MAYHEM is more like an inspired album rather than one that inspires, and where Gaga usually flips the game on its head, she’s stuck to the rules this time. LG7 feels like it’s come and gone, and where we’re usually saying ‘wow she’s amazing’, it’s more like a resounding ‘wasn’t that nice’ – not bad, not life changing, but a record I’ll be playing for a while I’m sure.

Chopper doesn’t reinvent the wheel, nor does it steer into anything surprising or off kilter, but it definitely shows how nicely the wheel continues to spin.

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.

As opposed to the rich, twisted dreamscape of Ignorance, Stars is a record of dense and oblique beauty.

The film’s problematic dryness and refusal to shed light on the all-around complexities of this toxic love are relayed here. Intentional or not, the 34-minute length is one of the project’s two saviours; any longer and tedium would be inevitable.

Unfortunately, for an album that’s main theme is duplicity, it can’t help but feel a little one-dimensional (lyrically at least). ... However, Wasner’s sculpting of emotive music through sound and texture rather than key is special, and Head of Roses is by far her most successful rendering of it.

On the parts of this album that are worth remembering there are subtle signs of a stylistic and emotional shift. You can sense Future dabbling in the extra-rhythmic potential in his vocals, and there’s a delight in Future’s register that’s been notably absent on his records since after Honest.

With Chasing Yesterday it certainly ain’t broke; it may not be as wacky as he imagined it, but it does its job rather well.

["Listen Out"] like so many songs on Last Evenings On Earth, has a fidgety, loosely controlled nature that sees it stray off into almost freeform sections before winding itself back in again, but it’s precisely this inclination to push boundaries that makes Melt Yourself Down so appealing.

The album is fresh with synth, bells and whistles that could be part of an actual gameshow. There are some cracking verses and screeching guitar sections that will sound great live.

Hundred Acres’ environment can occasionally border on the too-cozy and tender, and, as has been the case on previous records, certain songs simply wind down more than they come to any conclusion. Still, Carey ably shepherds the whole sentimental journey.

Young Heart is consistent from start to finish. While it won’t necessarily ruffle many feathers, it’s a coherent addition to an already charming catalogue from Birdy.

This is a fan’s album, made for, helped by and a testament to Idlewild’s worshippers’ passion and patience. For some, the changes will be welcomed with flung-open arms like an old friend; for others, it might just be a little too much to handle.

Interiors is often captivating, always interesting and certainly another confident and assured step forward for Mesirow and Glasser.

Mortal Primetime sees the rebirth of the New York trio; emerging from the shadows of winter to tilt their heads towards the brighter, more fruitful pastures of spring.

This shift further into sounds of the dancefloor obviously comes with no hands in the air hedonism, they stick firmly to their monochrome formula but by adding flourishes of colour to their sound they've made their best album yet.

It’s an admirable pool of ideas, thrilling noises, rare, unpredictable melodies and a huge amount of imagination but to be brutally frank, it doesn’t encourage repeat listens.

English Graffiti is a record full of ideas that has much to commend it, neither a triumphant or disastrous third album, just not a great one.

All the shifts lend the album an odd pop sensibility, the tracks flowing like a bizarre dance amongst the scraps of modernity. Despite these developments, singer Valentine Caufield remains as incensed, vicious, and powerful as ever.

The Other I is a confident collection of tunes decent enough to warrant keeping an eye on 2:54's future movements.

As it stands, the more things change the more that stay the same. But, when you have a formula as egregiously glorious and cacophonous as PUP is no bad thing.

The resulting LP is a record that sonically dwarfs its predecessors, boasting a sound bigger and more fearless than ever before. ... In Plain Sight’s greatest weakness is its refusal to abandon the obvious and lean fully into the successful realisation of its more experimental moments.

Calico Review refers to a type of pattern in which a range of colours merge into one; as much as it may frustrate Allah-Las, the palette of their Calico Review remains a similar hue, but their ability to paint brilliant art with it remains intact.

The New Monday would be a great record to put on whilst cruising around Detroit in the dead of night, the only thing holding back this album is that Shigeto sometimes takes his hands off the wheel.

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.

The Ultra Vivid Lament is impregnated with an array of influences ranging from ‘80s pop to ‘90s arena rock to the band’s own (mostly) splendid legacy. There’s also a certain penchant for experimentalism, which takes the listener back to forgotten currents of post-rock aesthetics, even though the band is always commercially careful not to push the boundaries too much.

Ruinism does, at times, often feel more like an experiment than a cohesive whole; a criticism sometimes levelled at Lynch. ... And yet, there’s something about Ruinism that sucks you into its world. It’s beauty amid chaos and it’s easy to let your inhibitions go and just fall into it.

Sumac are an original voice in metal, and we certainly need more of that. However, as they currently stand, they're merely good. Really, the only thing stopping them from greatness is a lack of self-editing.