Ultimately, there is a place for this kind of music, but it feels horribly dated.

She sticks to familiarity and abides heavily to it--something worth noting, but while the album battles to make its way, her efforts aren’t entirely lost.

It’s a more evolved release for sure, and with less it seems Eugene McGuinness can actually achieve more.

Its best moments are closer to pop-punk and synth-pop than anything resembling traditional hip-hop.

Testament to its addictive charm, Erotic Reruns leaves the listener yearning for an extension to the album’s near half an hour running time.

Wicked Nature is certainly the start of a renaissance, if not quite the all-conquering return it could have been

$ingle$ 2 acts as a highlights reel for the past five years, and its subtle shifts leave it feeling less like a compilation and more like an album on shuffle.

Despite being as zesty as it is entertaining, Feed The Beast feels compromised as it shoots for the stars.

Beautiful and with a hint of danger, Heritage is approachable and voguish, a slice of neon noir as atmospheric as it is sleek, and a testament to Grellier’s formidable world-scoring talents.

On its own merits, Galapagos offers diversity and stickiness and ensures that the Post War Years might hang around a while yet.

Whilst lyrically, there’s a strong thread of longing and the past, musically, it’s constantly moving forwards, and after MatA’s somewhat leisurely start, it’s nice to see this promising progression.

The album slowly loses its sanity: Edging over that transgressive line, like all good punk bands do.

With For The Company, Little May have added another worthy entrant to 2015's albums of modern blues and, unlike the relationships that inhabit its songs, it gets better with each visit.

At its best the record is a playful, pulse-raising thrill-ride; and you can see that musical dexterity on display here will be staggeringly impressive or bewilderingly inconsistent, depending on your taste. I guess Yesterday Was Forever, but tomorrow is where we’ll see the best from Kate Nash: this feels like the last step before greatness.

While Purple Noon is likely Greene’s most lackluster output, it’s not a total bust. He does manage to squeeze in a few noteworthy moments that briefly highlight his songwriting.

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.

Emmanuel and Malay spend so much time creating a sense of space that most of the music is consumed by the vacuum; floating with nowhere to resonate.

Their music is an extension of themselves, pure id, and that’s what makes them so enthralling. This is the sound of a death-or-glory headlong charge.

They’ve evolved in shocking ways, but still remain loyal to their m.o., and thickly smother everything in a shoegaze glaze; culminating in a record that’s smoother, smilier and more adventurous than their eponymous debut.

Blitzen Trapper are unabashed traditionalists, and they’re not shy about letting you know it.

Stranger, is a fully formed welcome to the staying power of Lean, and this third chapter is unlike anything he’s done before, while simultaneously being everything he’s done before.

While it’s likely to be the most enthusiastic record you hear all year, Yes, It’s True is probably the band’s weakest album yet.

While it’s a shame Radiohead and Bowie in the flesh couldn’t make it to the sessions, Gabriel’s concept fulfills its original intention: to show everyone a little appreciation and respect, even if the end result comes out a butcher shop’s tribute to a man whose melodic craftsmanship is beyond approximation.

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.

It’s an unsettling, incomparable racket of The Fall at their wonderful, frightening best.

Whilst there are fragmented glimpses of influence peppered throughout, the record remains very true to And So I Watch You From Afar’s sound; too much at the beginning, but brilliantly later on.

Someday, Buddy doesn’t shy away from its own big moments, but it does have a way of deflecting attention from them.

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.

There are no question marks next to ambition here but rather a general air of confusion in the artistic make-up of the songs that makes Mosaic a slightly frustrating listen.

The Ark Work pays tribute to Hunt-Hendrix’s dogged desire to push listeners’ buttons. Sure, this could all be a massive wind-up, but to these ears Liturgy seem to have melted down the traditional ingredients of black metal and crafted it into something unyielding, unique and ultimately engrossing.

The lyrics are tighter, more poetic and speak volumes of a band that have something quite specific to express.

Greene dials down, as was the case with the preceding LP, Notes from Quiet Life serving as a comedown equivalent to the sonic swelter of the former.

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.

Living Fields achieves that rare feat of giving electronic music a beating heart, and is without a doubt one of the best records of its class this year.... And although Portico as musicians are still pushing themselves to new places, they’re not quite pushing the listener as far as they used to.

Elegant and artful to its core, Where Wildness Grows is an impressive step forward from a band who seemingly have more to prove to themselves than anyone else.

Kamikaze is the sound of Eminem with his back against the wall, and this has led to some of his most invigorated writing in years--albeit with some troubling lyrical results. Whether he'll be able to maintain this level of energy into his next project is up for debate; for now though, any inspiration is promising.

There are a few duds in there where the dynamism and the delicacy clash ineffectively, but they are outnumbered by the surprising number of triumphs.

Dense, uneasy psychedelia dominates, and although this isn’t a product of wilfully inaccessible experimentation, neither does it contain much in the way of instant melodies and conventional song structures.

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.

Though impressive and vaguely explorative, the record falls slightly short of the mark for an outfit aiming to reinvent themselves.

The second half passes with little to no note, leaving a yearning for perhaps a bit more adventure in the future.

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.

It certainly sounds very much like the record he wanted to make, and nothing like anything he's done previously.

The Liverpool five-piece let the album form organically and in doing so have released a sharp, shimmering and versatile album.

Even if dented in places by swings of irony (this is, after all, a band that named their first album Nirvana), there’s an undeniable positivity underlying 10000 that rises above the din.

This album is a far cry from the 90’s American college-radio rock of their Blumberg-indebted debut, but, for a seemingly make or break record, Stranger Things just doesn’t really take enough risks.

It’s perfectly passable, but everything that marked The Head and the Heart out as potentially exceptional has been buried.

It can be straightforward, but more often than not on Too Much Information it’s actually quite clever.

This is aural nutrition if ever there was such a thing.

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.

Where ideas are intelligently pursued and the power is more restrained, the result is a delicate beauty, as in the enigmatic delight that is "Stellar", an almost static piece that turns gracefully on a beautiful keyboard sequence, concluding fittingly. It’s the highlight of the album and works much more effectively than the long title track that promises much in the first third but then lacks clear direction.

While psych may offer an altered experience, a shifted perception, a rarified reality, Dead Meadow’s take on it this time around is an occasionally wonderful, momentarily beautiful, but largely confused and confusing experience.

Ultimately, those adamant that the mid-Noughties garage-rock revival was the most important thing that's ever happened to music might find something to enjoy from The Making Of, but for the rest of us The Bohicas have produced remarkably unremarkable first effort.

Law and Order attempts to restore some sort of musical faith, but comes across as sounding like a narscisstic debut that only Jonathan Rado really understands.

All the components are there, Joey Santiago’s guitar work is still impressive, Lovering’s drumming is still vigorous, but the problem is Black Francis himself. The compelling songwriting that completed Pixies is no longer there.

In short, Trials more or less achieves the goals the band set with Fear.

Smith’ sugary falsetto comes across a tad one dimensional and inexpressive on his solo debut In The Lonely Hour.

Wild Things does get it right in parts, especially when the approach is that of slightly anxious pop.

At times, it verges on saccharine, but these heart-felt, jubilant moments are so unexpected they are actually endearing.

On LOVE + FEAR, Marina shoots for stripped-bare big pop, and for the most part, she achieves it, but various clichéd lyrics occasionally stop her sincerity in its tracks.

As could be expected, Someday World has a flair for inventive interlocking compositions, but these are out of step thanks to its uneven pacing and are often palmed away by an enthusiasm for accelerated, busy instrumentation.

The key problem with Sing Into My Mouth, though, is that this willingness to go against the grain of the cosy sonic identity that the pair have carved out for themselves is all too rare, and inevitably, more often than not the covers sound uninspiring in that form at best and plain wrong at worst.

It’s hugely to Owens’ credit that he’s turned his hand at a slew of different styles in assured fashion to date, but neither this album nor Lysandre really hold the universal pop appeal of Girls’ output, either.

Encyclopedia might not be a record to soundtrack cheery bank holiday getaways, but it provides enough counter-attack to its own bleakness that it's not an inherently malicious listen (although it does have its moments).

They’ve not quite mustered the courage to take the plunge yet, and instead what we have with FM Sushi is a band teetering on the cusp of greatness.

This particular realm of music expands, and you need to expand with it, or remain interesting enough to survive as you are; Courteeners have unfortunately done neither.

Big Deal's third album is pleasantly dreamlike and fuzzy, but lacking focus.

While they aren’t designed to make pop bangers, they clearly have an ear for the kind of instrumentation and production tricks that enable them to cut to the feeling much faster than naked piano. Let’s hope the future holds a bit more exuberance and a bit less niceness.

Desire is the sound of a group who have thoroughly found themselves and sees them standing supremely confident, whilst retaining elements of older material including “Wonderful Life” and “Miracle”. Seemingly, 2017 is the year of the upbeat indie dance record, and it belongs to Hurts.

I Love You So F***ing Much sees Glass Animals navigate a tricky tightrope between the ascendancy of their last album and a self-knowing tricksiness that accompanied other works – taunting energy that belies ten tracks showcasing the band at their most introspective.

Through a well suited use of room mics, live tracking and the odd vocal take from Gano’s demos making the cut, Jeff Hamilton and the band have successfully fuelled We Can Do Anything with the scruffy-but-vibrant spontaneity that made all their earlier records the much loved works they are.

Rousing, downtempo pop to soothe a troubled soul.

Whilst there are echoes of the bluster of Florence and the Machine and the minimalist soul of Jessie Ware here, Soft Control is a distinctive take on modern pop and an album with crossover appeal.

Feathers excluded, art abstracted from the man, Black Panties is one of the finest albums of the year.

There might well be a genuine intention on Ebert’s part to produce something of real artistic worth, but so long as he remains as verbally vapid and as musically undisciplined as he has been on this record, it’s hard to see his output having serious appeal to anybody who wants to be engaged on a level beyond mindless singalong.

It’s not until Meteorites broadens its scope a little that it begins to offer up genuine highlights.

There's no doubt that Spaceman offers guilt-free pop with a tinge of R&B. Unfortunately, this doesn't make up for the lack of depth and emotion which means, despite being Jonas’ strongest work yet, the album still runs the risk of being forgettable.

Surrender, accordingly, is the sound of a band in the throes of an identity crisis.

Blonde is a crushingly unoriginal piece of work, weirdly proud of its derivative nature, and anybody who wanted to listen to this kind of album could easily find a raft of better records in the last few years alone.

He clearly has a blast doing this, and it shows through in a release like Four Foot Shack.

Riff’s lyricism, rightfully lionized for its eccentricity and boundary pushing--Riff Raff, along with rappers like Heems and Kool A.D., extend the idea of rapping as abstract expressionists did painting--is not so often hailed for its dexterity, which Neon Icon demonstrates in its barbed hooks, lackadaisical lopes, professional wrestler entering the ring peacocking.

Most of the tracks come in at under two minutes long; short drafts and ideas stitched together with smoky loops and obscure vocal samples. An atmospheric and pensive sound shrouds the majority of Rainbow Edition - the only thing missing is the underlying grooves that were found on their past releases, leaving some of these beats slightly too industrial and cold.

Her latest offering, however, lacks the key component that made the bizarre spectacles that accompanied her other albums slightly less irritating--consistently good pop songs.

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.

These young Mancunians have perfected what makes pop such an addictive, essential genre, and My Mind Makes Noises is both immediate and idiosyncratic. Pale Waves’ presence may be gloomy, but their songwriting and ambition could not be brighter.

Broken By Desire To Be Heavenly Sent is a triumphant return from Capaldi. There’s plenty that’s consistent with his debut.

It’s very hard to understand where the identity of the band will finally settle when it alters its mask so numerously and swiftly across these ten disparate tracks.

The Monsanto Years is another inessential and underpowered Neil Young album to file alongside the likes of 2003's ecological garage rock opera Greendale: good ideas and inspiring ideals grounded by half-baked presentation and paucity of substantial songcraft.

This might be a transient flash in the pan for some, but it’ll find a special, permanent home in the hearts of others.

Prism shows a more mature side to the singer, an ability to really connect with her experiences whilst still producing absolute pop smashes. It’s a combination that suits her very, very well.

Were Twain willing to engage with additional genres, it’s quite possible Queen of Me would hold up as a more engrossing listen. Instead, what we’re given is the audio equivalent of speed dating. The songs hint at Twain’s vivacious personality, but never quite let us in.

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

As it is, the quality is a bit inconsistent, which is a shame, as the bits that are good are really, really good.

Certified Lover Boy is polished, well-executed and yet is completely devoid of ambition or memorable moments.

Diana Ross simply has no right to produce music this engaging, this vital, at this point in her life - and this devil may care attitude has enabled her to produce one of the most definitive bodies of work in her entire career.

It may not be revolutionary in its music or pantomime, with some evident missteps. Still, the secret society is doing a world of good by exposing a gamut of fans to the many genre-bending tricks they possess.

Comebacks are often ego trips, but never quite as brazenly as this.

Sean Carey could really do with pushing himself further than he does at any point on this laurel-resting stopgap release.