Though the album can feel dangerously repetitive at times, slower takes like ‘So What’ act as a reprieve from these moments.

It’s a record that feels like a cosy hub of creative minds reminiscing about their memories – unhurried and finely reflective. Sadly, that’s much about it.

Gibson’s talent isn’t in question here, there’s a reason he’s built a reputation as one of the UK's best production talents and it’s in full display in Actual Life 3. However, it's hard to put a finger on what the album's intent is.

Beck’s Colors is a musical invitation to a soiree that ultimately lacks both substance and staying power, and is crucially missing the self-awareness that something more important is at stake than merely having a good time.

There’s evidence that he’s pursued some kind of consistency to the album’s mood, but it’s sonically so scattered that you can’t help but feel he’s fighting a losing battle; ultimately, he’ll end up back where he started--with devotees satisfied, but little in the way of fresh converts.

While not remotely original--the unabashed attempt to salvage the last remains of anthemic indie-rock music is admirable in itself.

On Art Angels, we hear that high art experimentation fall into mainstream territory with only fleeting moments of brilliance.

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

There’s a pleasant sea-change at the mid-way point on “Togetherness Is All I’m After”, with the dropping tempo allowing some finer feeling and vocal range to return, but tracks like “Cell Phone Blues”, “Love Chant”, and “Marauders”, feel forced and lumpen.

It changes its arm in a myriad of directions, with only a few really working, but they remain a band set apart from those around them, even if here they stumble.

Unfortunately, despite the gravitas, at times it feels a bit like you’re listening to a late-night free jazz jam. When it hits the mark, Rose Golden Doorways rears its head and roars in a concrete wasteland, but there are moments of chin-stroking weirdness that fall flat of the eldritch dread Rochford and co are trying to create.

There are parts that gel, and others that are just plain strange: flippant tone shifts, gritty electronica jarring with the twinkling guitars and Deez’s hearty warbling.

While there are moments of significant note here, Glowing In The Dark as a whole doesn’t feel, or more importantly sound, like the album that will finally solidify the band in delivering what is their true potential.

As a whole, Inventions plays nicely as the backdrop of your psychedelic dreams. In pieces, it fares much better and commands more attention.

This is an album that, as elegant and refined as it is, will be forgotten about soon enough. That’s not to say it doesn’t deserve to be extolled for the hard work alone.

The results can be more chilly than chilled this time, not always making for an easy listen, but there’s certainly a process at play here.

Overall, TYRON is not quite the same intense powerhouse as Nothing Great About Britain. The strength of the first half gives way to half-hearted examinations of one’s place in the world. But Slowthai still delivers a compelling record which seeks to discover and establish a self-portrait that’s a little messy but worth praising for its efforts at rough-around-the-edges ingenuity.

Performing at a venue that once hosted the iconic long-running Grand Ole Opry show, the band do seem slightly in awe of their venerable surroundings. They certainly never get too chatty here, with Bridwell limiting himself to an occasional aww-shucks ‘Thanks y’all!’ or similar.

It’s reassuring to hear her in this state of mind after the unrelenting heaviness of Head Above Water. Even if Love Sux isn’t a perfect album, it’s certainly a well-deserved victory lap from someone with little left to prove.

Rest assured, this isn’t a record built to break completely free of any trademark parochial charms.

Horsegirl’s songwriting isn’t distinct enough to imply any hidden tension though, and back to back sweetness becomes a little sickly. It’s no surprise that the best songs here are the meaner ones.

The best moments of the album work by adding a more considered approach to material that, in the wrong hands, could sound slapdash. However, the albums least remarkable moments are plodding at best and mawkish at worst.

The album proves that Exploded View are at their best when they refuse to be constrained by reality, to listen to consensus or to obey, and instead, exist in the dazzling reverie of their collective dream.

Sure, there are flashes of brilliance where studio trickery elicits intriguing headphone moments but these are by-and-large in the minority.

This is an album that lacks the fun and hooks of their earlier outings.

Taken as a whole, this is a perfectly enjoyable album if you want your music to be nostalgic, friendly and accessible. If you’re a jaded rock fan looking for a newish band and a reliable sound, Starcrawler are for you. For everybody else, proceed with caution.

Most of the material is pleasant at best, and while the lack of overcompensation is appreciated, it makes the group’s lyrical deficits that much more noticeable than on previous records.

Dalle sounds as if she’s on autopilot for much of Diploid Love; she’s obviously got talent to spare, but she’ll need to provide herself with a sterner challenge than she has here if she’s to truly capitalise on it.