Richard D James still manages to be one of electronic music’s most captivating producers, and even if this does not have quite the same effect on the listener as much of his other work, it still feels far more engaging and accomplished than a simple genre exercise.

All Around Us can’t seem to feel anything other than transitional. Having evolved some semblance of a skeleton from her previous work, given its flashes of excellence, one can’t help but hope it ultimately morphs into a fully moving, breathing being next time out.

To put not too fine a point on it, Vicissitude is bland.

Self-produced and mixed, A Portrait of an Ugly Man feels all at once familiar and fresh.

This record certainly makes things no clearer, but like standing and observing any great work of art, it’s true intentions and artistic merit might not become immediately clear. Only upon repeat experience may the true extent of its merit reveal itself.

There’s a human element to the record, missing from so many of their contemporaries’ efforts, waiting to be engaged with for those who choose to scratch beneath the surface; for everybody else, Blood Red Shoes will simply be the riotously fun sound of a band who have well and truly cast off the shackles.

Beautiful in places, but falling flat on an emotional level elsewhere, there is an air of duality in Lo-Fang’s work as light and dark elements intertwine and clash with each other. For someone who has done so much travelling, it is clear that Lo-Fang is still finding his feet.

Liberated, no doubt, from the pressures that accompany the devising of a worthy and relevant successor to You’re A Woman, I’m A Machine, Grainger has been able to conjure what is a fairly rich noise pop record.

Make no mistake, this is difficult to listen to. You will not be rewarded for multiple listens. It is what it is. It’s not enough, by a mile. West has clearly made this for himself first, and indulgence is deeply ingrained into the concept.

Thumbtacks and Glue is no less nuanced or nourishing, and every song is satisfying. Undulating orchestration, the lift and swell, matches Mark Andrew Hamilton’s eccentric lyrical slant and seraphic singing to produce immaculate and endearing music.

Ultimately, there is a place for this kind of music, but it feels horribly dated.

She sticks to familiarity and abides heavily to it--something worth noting, but while the album battles to make its way, her efforts aren’t entirely lost.

It’s a more evolved release for sure, and with less it seems Eugene McGuinness can actually achieve more.

Its best moments are closer to pop-punk and synth-pop than anything resembling traditional hip-hop.

Testament to its addictive charm, Erotic Reruns leaves the listener yearning for an extension to the album’s near half an hour running time.

Wicked Nature is certainly the start of a renaissance, if not quite the all-conquering return it could have been

$ingle$ 2 acts as a highlights reel for the past five years, and its subtle shifts leave it feeling less like a compilation and more like an album on shuffle.

Despite being as zesty as it is entertaining, Feed The Beast feels compromised as it shoots for the stars.

Beautiful and with a hint of danger, Heritage is approachable and voguish, a slice of neon noir as atmospheric as it is sleek, and a testament to Grellier’s formidable world-scoring talents.

On its own merits, Galapagos offers diversity and stickiness and ensures that the Post War Years might hang around a while yet.

Whilst lyrically, there’s a strong thread of longing and the past, musically, it’s constantly moving forwards, and after MatA’s somewhat leisurely start, it’s nice to see this promising progression.

The album slowly loses its sanity: Edging over that transgressive line, like all good punk bands do.

With For The Company, Little May have added another worthy entrant to 2015's albums of modern blues and, unlike the relationships that inhabit its songs, it gets better with each visit.

At its best the record is a playful, pulse-raising thrill-ride; and you can see that musical dexterity on display here will be staggeringly impressive or bewilderingly inconsistent, depending on your taste. I guess Yesterday Was Forever, but tomorrow is where we’ll see the best from Kate Nash: this feels like the last step before greatness.

While Purple Noon is likely Greene’s most lackluster output, it’s not a total bust. He does manage to squeeze in a few noteworthy moments that briefly highlight his songwriting.

Veronica Electronica may not add much to the already excellent era it comes from, but it certainly acts as a reminder to give the original another spin.

Emmanuel and Malay spend so much time creating a sense of space that most of the music is consumed by the vacuum; floating with nowhere to resonate.

Their music is an extension of themselves, pure id, and that’s what makes them so enthralling. This is the sound of a death-or-glory headlong charge.