As a group, Everything Everything has always worn that indie art pop weirdness on its sleeve and its still refreshingly intact here, Re-animator is yet another flamboyant feather in the cap of a band that refuses to phone it in.

Beautifully-measured collaboration between two venerable avant garde artists.

There’s nary a misstep to note here. Schreifels, drummer Alan Cage, bassist Sergio Vega and guitarist Tom Capone resist taking a victory lap and come out ahead, still sounding like themselves.

Not for a long time have I listened to something that so delights in its lack of abandon; their name might be uninspiring, but Cloud Nothings’ output is clearly anything but.

Unlike previous Hot Chip records there is arguably no definitive “single”, but a coherent collection of ten songs that burst at the seams with ideas and hooks, and provides some of Hot Chip’s most gorgeous pop songs to date.

Hooking up with producer Patrik Berger (Robyn, Charli XCX, Icona Pop) has given her music an explicit clarity. His prowess in the studio with some of some of the biggest leftfield pop artists of recent times gives an impressive breadth to the sound which manages to sound both large-scale and minutely detailed, the unfussy execution perfect for Boman’s introspective and unassuming vocal delivery.

Her child-like rhymes may seem like she’s only toying with playground politics but she knows exactly where her strengths are; Matangi is a tribute to those talents and it’s an unmitigated thrill. Dissident, deviant, “mili-tent”; Cookie cutter pop star she is not, but a true great she absolutely is.

If your faith in the concept album is failing, The Grand Tour will restore it. And if you have any long, trans-national train journeys coming up, this album will be great for those, too.

One of Cerulean Salt’s great triumphs is that we believe in these people, the album’s intimacy heightens its sense of realism, its characters feel living.

He is a rare talent that we must cherish and allow to scratch what ever creative itch he wishes to. With I Tell a Fly, Clementine proves he is indeed an artist of extraordinary ability.

Though the lyricism and imagery present across The Avalanche might be some of Kinsella’s bleakest, and a stark contrast to the soft subtleties of its instrumentation, it’s also some of his strongest and most transparent.

If this is the end of whatever this is, they’ve recorded a superlative piece of work which leaves us on one hell of a high, despite it sounding anything but high itself.

Hiss Spun is a hypnotic, cyclical work that becomes transformative with repeated listens.

On Our Two Skins, Payten reckons with big decisions and big changes, claiming them as part of her life to beautiful effect.

Miguel writes nothing but memorable melodies and his songwriting is the engine that makes Wildheart all work, that takes his affinity for funk, psychedelia and Prince, and turns them an album that feels totally of the moment.

Even though many breakup references are scattered throughout Crushing, a strong sense of emotional progression is also woven in, flipping the narrative to be more positive in parts. Vivid lyricism personifies the album title in each track.

An ambient, compelling and unique look into whether contemporary life really has to be so empty.

By trying to escape the constraints of the tradition-bound folk orthodoxy, Lal and Mike Waterson managed to craft an album of songs that sound like long-lost standards.

Apocalipstick is fast, furious and, most importantly, fun, making it the first truly badass album of 2017.

Unlike with previous records, there is no overarching theme to We Got It From Here, and it can often leave the album feeling a little chaotic. But in the end, A Tribe Called Quest were all about beats, rhymes and life, and this album has that in spades.

The best albums allow us to ruminate on life’s big questions, giving insight not only into the mind of the artist but reflecting the sentiments of the beholder, and Viet Cong does exactly that.

A wonderful, accomplished return.

A couple of less than diverting songs aside, this is an album that won’t be forgotten in a hurry whichever way you look at it.

Birth of Violence isn’t Wolfe’s best album, or her most intense, or her most accessible. But what it is is a combination of elegant songcraft, dread-fuelled musicianship and otherworldly vocals. ... Birth of Violence no longer stands in the centre of the crossroads, it opens up a new road... down.

They’ve poured so much time and effort into Cave Rave--but you may never get a chance to appreciate that aspect of the album, because for all their intrinsic talent and informed attention to detail, their passion for pure pop is overpowering.

The fact that the duo have chosen to deploy a stripped back approach to the album, and the fragile beauty this evokes, leaves little doubt that the pair are more than capable of weaving some seriously ethereal magic, even when they're miles apart.

Across Stellular’s twelve tracks we're presented with a strident procession of indie pop that demands attention.

In its brief seven tracks, Rausch barely makes it over an hour mark, but in that time frame, Voigt gives his listener a lot to unpack and offers the idea that he still has a lot more to say.