New Fragility is an easy album to dismiss, especially when it’s such low-stakes (old band, low-key release), but it’s even easier to just enjoy it for what it is.

Despite only being seven tracks long, this album is substantial and will keep audiences invested.

The stronger songs sound intentionally raw and impulsive; the weaker songs like demos waiting to be fleshed out.

Enter The Slasher House is stylish, daring and captivating; spooky, but not scary.

Crucially, New Misery never sinks--it’s lightweight enough to ensure it never gets weighed down.

An album that makes no apologies about its struggles, but it’s one of many moments that confirms Cara’s journey is as authentic as it is unpredictable.

Each track is married in evoking a similar sense of a vast misty landscape and hazy melancholic mornings, though the albums finale does this particularly well.

Optimist is unlike any other debut, as this is not an introduction but rather a fateful reckoning.

In the end, And After That We Didn’t Talk is as impressive of a rap debut as there has been in 2015. Once GoldLink’s reputation catches up with the quality of his music we may just have a new superstar on our hands.

What really sets Concrete and Gold aside from the rest is that you don’t feel this one has been written with stadiums specifically in mind.

On Autodrama the Kaplans stick with one sound. But it’s a confident one, strutting RnB that oozes beach house cool.

Jessica Rabbit is the work of a band in stasis, but also one who sound desperate to pull themselves out of it.

There are undeniable moments of beauty (the radar-bleeping beginning of “A Light Above Descending” is lent a lovely, watercolour quality by its gentle horn accompaniment), and the live cuts tend to fare better than the studio recordings, imbued as they are with a tangibly excitability. It’s irrefutable though--much of Sea of Brass (by which I mean both the studio album itself and its associated extras) does feel bloated.

The London four-piece mix and match ingredients to create sounds that, whilst respectful of what has gone before, are unmistakably rooted in the here and now. The results are frequently mesmerising.

It adds certain depth to its predecessor and itself, but if this came first it would’ve only made Quest For Fire better and a more enjoyable listen.

There are plenty of great ideas here, and if you really listen, they’re not particularly hard to find. But it would be nice to be able to let an album like this simply wash over you, rather than be forced to pan for gold in its still, murky waters.

Thank You for Stickin' with Twig is a riotous mess of electronic alterity. Press play and take the trip.

There's nothing particularly wrong with Clear Shot. It's a perfectly acceptable album, only it sounds like they're holding back a little.

Green's lyrics are a 140 character pop song. They are hyper-condensed. This can make them seem lazy and tropey--but she knows what she's doing.

Forgiveness is a confrontational, undiluted journey of self-acceptance and adulthood through cathartic electro-pop infusions and delicate introspections – Girlpool’s new era has succeeded them well.

What For? is slightly less varied than previous releases and exist just add to the gestalt of a ‘rock’ album. Thankfully, though, What For? ends on a high point.

Essentially, this is sugar-rush, hyperactive pop music for people with the attention span of a gnat.

There’s no doubt that the wait for O’Brien’s debut has been worth it. She’s an artist who has a vision, and has not only executed it but found a new way of kickstarting the heart of a genre that quickly became a dead horse to be flogged whilst commanding a new space of her own.

The Other Side of Make Believe is an Interpol ready for the new age. It’s proved they can move onto album seven – even when the world was forcing everyone apart – and amidst side projects and other endeavours, the trio are a staple the world would do better to relish in since they deliver a high quality every time without sacrificing any of that brooding integrity we all so know and love.

Larsson knows her strengths, but she knows them too well. If she could only break down the facade further and reach beyond her comfort zone to meet the listener halfway, she would be unstoppable.

Silver Wilkinson is a solid return to (mostly) familiar, territory.

An album of woozy nuggets of sonic delirium. Step inside.

PS I Love You stand worryingly characterless--as nervy as that inadvertently muttered, instantly regrettable moniker--in the corner of the party; forgettable faces soon cast into history once the fresh night air hits intoxicated skin.