In fully owning their anguish and collective past, present and future, HEALTH have yet another essential record to their name - one which fully and flawlessly embraces savagery and sincerity in equal measure.

The unreleased cuts provide many of the highlights. Two takes on obscure vintage rhythm & blues cuts hit a raw energy that the more heavily polished arrangements lack.

GOLDEN comes out guns blazing, full of personality, and as a result feels very front-loaded. Jung Kook’s desire to do his best work is obvious, but a little bit of pacing of the tracklist wouldn't have gone amiss, as energy levels (and featured artists) peter out all too quickly.

While the album is surely born of a specific shared experience, Sun June creates enough space to leave that jaguar’s identity up to interpretation for the listener.

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.”

There are a couple of songs on here – like the dull "Crosswind" – which play it too safe, but for Stapleton, a more succinct record is no bad thing because his talent is pretty direct in the first place. In short, as the country scene gets more crowded, Stapleton remains its finest voice.

Though it may confound the fans who want more of the yelping renegade of old, this is Brown’s most personal and cohesive record to date; difficult, timely, and necessary. To the man’s credit, he can drop so many of his signature tics and tricks without becoming any less captivating an artist.

While the record doesn’t necessarily uncover any new ground not previously telegraphed by its first half, letting the beat ride until the end of “Addict” will reveal a welcome surprise: you’ve been conned out of a half-hour.

Emerging from the Norwegian shadows, the gentle genius has again struck with his best work to date.

Formentera II more than succeeds in claiming its own place in the world, less a sequel more a very satisfying entity in its own right – on this evidence Metric’s continuing existence seems entirely justified.

The record sits firmly within her existing catalogue, but that growing self-assurance brings a new charm to the Baby Kingdom.

With keen ears for melody, turbo-paced beats perspire, and episodic SFX rouses either pure revelry or contemplation. She’s on to a marvellous start.

It may be shrouded in shadow, but Acts of Light is a hopeful record, rooted in intense feeling, nostalgia and desire to connect the past with the present. Woods’ talent for communicating these emotions commands a solemn and sublime respect.

Throughout, there is a compelling sense of commitment and deep love towards the material and the concept from both the stage and the audience – but ultimately the undertaking is perhaps a bit too respectful to make Cat Power Sings Dylan truly come alive.

Abstract philosophizing aside, Sweet Justice remains as immediately gratifying as the rest of her catalogue; its rapping is smoother, its hooks are catchier, and its instrumentals more fine-tuned and studied.

The final 2 minutes of the [last] track feature a stream of guitar-generated distortion dotted with melodic hints that quickly rise and pass. It’s a glorious coda to an impressive return, a reemergence that shows the band at their most versatile, free to be themselves.

He provides a gentle yet absorbing escape from the hypervigilance with which we patrol our own lives. 12 songs that are soft around the edges and wash over the listener in shades of sunset orange and pink, guitars morph and collapse in on themselves like the contents on a lava lamp.

This is rich, idiosyncratic music that’s too wild and strange to copy.

With tongues remaining cemented firmly in cheeks, Venom is a rip-roaring effort from Wargasm and a testament to their prowess as being “not just any metal band”.

Jenny from Thebes, depending on one’s fascination with The Mountain Goats’ 30-odd years of winding lore, may either have the connotation of your dad and his group of friends finally getting around to making that album they always talked about, or, where charity applies, stay just high enough above passability that it can be recommended by fans with the asterisk, ‘one of the better ones.’

Where some vault tracks felt like they muddled the existing story in past rerecordings, the vault tracks on 1989 (Taylor’s Version) give it more colour – a kaleidoscope of stories and feelings that mirror the sounds heard and explored throughout.

This is a stylish, warm-hearted album with a sense of humour, it takes a few risks and seeks to entertain, more often than not it does its job.

It’s by no means perfect, but that’s not what the Rolling Stones are about. These troubadour, raconteurs set the blueprint and this is them laminating it for good measure, refusing to ever let the moss grow fat.

It’s a scintillating sliver of glass to the senses – a defiant, desolate, and darkly beautiful album that commands multiple listens and highlights once more that Forest Swords is and always has been at the top of his game.

Unforgettable, powerful, and easygoing all at once, Ragu’s maximalist debut is a special mark on the landscape from a new pop disruptor.

Hayter fervently straddles a line between proclamation and judgment, venting and preaching, deliverance and elitism. She is, perhaps, lost and saved at the same time, again wielding paradoxes with grace and ferocity.

My Big Day is a powerful offering from Bombay Bicycle Club. Vibrant, joyous, and completely delectable, the band have taken a daring U-turn from their usual breezy, laid-back numbers, and its paid off.

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.

No matter who it is, we know who Sampha is: a generational talent who has once again delivered a rich, emotional work for us to process. Lahai is phenomenal.

In true Simz fashion, conscious reflections unfold over the producer’s sprawling arrangements. NO THANK YOU makes certain that every gap is filled tastefully: bellowed vocal ad-libs and melodies (“X”); tasteful guitar tinkles (“Who Even Cares”); or sampled vocal interjections (“Heart On Fire” or “Sideways”).

It’s the subtle touches that create an overwhelming sense of unity on Goodnight.

The record isn’t a patch on his very best stuff, but compare Original Pirate Material to the work of the vast majority of artists and they’ll come up short. For every eye rolling moment, there are more than enough to make you glad The Streets are back.

Some tracks feel like throwaways, then there’s the TikTok and radio cuts like “IDGAF” with Yeat and ear-shattering production from BYNX (who has been killing it btw) and “Rich Baby Daddy” that aren’t particularly rap-savvy but benefit from extremely catchy tracks with a large number of producers.

Much like Sloppy Jane’s Madison, this record is an addition to American surrealism that is made to challenge the now complacent temperament of what is acceptably ‘experimental.’

Creeper are so excellent and effective in their various, otherworldly melodramas because they have so much heart. At the core of whatever undead guise they’ve wrapped it in this time, it’s beating strong and steady.

Between analyzing her own recent past with the empathy and allowances of an emotional anthropologist and the lazy precision of the grooves, Woods pairs harmony with righteousness like the inextricable twins they are.

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.

Something To Give Each Other isn’t changing the game or reinventing the musical wheel, but ask yourself: does it need to? It’s exactly what it needs to be, and it's done so incredibly well.

Her spontaneous naivete and heartfelt vocals, while inticing, somehow get lost in these glossy, large scale and commercial productions.

CMAT succeeds in making each track individually compelling, while simultaneously excelling in exploring her more abstract side. Crazymad, For Me shows CMAT to be in a world of her own, one that’s way ahead of the pack.

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

A deeply personal, Earth-moving masterpiece exploring relationship tensions with the gravitas of an apocalypse and the simplicity of a melody passed down through generations.

While The Patience is less conceptually rounded, and instead, a directive of bottled emotion and frustrations inevitably concluding with an artistic clarity, Mick Jenkins proves his worth goes beyond a label deal. Even firing loose cannons he’s a lethal voice with plenty to say.

There’s a self-assuredness that runs throughout the project. Crisp and crystalline, the cohesiveness alone make Diamond’s latest re-imagining of pop pretty much perfect, but it's her attention to detail that elevates it even higher. Lyrically she goes deeper than before, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the album takes a dark turn – in fact its sound is bright and bold.

The album’s sprawl also allows the stunning space-funk title track to spread its wings for full lift-off unhurriedly over 9 minutes until total resistance-shattering hypnosis has been achieved. If this is their Silver, Say She She’s gold must be out of this world.

As a complete body of work, it’s eclectic and begins how it ends: inconclusively. But as an entry into Armand Hammer’s growing canon of mastery, Test Strips is their headiest and most impressive work thus far.

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.

The sonic diversity, for a theme so enveloped in love, doesn’t sit right in a narrative album set in the age of protest. But it opens a door to many plausible pathways; his next big step is to choose wisely.

It’s those little moments that best prove that Slow Pulp themselves have found that same type of sweetness, and with it they’ve delivered their best project thus far.

The powerful, FIFA-ready indie rock is good and often great, but these spare, vulnerable songs are the record’s most powerful. Bakar is becoming one of the most distinct personalities in UK pop, and the more of him he shows us, the better he becomes.

Lovato’s move to heavier music is by no means a mistake, but this reimagining of her old music feels artificial. Generic pop music is turned into formulaic rock music, lacking the substance and authenticity of her previous album.

Nothing Lasts Forever, but Teenage Fanclub probably could if they so wished.

Its musical journey mirrors yeule’s life progression, pairing alternative rock with electronic glitch just as yeule couples their human self with their cyborg persona. This creates spectacular results, opening up to raw and honest emotion all while maintaining the mystery.

A clear and consistent exercise in true class from a band who clearly haven’t lost a step, they just took a few stray ones.

Bird Machine is a resonant final word from an enormously talented singer-songwriter. While Linkous clearly struggled with depression, his music often feels as if it’s soaked in light and infused with love, even as it evokes melancholy and apprehension.

Hynde sounds like she’s never left her glory days, and to assume anything less would be a disservice. Her voice is rich with age, thick with wisdom, perfect for listlessly reminiscing about smoky hotel rooms and other rockstar cliches of “her prime”.

Heaven is a brief, yet indulgent series of funk jams and sultry, lo-fi ballads, fit to make leaves age into Autumn based on atmosphere alone.

Sorry I'm Late is certainly a belated arrival but it shows signs of positive momentum for Mae Muller and will have an emotional impact upon listeners whose path intertwines with hers – it’s just a shame that any sense of sonic bravery wasn’t given the opportunity to carry that influence further.

Alternately dreamily anxious and immaculately groovy it marks the stunning apex of an intensely satisfying record. Just don’t forget that what comes next will be different again.

From start to finish, CTRL os nothing less than outstanding - the late arrival of a very important artist.

Most albums would capsize under weight of a colossus like “Defeat”, a seamless combination of disembodied, sweet yet wounded underwater harmonies, drone-fueled introspection and outbreaks of mellow yet exuberant rhythmic mantras (which echo the Grateful Dead at their most joyously lively) that doesn’t waste a second despite its marathon 22-minute duration. However, the rest of Isn’t It Now? lives up to the outsized expectations created by its centrepiece.

It combines all of Doja’s past lives with some more heavy-hitting punchlines. It feels like a stark departure from her previous commercial efforts, while still showcasing some clear hits like “Paint The Town Red”, “Gun”, “Go Off”

Tension’s a knockout, and Kylie is this world’s gem.

On The King, Anjimile crafts a masterstroke folk album that binds differences through time for unparalleled emotional clarity.

There are some exciting ideas here, but the sophisticated and mature singles like “Spinnin” and “Home To Another One” act as red herrings for an album bogged down by an odd reframing of the past.

The sounds present could all be attributed to any other artist and would sit fine but given they wrote a purported 200 songs for this new era, there should at least be some sonic substance to this outing. Thankfully, this new electronic palette they’re toting isn’t wholly lost. They carry it at times with at least some semblance of aplomb.

It contains both her gentlest, most fantastical production and her saddest, most miserable lyrics. The commendable combination, as well as the new musical directions, reestablishes her artistic identity the same way Bury Me at Makeout Creek and Be the Cowboy did.

In the end, what we have is a magnificent record, that looks likely to be sunk by the events surrounding it. Whether that happens remains to be seen, but what remains is a harsh disconnect, between the absolute joy of the record, and the crushing disappointment that surrounds it.

It’s big, brash, and crystal clear, but open-hearted and often evocative, too. At its best, the blown-up production and direct performances produce real stardust.

Only Underworld have truly kept up with the consistency of The Chemical Brothers, and with the scintillating form shown on For That Beautiful Feeling, it’s going to take something really spectacular to catch up.

The result is a raw, confessional album more interested in telling Rodrigo’s story than conforming to the standards of popular music.

Bewitched is a marked step up in every way. And, because of it, she’s more than the promising young star she was in her early career – she has shown herself to be an established talent.

With skills and interests cemented across various styles, he’s figuring out in real time exactly what he does best – providing floor fillers to club crowds or elevating his performances through complex production. Perhaps when he sings, “Where are my wings? / they’re loading”, the artist is acknowledging that he’s still to assume his most resolute form yet.

Trip9Love…??? feels just as symbiotic in that way as previous cuts 2018's Devotion and 2021's Colourgrade did, but this time, they’re so emotionally vivid that it’s disquieting to feel like a fly on the wall. Once again, they leave the listener submerged.

Blømi leaves solutions for our current problems back in the times where they could have been useful. This can only be music as morphine: a painkiller mixed with transcendental meditation.

It is interesting that Barnett’s chosen soundtrack to the movie about her life is much more subdued than the rest of her discography. Where she has previously depended on frank and revealing lyrical turns to convey emotion, she here demonstrates that she can do the same with only her instrument.

Overall, although there is quite a bit of filler on Rabbit Rabbit, the album does contain some enjoyable songs, with Dupuis and Molholt demonstrating their obvious talents for solid guitar riffs at several points.

When you finally reach the level of brilliance you’ve been working toward for so long, The Window is exactly what it sounds like.

It’s a short and snappy experience clocking in at under 30 minutes, but the rising tides of sin and crashing waves of liability make Back To The Water Below the most all-encompassing outing of Royal Blood’s career.

Essentially, HELLMODE all but confirms the sincerity electrifying the voice of our charming punk hero. With little hope to hold onto, he's still angry, urgent, and prescient as ever.

Like the tracks themselves, the album as a whole contains a breadth in the way of sounds and styles, but less so in depth. Confused and trying on more hats than a grandfather at a beachfront souvenir shop, Cautious Clay flickers with interest and leaves without a second thought.

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.

These songs are indubitably vigorous and youthful. Moreover, there’s also a fleck of Slowdive's nostalgia and urgency spattered on them, like the golden sky at sunset, whose warm-coloured canvas quickly loses its treasured vibrance to nightly darkness.

If anything, Voir Dire is a record that pulls itself apart as it continues, subtly dredging the listener in philosophical bile and pause-the-track one-liners.

I'd Be Lying If I Said I Didn't Care is not an easy listen. It's a cold lake on a summer's day – not immediately comforting, but if you commit to the activity, you'll be unaware of how long you've been enjoying it. The overarching feeling of optimism keeps the record above water and prevents it from falling into an unenjoyable experience.

Cabral and her band have taken what could have been a disaster and turned it into her best work. A stunning, unexpected album from an artist to keep a very close eye on.

The collective's return gleams with ambition. Packing the same ferocity and awe of a firework display with ebullient lighter moments shaded with synth flourishes, and rapturously prototypical loud darker ones which apprehend and shake you to the core.

It’s a definitive project encapsulating body autonomy, queer love, humour and fury, all the more confidently told by a vocal chameleon whose performance stands out amongst the rich production traversing decaying foliage, fizzling suns and AI leaders.

Be Your Own Pet burned out from having too much fuuuuuun, but by playing around with old influences, Mommy shows they're still nothing but a good time.

If you want to find a remaster that’s worth your time and money, then Suede is the gem to look into at this very moment.

It’s an oddly assured debut, tender and strong at the same time – and its greatest strength is that Rapp is as good of a songwriter as a performer of her own emotions.

It’s a fantastic example of how artists can still come to a project with tonnes of contextual flavour that they want to include and not have it overpower the entire dish.

Shamir settles into the familiarity of gleaming indie-pop arrangements and sweet starbursts of melody, all while hints of darkness bleed through the margins. While not a startling stylistic reinvention, the album does feel like a rewarding artistic waypoint from an exceedingly consistent singer and songwriter.

From the folk twang of “First Time” to the torrential clapping on “Anything But,” this is a Hozier album to the hilt: considered, earnest, and moving.

Echo The Diamond recaptures what made Margaret Glaspy so exciting. Her sense of drama is thrilling, and its quietest moments find the beauty in her raw, prickly vocals.

Her striking lyrical flow has become more relentless but comes off more like a constant drip of honey than an imposing assault, at least sonically. On the other hand, the subject matter of the lyrics is rife with Socratic lines of moral questioning and political comedy. Every track excels in a topical focus that will not be spoiled or summarized by the deadline-watching eyes of a critic.

Exploring a whole new sphere of genres, eras and musical styles, Volcano's unexpected twists and turns place Jungle at their peak of most progressive yet.

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