Illusion of Time can sound more like a proof-of-concept piece than a fully-fledged album. However, if you can reconcile yourself to this fact, there’s some truly outstanding ambience to be experienced here.

There’s still plenty to bewitch the listener, particularly if your shelves are stacked with the likes of, say, The Darling Buds, Kirsty MacColl or Allo Darlin’, but it’s a more refined approach, shall we say.

Although the urge for transformation is commendable, sometimes a change isn’t quite as good as a rest.

Despite the curveballs and their extended break from the biz, the band’s phasers remain set to festival-primed, punch-the-air anthemic bravado, a formula as solid today as it was in their early feted period.

It’s hard to think of a record with such an uncompromising, borderline claustrophobic dedication to toying with utter unadulterated yet vibrantly rhythmic racket since the distorted finger piano workouts of the first Konono No. 1 record, definite fellow subscribers to a rusted-out aesthetic, and perhaps not coincidentally also from Kinshasa, although BUTU admittedly lacks the variety and shade of its predecessor.

Don’t be fooled by the dry, lilting manner of delivery behind these tracks - each one holds up to close inspection and there is charm to be found in them all.

There is a little filler to strip, and Little Green Cars are still a work in progress--but they have already honed a seasoned sound, paying homage to peers beyond their years.

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.

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

Ending the album with a couple of more easily accessible songs – closer “Price of a Man”, despite being groovier and addressing toxic masculinity, is also quite conventional by their standards – may be the band’s attempt to attract a wider audience. And they do deserve a wider audience. It’s just that you hope they can get it without having to lose the spark and spirit that makes Again such a thrilling ride.

Hauntingly atmospheric and staggering in its scope, it’s well worth spending an hour of your time with. Though perhaps not one to put on at a party.

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

Atomic doesn’t quite hit the heights of their greatest soundtrack successes, but as a further document of a restlessly inventive band constantly tweaking their sound, it’s well worth approaching with open ears.

It combines Molina’s hardcore background with jangling melody perfectly at times, and I wish each song was longer.

Circle is a compelling, often mesmerizing listen, but you might have trouble finding a foothold.

Happily, the good outweighs the bad by quite a margin on Christmas Party.

There has never been anything wrong with the oddities that emerge from Bob’s brain, and Blazing Gentlemen simply sees the man operating in as relentlessly fine form as ever.

Whilst the orange glow of sunsets and Aperol Spritz’ are in full swing, it’s a record made exclusively for these moments.

Asphalt Meadows acquits itself well. It’s there within the measured tread and stark atmospherics of "Peppers", or the twinkling sun goes down gorgeousness of “Fragments from the Decade” where loose limbed almost jazzy drums shuffle off into the distance, of course your mileage may vary according to your own particular emotional pressure points.

Satis Factory is a damn fine album, made by someone who clearly loves the sounds and vibes of records old enough to be her mother. ... But you can only wish she’d do something slightly more original with them, because she only serves to undermine her own talent by shamelessly peddling music that other folks have done, and done better.

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.

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.

Barbie the Album dashes headfirst for airy joy and low-key festivity, all hyperbolic and glittery when its primary focus should be on elucidating the film’s feminist thesis.

The Sun Will Come Up opens as a consistent story, but it’s not one into which all of its components can sensibly fit. That’s not to say Nesbitt’s diverse adaptability is all bad, it’s simply that she shines brightest when committing to a style without sacrificing her individuality.

Mould’s newfound optimism is nonetheless an interesting realignment from the revered artist.

Recorded live without headphones or separate tracks, the sound is intimate and conspiratorial. The perfect polish of a meticulously assembled recording is set aside in favour of a sense of the room and the musicians in it, united in their organic performances.

Waking Lines is an ambitious premiere, but one that’s not had all it’s misshapen foibles ironed out. Patterns have, however, ensured that they’ll remain inside people’s heads for a considerable time to come.

Ddespite being a classically trained multi-instrumentalist who self-wrote, mixed and produced the entire record, it is her hypnotic voice which carries you through this album of self-discovery.