Earth finds Neil Young in his element expressing the collective concerns of the modern age, a fitting coda for an artist whose name has become a byword for transition and re-invention.

There’s evidence that he’s pursued some kind of consistency to the album’s mood, but it’s sonically so scattered that you can’t help but feel he’s fighting a losing battle; ultimately, he’ll end up back where he started--with devotees satisfied, but little in the way of fresh converts.

The whole record is coated in a dense echo-fug, and is completely and utterly one-dimensional. But that, to be quite frank, is the strength of Initiation.

Ultimately, Delta Machine is a record full of terrific moments, reminding you of why you fell in love with Depeche Mode in the first place.

You Can Do Better is still the JoFo you might know and love, and for anyone coming to it fresh it actually provides a fantastic gate-way album, with fairly obvious retro sensibilities but an energy, enthusiasm and self-confidence that keeps it feeling relevant and modern.

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.

This is a relatively direct album, and it gives you all you need to know about it within the first ten minutes, but its reliance on a consistent sonic palette only increases its power. Of course, Rønnenfelt is the star of the show – his name is on the marquee this time – but the songs are a very, very close second.

Chaosmosis has its moments, but it sure is patchy.

Whilst with Sakura they haven’t quite achieved that elusive balance between the raw emotion and intimacy that made Big Deal so enticing in the first place and the intensity and power of a full band, all the signs suggest they will soon.

It's everything you've ever loved about Guided By Voices, all smashed together in one record.

It doesn’t quite all come together here as a whole album, veering between low-key dreamy ambience and more up-tempo indie pop.

The album certainly finds the fiery BRMC of old rekindled, with the band wisely applying the lessons they’ve learned over the years to fortify their bold but familiar sound that, while not approaching a reinvention by any means, at least represents a definite rebirth.

All We Need ultimately serves as another reminder that--with some seasoning--there is a great Raury record coming down the pipeline. This just isn’t it.

From their start, Oh Wonder were putting out high quality tracks that were stylistically interesting and excellently produced. In some ways, it would be foolish of them to deviate from the formula that served them so well in the past. As a record, this is unsurprising by wholly satisfying nonetheless.

The Aces are reaching for the stars on this release, and the glimmers of what they could be further down the road burn bright. Unfortunately the album is brought back to Earth when their usually precise hooks and focused direction are left behind in favour of lackadaisical experimentation – the candid lyrics manage to cut through, but it's easy to imagine this album being seen as transitionary in hindsight.

The stories he attempts to weave into each track mistake frankness for plainness, venting with both the vagueness and the strange specificity of an Instagram story stating, “Only the real ones will know.”

jUSt is by no means a catastrophe, it's just too empty an artefact to recommend to fans of a band who once infuriated, teased, scalded, intoxicated and destroyed their listeners with effortless aplomb.

The band's signature swagger and theatricality is present throughout, but there are moments of vulnerability and lamentation that add depth in all the right places.

The record is a fluid blend of Goldie taking reflective looks back on where he’s come from and the myriad influences that have shaped him over the years, alongside a sonic perfectionist’s competitive desire to push the music world forward with his new work.

It takes the form of a vanity project rather than a perceptive communication between artist and listener.

Bigfoot is bittersweet; cheerful and charming in small doses, and--as that’s all you get--it’s time well spent.

While there is nothing astounding or extraordinary about The Still Life, what it does is indicate that Alessi Laurent-Marke is a songwriter and musician who already shows a real promise of creating something very special later on in her career.

Once more, Nightmares On Wax provide the backing music to the party; once more, your enjoyment is only limited by your own imagination.

A songwriter with a distinctive world view definitely but rarely the musical nous to really make the most of it--as such North American Poetry amounts to some sweet melodies delivered with slacker poise but is largely forgettable.

9 Dead Alive has strength, beauty and often a spirit of engagement with the tenebrous. At times, dialogues areunresolved, yet despite (because of?) this, there is vital music-making from two uncompromising artists.

Dungen Live is first and foremost a team effort, a totem for the kind of intuitive and intoxicating musical family communion that is hard to come by.

Idols fails to expand on the promise of its grand opening statement, instead resulting in a heavily flawed fourth outing, overly reliant on the use of tired rock caricatures and repetitive song structures.

Hayward’s kinetic drumming and Moore’s topographic guitar sprawl recurringly align and separate, speed up and slow down together, in what start to feel like nearly identifiable patterns. Such shapes may be just figures in the clouds, but they catch the imagination as they drift by.

Death From Above might have pulled their brand of wreckage rock even further towards the dance floor with this, yet it still manages to further the rawness and execution they’ve become so mythical for. Most of all they feel like a band without any limits here.

We're left with 14 songs that, as promised, deliver a more personal side of Sheeran, who pens ruminative statements such as "Is this the ending of our youth when pain starts taking over?" ("End of Youth") yet he still alludes us through pop songwriting that is convinced emotions need to be dressed up as repetitive pedestrian motifs and served up on a silver platter.

It’s an aimless, winding record that occasionally stumbles upon greatness, but with the amount of mediocrity, you can’t help feel that the high points are mere accidents.

Methyl Ethel have an innate knack for a tune, yet the darker ideas can feel unremittingly earnest.

It’s not their most nuanced piece of work to date, but it does boil down many of the key components of the band’s sound to something that feels universally accessible; you get the feeling that this is a rarities compilation that’s actually been put together intelligently, and there’s no overstating just how rare that is.

It takes from every era of the duo and amalgamates it in such a way that you it never feels forced or out of place. While we may miss those cutting riffs, they do more than enough to satisfy our thirst.

Everything is presented with a glossy sheen which may prove too much for some, especially fans of arguably their best album, 1998’s underrated and unloved Adore, and as with every other Pumpkins album, it’s hard to see where Corgan and Chamberlin end, and the other players begin. Yet if you weren’t expecting much from this latest attempt at keeping the band alive, you'll be impressed at how revitalised they sound.

Summer of ’13 is an album that takes itself with a pinch of salt, experimenting with good humor and having a lot of fun in the process.

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.

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.

It’s personal--perhaps too much so--in that it can be inaccessible and/or devoid of meaning outside of the immediacy of her heart. But then it doesn’t feel like a self-indulgent collection; there’s a sincerity to her endeavours that endear you to the album despite it’s abundance of misgivings.

With Transfixiation, they’ve provided a compelling rebuke to their detractors; once again, there’s no shortage of consideration behind the chaos.

In all though, Kiss Land succeeds on not only being an album in the assumed sense of the word, with big singles, tasty hooks and singalong phrases, but as a concept record too, one that takes you hostage.

Quarters is a reference to Berlin and a statement of intent then, and like the city Seams is likely to be on plenty of cool-hunters’ lists from now on.

For a record that on first listen sounds so sparse, Await Barbarians is a trove of sentiment and intricacy.

There are a decent amount of genuinely stirring moments on this album to prevent it from falling completely flat. It’s interesting and occasionally shines but, front-ended with its strongest tracks, Two Trains ultimately runs out of steam.

Castles moves from darkness to hope, and ends not with a conclusion, but possibilities.

Through all its globe-trotting nuances and outlandish statements of grandeur, it’s a striking pop record.

Painted Palms’ firm grasp on hooky songwriting and Pet Sounds-levels of vicarious whimsy makes for a rather interesting edifice of introspection for a debut LP, despite its cluttered arrangement.

The hodgepodge feel is a shame, because at its best RELAXER is euphoric and poignant, at its worst it is frustrating and lumpy.

To give some credit, the duo do play around with genre here, dabbling with electro, metal and hip hop across its tracks, but fail to make it cohesive.

Content wise, Glow is everything you could want from a dance artist’s debut album. It’s produced well, it’s cheeky in parts, dark and suggestive in others and varied enough in regards to genre.

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.

Full Bleed reveals a complete lack of understanding of the dynamics of black metal. It doesn’t sound like a black metal record and never gets close to sounding like it.

If this it to be M.I.A.’s final release, it’s a fittingly confrontational, vibrant and invigorating piece of work.

Because the Internet, like Camp before it, fails to bring the sparkle that Glover has displayed in his comedy writing to his music; where his debut was crude, cartoonish and silly, this effort is faux-reflective, misguided and ultimately collapses under the weight of a concept that’s almost impossible to make sense of.

For now though, things are still at the experimental stage.

Standouts like “The Sun Also Rises,” “Car into the Sea” and the title track are also just as groovy as anything from that era, but never does the album sound stuck in it. The Modern Age is a very welcome return.

Do What You Want To, It’s What You Should Do--isn’t really revelatory in any sense, though it’s an irrefutably gorgeous document.

They’ve consolidated on the progression made between their first two albums and in turn produced their finest effort to date.

None of the tracks surpass the original (except probably Coldplay), but it doesn’t feel like the intention to ‘one-up’ other bands here. It’s an intimate, nostalgic affair for a small minority. For others, it’ll be less vital.

Crimes of Passion is a stellar fourth effort and may prove to be the defining record in what surely will be a long career ahead for the Crocodiles.

Sisyphus is a tragic waste of a vivid storyteller.

Ultimately, one of No No No’s greatest strengths is its lack of clarity.

The album is so much more than a set of rough drafts of more considered compositions. These 1998 offerings succeed in their own right.

The results can be more chilly than chilled this time, not always making for an easy listen, but there’s certainly a process at play here.

Singles "Human" and "Skin" are due their high praise, but there seems little soul to the rest of proceedings.

Barragán‘s casual atmosphere sees Blonde Redhead at their most laid back.

Whilst Love Goes could have been an album containing only Smith’s newer dance sound, the album does offer something for all Sam Smith fans, to mixed results.

It’s a little difficult to get a handle on his subject matter, although there’s an engaging quality to his delivery that makes him worth sticking with. The rest of the band work more cohesively, applying mob shouts and sunny pop ‘oohs’ to the ADD-riddled backing.

Our Nature is a seriously accomplished pop record, and a perfect progression.

Returning to the attic in which they wrote and recorded Broom, the three-piece have suitably streamlined their sound to accommodate the lesser manpower and what’s more, it works.

Neil Davidge takes full advantage of his big opportunity to finally show off his textured sonic mastery on a full-length that is entirely his own, and Slo Light only enhances his reputation as one of the greatest sound alchemists of his time.

The record does get a little samey in parts, and at times feels like a soundtrack for another Juno or Away We Go. But the album fits a very particular aesthetic.

Contradictions is certainly a step in the right direction and sees Paul on the rise once again. This album is a dark horse, a grower, and one that current fans and newcomers to his music will appreciate alike.

While not remotely original--the unabashed attempt to salvage the last remains of anthemic indie-rock music is admirable in itself.

While they’ve certainly sharpened some of the edges since Little Moments and brought their newfound gloom-and-synth-addled style to a more formidable shape, Only Run still suffers a significant lack of the sheer vibrancy and enthusiasm that made their off-kilter beginnings so invigorating.

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.

Whitney have updated their sound, but they do it with such subtlety and finesse that it feels incredibly natural and organic.

Myself in the Way opens with “Stone Station,” which teases a sound and feel similar to that of past records, but with an added flair of '80s inspired ethereal synths, to the point of almost sounding like a piece of the Stranger Things soundtrack.

Too often there’s simply a lack of focus to the songs on this album, which would have benefitted from keeping things a lot more simple and in line with The Strokes’ indie rulebook.

For a debut The Amazons have crafted an exceptional initial offering.

Despite it being a visionary work from an artist seldom seen nowadays, The Big Dream is more cohesive, more coherent but all the less fearless because of it.

There’s no denying that Head Carrier generally veers between sounding like an exhausted tribute to their former configuration to feeling something akin to a disposable Frank Black solo effort via a few conciliatory tracks.

Self-mastering some of the tracks was a practical as well as a creative choice for the Brooklyn front man.... By doing this his output is becoming increasingly self-reflexive of his sound, his motivation and his vision--it unifies his music, making it stronger and Deezier.

It’s nuanced, subtle and magnetically beautiful.

The line between progression and self-indulgence in music is largely a flimsy one. However, The Phoenix Foundation walk it beautifully.

This is a conventional theme LP rather than a document providing a great deal of insight into Bright Eyes’ musical development.

If you can let Pacific Daydream completely envelope you; throw you to the beach that instigated the album, then you’ll find sheer happiness here. If, however, you go in with any expectations of than that, you might find things a bit more difficult.

Yes, they are working with a previously-explored aesthetic, but they are molding it into a beautifully-original product, per a vision that refuses to forget music’s former greatness.

Caveman could benefit from a further refining of their sound, paring down the influences just that bit more until we get a brilliant space-rock act delivering on every song. As it is Caveman is one great leap forward and a glimpse into a tantalising future.

She might have talked about breaking the rules on Sucker, but here you can feel her doing it, and it turns out to be a thrilling ride.

Richard D James still manages to be one of electronic music’s most captivating producers, and even if this does not have quite the same effect on the listener as much of his other work, it still feels far more engaging and accomplished than a simple genre exercise.

All Around Us can’t seem to feel anything other than transitional. Having evolved some semblance of a skeleton from her previous work, given its flashes of excellence, one can’t help but hope it ultimately morphs into a fully moving, breathing being next time out.

To put not too fine a point on it, Vicissitude is bland.

Self-produced and mixed, A Portrait of an Ugly Man feels all at once familiar and fresh.

This record certainly makes things no clearer, but like standing and observing any great work of art, it’s true intentions and artistic merit might not become immediately clear. Only upon repeat experience may the true extent of its merit reveal itself.

There’s a human element to the record, missing from so many of their contemporaries’ efforts, waiting to be engaged with for those who choose to scratch beneath the surface; for everybody else, Blood Red Shoes will simply be the riotously fun sound of a band who have well and truly cast off the shackles.

Beautiful in places, but falling flat on an emotional level elsewhere, there is an air of duality in Lo-Fang’s work as light and dark elements intertwine and clash with each other. For someone who has done so much travelling, it is clear that Lo-Fang is still finding his feet.

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.