well prove to be the biggest grower in Beck’s catalogue.

Yellow has the cosmological foundation, but Thackray sounds nothing like the spiritual jazz artists of the twentieth century, nor like Shabaka Hutchings. She’s a unique voice in the London scene, and, as Yellow shows, her range is vast.

Over quiet vocals, nifty guitar pickings, and an open diary of personal confessions, Lily sets out 40 minutes of warm, stripped-back introspection. The tempo barely lifts above a sway, but if you lean into the motions, the familiarity comforts more than it wanes.

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.

This project DJ Kicks is the most successful as it is marked by a spirit of rebirth of its author.

It’s pretty and smooth; the shimmers and reverb of their earlier records have been compressed into a concentrated essence of what made them great in the first place.

It’s only six tracks long, and all of the tracks are under seven minutes, but it often feels twice that length. Souleyman’s music has always been intense, but Shlon feels as though it’s been dry-aged, sun-dried and mummified – his voice seems rawer and wilder than ever, the electronics are fiercer and sharper than before, and each of these jams has a sonic gravity you would expect to find in a Berlin club at 2AM.

Terrible/Beautiful has some wonderful songs and does emit glints of growth, even if it is a tad long and flabbier than previous outings.

Toro Y Moi’s overreliance on autotune can also stand in the way of his lyricism at points which is disappointing. Ultimately though, Chaz Bear’s decision to take himself less seriously is an experiment to be considered broadly successful and sees the release of some of his more inspired and infectious material in years.

Where the band truly shines is when it strikes a balance between erudite musicianship and songwriting prowess.

The band started with a really strong debut album, but Midnight Manor somehow takes this to new heights. You’ll hear the Stones, you’ll hear Lou Reed, you’ll even hear a bit of Alice Cooper in there - and you’ll come away having connected with a new, intensely fulfilling sense of cool.

If you like this sort of thing, then you’ll like it; if you’re indifferent toward it, then you’ll easily move on unaffected; if this isn’t your bag, it still won’t be.

They’re the whirling dervish we’ve enjoyed for decades, having brewed another storm when music needs a serious injection of fun again.

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.

While Tres Cabrones churns with the urgency and fire of a much younger band, the collection ultimately reveals more about the group’s raw early years and the gnarled musical roots that got them here, than providing any hints as to where in the hell the Melvins might possibly be going in the future.

Derivative 180 might be, but it’s also rammed full with jangly, addictive melodies that burst into life and disappear almost as quickly.

So sentimental and lyrical the whole thing is, and its content remains forthright and honest throughout. It is, indeed, a gratifying holistic experience.

There is more than enough genuine, heartfelt emotion and originality coursing through Four (Acts Of Love), with Mick Harvey proving himself yet again to have a tender touch when it comes to the delicate business of affairs of the heart.

A weighty 25 tracks of fresh faces and wrinkled battle-worn ones makes for a push and pull of swaggering persona and modern ideas, but it manages to exclude itself from being an indulgent mess.

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.

Morgan and Bridges compliment each other well on Cinderland.

If you like your music ordered and predictable, then Cheater probably isn’t for you. But if you’re the kind of person who embraces chaos and doesn’t care if the can of fizzy drink has been shaken up before you open it because the resulting sticky mess is just as sweet, then you’ll love this album.

When it's all done, you can hear that this is a good band, doing some good things but I wonder if with more focus or investment it might bear greater results.

Though it tails off, it starts wonderfully, and how much you enjoy No World’s second half will entirely depend on whether you thought the successes of its first were so great that they were worth repeating within the following 20 minutes.

The pacing of the album is questionable, and silly lines like “we got motherfucking internet” and proclamations of Southern living do get old by the record’s end. But these are nitpicking complaints of an otherwise fine rock record straight from Alabama.

It’s not polished, but it's chromatic, jagged, yet it jangles. It’s the sort of record that skates across a pond, leaving no marks, but the ice collapses moments after it graces it.

The album’s many incongruous textures are sensory experiences: formless and visceral and not always easy to connect to. People of the North produce collisions rather than compositions, and those of us unable to embrace the tumult likely won’t appreciate their music.

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.

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.

While the second release may not live up to the first, it’s hard not to hope for a third.

The intensity may curtail towards the end, but the band more than make up for it with an album that has a core of bulldozer guitar lines and assaulting drums, all of which carry with them the promise of the best house party you’ve ever been to.

I Go Missing In My Sleep is certainly short on instant reward, paying out higher dividends with repeated and closer listens. While there are portions where the rewards don’t feel like they justify the effort, Wilsen has thrust their own marker in the sand with this debut and given themselves a wealth of directions in which to pivot toward for the future.

It is not all perfect. Here and there, Mould switches onto autopilot and ends up filling up dead space in songs with half-arsed, Foo Fighters-ish powerchord passages, and the less said about the awful AOR dud “Let the Beauty Be” the better, But these moments are few and far between, with the bulk of the album consisting of straightforward, accomplished rock songs with enough muscle to anchor their poppy choruses and prevent them from floating off into Green Day territory.

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

Here we have him boldly stating his desires, aligning himself with our baser nature. Whether this is a sign of a lack of subtlety or a brave forward step is, of course, up for debate but that clash of the brutal and the human, the savage and the sensual is certainly compelling.

This is a lovely, lovely piece of work from a band that are still to produce a dud.

Poster Girl excels in its creativity, riffing on familiar pop music tropes to make fun and surprising tracks.

Consistently intriguing and occasionally glorious, Not Real feels like a genuine step forward.

Going it alone might not have been the most obvious next step for Pierce, however he has managed to maintain a catchy and consistent sound that justifies that decision.

Her earnestness makes for both difficult and comforting listening, as she vocalises some fairly morbid tales while offering comradeship through the strife.

A successful experiment, a great record in its own right, and (hopefully) a great primer for a subtly evolved next effort.

If you want audio gastronomy, go elsewhere. If, however, you just want some good ol’ dirty pop, pull up a chair and get stuck in.

This album is diverse, thoughtful and – most importantly – rewarding. It’s not the strongest work of Fucked Up’s career - but it may very well be the most thrilling.

Fratti’s arrangements tiptoe around Orcutt’s jagged idiosyncrasies, creating a melodically rich, soothing yet robustly physical sound that often resembles chamber music that happens to have a healthy lining of dirt under its nails, and which manages to sound simultaneously unvarnished in its uncluttered directness and nuanced in its alluring detail.

Instead of striving towards a perceived notion of happiness, Soft Landing is simply the crescendoing finale of a journey towards contentment.

Taking place in a world that requires you to understand the minutiae and dichotomy of love – where heroes and villains coexist – without this prerequisite knowledge, by the end of the flickering film, it may feel like a one-trick pony. However, if you've felt the cold light of day on you after your own divine tussle with Cupid, then this album will gently offer aid.

Whereas many of Lost & Found’s tracks felt stripped to their bare bones, most of the tracks here feel built from the ground up.

This is a stepping stone towards a new direction, and although it’s stunning in places, it’s not a triumphant renaissance.

An album that makes no apologies about its struggles, but it’s one of many moments that confirms Cara’s journey is as authentic as it is unpredictable.

Sincerely, Future Pollution continues to raise the band’s crooked bar.

Ironically it improves with age, so pop it on little and often--most tracks are around 90 seconds anyway--and let it grow on you.

The Nextwave Sessions is five tracks from a band who’ve etched their mark on the UK music scene, stretching their sound whilst still occasionally snapping back to what made them so appealing eight years ago.

Again, this is no ordinary breakup record; it's a turbulent reflection full of complexity pointing toward hope – that farewells don't have to end in goodbye but could evolve into something deeper and more meaningful.

Drawing on powerpop, new wave and girl group harmonies, this record is full of engaging tunes, doe-eyed dedications and wry witticisms.

It shows that Deerhunter are every bit capable of making a fully inclusive, autobiographical, all-american, classic rock album and that would be a journey worth watching--from outcast weirdos to national treasures.

The only issue for this record is that thereafter it meanders far too much and those lyrics that you loved at the beginning you begin resenting at the end as it almost becomes a caricature of itself. ... That doesn’t stop it being something great to chew on. Uppers is a great place to start and should rubber stamp TV Priest as one of, if not your favorite new act.

the New York duo have shown that they indeed own that genre because well, it’s their own genre. Thankfully, the same feelings are still mustered with new offering Magnifique--and then some.

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.

Different techniques are used throughout the album to create drama, allows a variety of emotive narratives to be explored.

Cutting Up The Present Leaks The Future is a refreshing listen. Its lo-fi aesthetic, invigorating guitar approach, nuanced throwbacks, heartfelt lyrics and general quality (among many other fascinating titbits) all make for a lovely record.

Perhaps their least remarkable record, from its messaging which has grown increasingly unrelatable outside of religious contexts, and a collection of instrumentals which are another iteration of a sound previously travelled on more groundbreaking records. But don’t forget, they’re still firmly within zeitgeist territory.

The production is perfection, and if you're in to classic pop musical cliches that defined electronic music in that era, Iteration becomes more of a celebration of nostalgia than perhaps a narrative into something deeper. The trip back is kind of fun, even if it is not directly intended.

Veronica Electronica may not add much to the already excellent era it comes from, but it certainly acts as a reminder to give the original another spin.

An experienced musician as Lambert is working with top producers such as Tommy English (Kacey Musgraves, Carly Rae Jepsen), Andrew Wells (Halsey, OneRepublic), and more to create a record that is beyond a covers album: it is an experienced display of composition, and how to reframe music to new audiences.

On this album, the influences are acknowledged and respected while still managing to sound original.

Strange’s open attitude towards collaboration benefits his music while he maintains a unique sound, an amalgamation of clear references into an entirely new shape. Horror seems to ask the listener to face themselves in the way Strange has on this record, and not everyone will be ready.

They've crafted a debut album together that proves both emotive and enchanting.

With the good comes the average and with it the great.

The misfiring cover of The Beatles’ "I Want To Hold Your Hand" aside, Pinkus Abortion Technician is more than a legacy record for the band. It reflects their continued enthusiasm and well of ideas and, most importantly, their willingness to keep it weird.

Kindred is a potent reminder of his prowess as a writer, delivered in a quick, forthright burst; it’s not the finest showcase for the sheer diversity he’s capable of as Passion Pit, but it does stake a claim--context considered--for his ongoing importance.

This is an album that you can feel as well as experience, perhaps the most complete Bon Iver album to date. Justin Vernon’s emotive approach to the album balances the individual and the communal with perfect precision. With a firmer grasp on reality and a new and brighter perspective, a unique mix of creativity and bewilderment remains at the core of Bon Iver.

The album has excellent high points – tracks that showcase what brought RAYE to the forefront in the first place.

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.

It’s difficult, though, to listen to fifty percent of Sonic Youth making endearingly experimental music and feel obliged to pick faults with it. When Last Night on Earth gets it right, the results are magical--the searing ‘The Rising Tide’ is the highlight of any post-Youth output to date.

EYEYE feels like a piece of magician’s silk that just keeps going and going, but it’s still the same piece of silk. Unlike Wounded Rhymes, this is not an album to put on at a party, but if you’re going through any kind of heartbreak, plug yourself into this immersive and impressive album and let it all out.

While you could write off this album for not attempting to push any musical boundaries, there's an authenticity to their relatable lyricism that gives reason to their polarising popularity.

Playland then is an enjoyable rock record with occasional dips into complacency that are sometimes matched by its moments of bravado and energy.