When it’s not inclined to cast off into distension, Silent Treatment is robust, purposeful and precariously, hauntingly sublime.

Overall, Trick is reminiscent of those rare enjoyable hangovers--contemplative, contented and tranquil. And like those hangovers, it is unusual and a delight.

Like a kid in a candy shop, Goddard has indulged in a selection splashed with dazzling colour; but the results are pic’n’mixed.

This is a varied, but still stylistically consistent and wonderfully accessible album. It’s a frequently wonderful and often fantastic album that demonstrates and exemplifies the joys of nostalgia.

The Badfinger-leaning “You” and quasi-Britpop of “Passionate Life” typify an era-colliding strain driving at Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard’s work, segueing track by track without feeling forced. Backhand Deals captures this pop revisionism, the band tweaking sounds of yesteryear with enough swaggering individuality in their own right.

The result is a seamless psychedelic synthesis of pop noir, ghostly '60s girl group sounds, Lynchian-style atmospherics, ambient washes and dance floor undertones, there’s nearly always a subliminal sense of unspecified menace or is it simply the deep disorientation that love and desire brings? Surrender and immersion are the only sensible responses.

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.

Period sounds like a record trying its best to be happy – the striking highs of something like “Praying” are nowhere to be found on this allegedly unrestrained album.

Thirteen albums in, and the Brian Jonestown Massacre may have just delivered their most impressive album yet. Clear heads prevail.

There has never been anything wrong with the oddities that emerge from Bob’s brain, and Blazing Gentlemen simply sees the man operating in as relentlessly fine form as ever.

Something Shines is a continuation of that frustration: so many wonderful moments let down by times where it sounds like Laetitia Sadier just isn’t completely focused, meaning it’s a record that’s okay, but one that could have been great.

I see it as less of a leftovers album, and more of a personally curated buffet.

The difficulties seem to arise when melody and vocals are expected to step up and carry a track for them. They don’t, much more often than they do, which ends up leaving the listener (or this listener, at least) vaguely dissatisfied.

If Blood Speaks found streaks of steel, Smoke Fairies is malleable in music and meaning.

It’s The Wedding Present as we’ve known/loved them since 1991’s tour de force Seamonsters--opening squalls of feedback, a deceptively sweet melody, and Gedge’s lyrics fluctuating between self-lacerating and acrimonious in the midst of ferocious guitars. We’re on far less familiar ground with a number of the other 19 tracks, though.

Homosapien is a good album with great moments.

Wonderful Wonderful is not an about-turn, not an exercise in New Earnestness, but the latest step in becoming the most concise version of themselves--it is true because it concentrates the traces of what they have always been.

While it’s good to have Sebadoh back thrashing around in the unfurnished basement of the music industry once again, you just wonder how much better the results would have been if they had a complete album’s worth of material that proved worthy of their return.

From the song structure to the vocal delivery, everything’s fairly laid-back and far from groundbreaking, but such is its lo-fi garage aesthetic.

A record that feels so familiar but with just enough surprises to make it exciting too. The three year wait, then, seems entirely worth it; that scrappy Brighton foursome have grown into a bonafide anthem factory with plenty more still to come.

New Gods is an unusually good album.

This is another lo-fi gem, and most encouraging is the fact that there’s apparently plenty more he can wring out of this particular sonic platform; he might not need slick studio production to genuinely capitalise on his potential.

Ke$ha too reaches for a savage base pull, lifting from the low-end, high-reward arena rock spectrum, a place of soaring peaks and valleys that still float above heads even at their most subdued, music meant to be blasted from towering stacks of speakers, so the stage appears bookended by the Willis Tower and the John Hancock Center and that finds its artistic beauty in the sheer size and ferocity of its scope and emotional appeal.

While moments on Species don’t quite touch on the grandeur we’ve heard from Moore in the past, the trio more than make-do by enticing us still. They’ve created an album that melds into what feels like a massive piece, our patience is required to see how it unfolds, to realize what’s contained inside, and what to do with that information if we ever uncover it.

Satan’s Graffiti or God’s art? shows that while other bands may find themselves naturally winding down when several albums in, Black Lips are still going from strength to strength.

It sounds precisely like what it is: a very straightforward Franz Ferdinand record.

Self-doubt and anxiety still flow through the veins of the record, albeit quieter and much more introspective, but this time it’s darker, and more matured. A vital record of universal emotions that makes the current global mantra of “we’re all in this together” feel just that bit more believable.

Calvi thrashes, broils, sweats, cries and lusts through the EP, and returns to reality remarkably unscathed from Strange Weather. Kudos to Calvi.

Overall, this is an impressively diverse set of tracks, Evelyn has demonstrated his capability of working in a myriad of genres with a number of collaborators, yet in its entirety, the record feels slightly lost.

Some of his trademark glitchiness is gone, but it's replaced with masterfully skillful composition and delivery and, like a Squarepusher record, Elektrac does not simply fade in the background; rather it requires an active listener and results in total appreciation of the talent.

Easily overlooking the occasional overindulgence, AudioLust & HigherLove offers no lacklustre moments to speak of. If you love the dancefloor and are willing to expand your tastes a little, this is the album you need to blast on repeat.

In many ways it’s a simple record, favouring technique over technology and to-the-point lyrics rather than those that miss the point completely.

Teleman have made a damn good start.

Heidecker has been releasing music for the past eight years in various forms, but it’s a blast to see him strike out on his own and create an album that is sharp, insightful, and often hysterical.

On her debut LP, Lola Kirke offers up an impressive set of songs, putting her own spin on the ‘70s rock and 21st century country for which her family name is famous.

What Kinda Music also features an unlikely collaboration with acclaimed MC Freddie Gibbs. Sonically, it fits perfectly: the Misch / Dayes project is not far off from Gibbs’ main production collaborator Madlib.

It’s the moments of clumsy transitions, erratic woodwind inclusions and underwhelming choruses however that throw some doubt on that suggestion, but there's still much to love on Girl.

While Praxis Makes Perfect does boast some terrific, shimmering, moments, it simultaneously puts hurdles in the way of an easy listen, especially towards the end where it all gets a bit... well, dull.

In the end, Ununiform has it's peaks and valleys.

Innerworld is a bit of a mixed bag, but one that's absolutely worth dipping into--every now and then you'll pull out some real gems.

The moment that you think you have She-Devils figured out is when it will catch you off balance and dig its horns in.

While the folk-essence lies below and often comes through in its truest form, the developments are clear and passionately welcomed all across Vide Noir. Where a band like Mumford & Sons abandoned ship from their beginnings to a mixed result, it sounds like Lord Huron have managed to evolve forward incorporating electric elements in a major way without forfeiting any kind of integrity.

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.

There's still an amicable charm to Take The Sadness Out Of Saturday Night but, overfilled with internal questioning and no reprieve of an answer, the sadness fails to truly lift.

It sometimes feels as though the sun has risen and those attempting to keep the party alive are fighting a losing battle. And a carnival with fighting of any kind is surely missing the point.

There are plenty of small discoveries to be found within each of With Love‘s intricate sound trips, but there is enough mystery and intrigue injected into each textured layer to keep you wanting to find new ways to get lost.

The constant zigzag between tempos and moods is tiring. The album is a true testament to her strengths as a lyricist and melodic writer but should have been allowed to be as chaotic as it first seemed to promise.

Iif Lo Tom lands somewhere between dumb hard fun and thoughtful jangle it likely wasn’t a creative direction anyone agonized over.

Disposable lyrics and an overly polished sound doesn’t necessarily mean that this is a bad album, though--it’s not, although it is likely to get lost in the midst of this year’s more thought-provoking and risk-taking albums.

Young Narrator in the Breakers isn’t shackled with deference or reverence. It balances musical intelligence with elegance, orchestrated chamber music with disco and in doing so shows a band in possession of not only a brilliant record collection, but the imagination to transcend it.

One of Chung’s strengths is not overstuffing his music, but there are moments where Parallels’ nonchalance makes it feel like less of a full album and more of a holdover between more momentous projects.

By leaning into their maximalist tendencies on Lust For Youth, the introspection that really marked this project out is lost among a smorgasbord of other people’s sounds.

Yes, the album could do with some variation in its sound and a few more wildcard tracks to switch things up a bit, but overall, MOSS is a gorgeous outing for Maya Hawke.

Beautiful Thing shows the other end of Alexis Taylors talents as both a songwriter and a musician, and it’s time that more discovered them.

“Brillo De Facto” prove vaguely purposeful efforts on the surface here, a second, third and fourth listen reveals a band seemingly bereft of inspiration, regurgitating tame Fallisms with--and it really pains your writer to say it--riffs conjuring every middling young rural pub rock band of the early Noughties.

This time round, despite still being pretty transparent with their influences, they are not totally overcome by them, and it results in The Voyeurs making a collection of songs more than worthy of a surreptitious peek.

This record blurs the lines between religion and atheism--it's a vital challenge to the inflexible labels that we are often asked to identify ourselves by. Alongside this, musical traits indicative of Glasgow greats see them nestle nicely into a thriving scene.

With the tactful musicianship of Holland Baroque thrown in for good measure, Confessions is a record of bottomless charm.

Ultimately the album's uneven tempo and uncertainty at its heart make it unclear what Hyperdrama wants to be and to whom they still appeal.

There are no full-force affairs here. Colt is a record that is to be felt however you see fit not to be simply thrust upon you. Relish in the relaxing comfort of Woods ethereal voice melting into this dark, stormy palace; it’s one that has been a long time coming, and leaves no stone unturned.

Electric Balloon sees Ava Luna staying the course in producing music that is as heady, adventurous and intelligent as that of their debut, if not more so.

The Road Part 1 may just be the album that finally sees Lavelle step away from the shadows of Unkle’s debut. The star power is there, the record beckons to be listened to on repeat, and there's definitely an anticipation of what is to come on The Road Part 2.

Brace the Wave, then, picks up some of that slack, and is a much more tonally consistent record.

On the strength of the songs here and the pitch perfect atmosphere they’ve conjured it would be criminal if we didn’t hear more from them in the future.

There is palpable pleasure--for both McCallum and her listeners--as she shrugs off her old identity and, in losing her voice, goes in search of herself.

TRUSTFALL is largely an introspective record – mostly quiet and tepid, breaking out in select moments.

Talkin’ To The Trees is no major return to form: there is too much letting go of unfinished things on view here for that. However, in its commitment to keeping things simple and looking inwards for inspiration, it resembles 2000’s underrated Silver & Gold, which alongside Toast (recorded in 2001 but not released until 2022) featured the last evidence of Young’s 1990s creative comeback: not a bad result for a 2025 model Neil Young album.

The album’s repeated motif of smoking and cigarettes as an addiction metaphor feels try-hard rather than smart. The best tracks are those that transpose the drama of Li’s best work to the album’s more explicitly pop context.

All told, Breach is a sustainable thrill that despite the ambulatory nature of their name is more of a monument, or a line in the sand, especially in light of purported inter-band friction during the recording process.

Acoustic Dust is for those who, at a bare minimum, enjoyed Ranaldo’s latest solo efforts and are interested enough to hear what some of them might sound like in a different setting.

It would be wrong to compare this with something like the ineffable Slates, given the group’s perennially shifting trajectory, but that EP has an enduring, remarkable consistency that’s all-too-often missed.

By Night, apparently named due to the smash and grab nature of late-night studio sessions, is muscular, robust and takes no prisoners. It does its noisy thing swiftly, leaving you feeling shattered and somewhat dazed afterward. A perfect representation of punk rock in 2019, then.

The sonic architecture crafted by Chance is both spirited and steely in its gravity.

In many ways, Föllakzoid’s latest is the kind of album to lose yourself in, a void to fall through or a sea to sink into. In the band’s ongoing effort to depurate and cleanse their sound, they have created an album that is at once ominous and tranquil, only occasionally held back by a delay in presenting its most interesting ideas.

The bold ambition doesn’t go unnoticed.

A slab of seventeen tracks, the bands ninth album has managed to pack enough dynamic twists and turns to make it feel like a joy ride rather than a struggling amble. Given the weight that One More Time... holds, it's an impressive feat and one that feels significant no matter which way you look at it.

For every time the record’s constituent parts unite into something engaging, one has to sit through extended periods of meandering, directionless twilight, which frequently hints at an interesting diversion but rarely delivers upon such promises.

What they have achieved here to a commendable extent, though musically the halves are far from polar opposites, is a compartmentalization of their dueling harsh and mellow impulses.

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

Off With Her Head is both focused and commanding. Her varied approach to songwriting and crafting results in some of her most unrelenting work yet, and its messiness is charming rather than trying.

As a project, Strictly 4 The Scythe is overcommitted and faintly ridiculous. Its collective chemistry is intermittent, owing something to its indiscriminately-into-the-crowd exuberance and occasionally tipping into something cynically curatorial. .... These failures are failures of abundance, though. Curry remains an earnest underground champion.

The consistent rapport between Prekop, Prewitt and McEntire is more than enough to propel the Sea and Cake steady on their course.

The real problem with The Classic is it just can’t often enough avoid the pitfalls of mediocrity, whether pastiche grooves, lackluster songwriting, or Joan’s own vocal limitations.

While it may not be as charmingly naïve as he claims, L’Aventura is an unexpected transformation of the classic Tellier formula: pure electro-madness and bearded sex-appeal.

It is such a thorough conglomeration of influences that it mostly manages to avoid sounding derivative.

It’s the witty and indirect way Thao and her band approaches the subjects in these songs that makes We The Common a minor delight.

With Afraid of Heights, a record that, for the most part, is the sound of a band treading water. It’s perfectly lovely water, all the same; there’s a slew of songs more than worthy of the record’s predecessor.

There are some dazzling moments here.

Anthems never quite lets itself be business as usual; the sound is cleaner, but not polished to a sheen. The anger is still there, but it’s tempered a bit--only a couple of tracks (including the aptly named "Fury of Chonburi") really pick up the pace to a recognisably Libertine degree. Lyrically, though, every facet of the band’s existence is dissected.

Coherent though it is, songs have a habit of blending into one another, and all too often end up sounding like that noise when you’re constantly on hold.

Musically, Good Sad Happy Bad is both challenging and engrossing.

By catering to everyone in an effort to uplift, Common doesn’t connect with the listener as much as he could–and as much as he has in the past. Common's big tent might be too spacious for its own good.

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.

Jaga Jazzist's music has never been shy on the intellectual front, and for those willing to take the plunge, Starfire's innate intricacies leave as much to be discovered as the skies themselves.

If The Baby is the audacious younger sibling, then Scout is the more modest elder. ... It is indie rock that is at one moment huge and soaring, the next breathtakingly intimate. Delivering remarkably visceral songs, she is opening the window into a clear view of what will surely be a great and long-lasting career.

Precipice is that rare album that brings together vulnerability, self-reflection, and the trademarks of a mainstream milestone: super earworms, coolly cosmopolitan sonics, and a voice that grows more compelling with each track. Precipice is De Souza’s “arrival” album and a singular addition to the contemporary pop canon.

Green Lanes is rooted in it's own moment, passing without much incident, shining brief, but bright, and remaining charming.

Dungeonesse have brazenly managed to distill the best parts of modern and classic pop radio down to a sweet, everlasting core while creating their own sparkling, sugary sound in the process.