On this form she’s Bianca on horseback, a new Moroder drop in ’77, bootlegged Larry Levan DJ sets on cassette, the nocturnal delights of the Studio 54 VIP room, casually leaving her contemporaries trying to negotiate guestlist entry at the nightclub entrance

Performance is, thankfully, anachronistic to the point of absurdity--if you close your eyes anywhere in this record, you’ll be transported to somewhere deep in the '70s, where there are no genres because nobody really cares about that kind of nonsense.

She is flourishing and basking in the creative control, which shines through both her songs and the visuals that accompany them.

MORE D4TA or MODERAT 4 is the sound of a group creatively recharged and at the height of their power. To this end, in almost every conceivable way, it's the Moderat album that fans have waited six years for.

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

On Send A Prayer My Way they apply tasteful country renovations and marry humour, melancholy and joy with timely themes in a way that will only delight fans of either artist.

Each half of the album ends with a relatively sudden shift in pace (“Body Suit” and the contrastingly acoustic “Too Much Colour”), and when you’re consistently bopping along to track after track (which does also risk becoming monotonous, I know) it can be a little jarring rather than the breather they intended.

If Painless exudes the magic of an artist discovering new plateaus, My Method Actor is a refinement of those now integrated proclivities.

The LP offers one of the most compelling and honest explorations of addiction in recent musical memory - it’s filled with grizzly, visceral declarations that underscore the stakes at hand.

Twelve Reasons to Die II suggests that breaking new ground might be a futile undertaking if there's this much juice left in the good old tricks.

On Moth Boys Spector learn from the shortcomings of their debut and comfortably eclipse its quality.

The rare misstep aside ("Mind Blues" churns along restlessly to little obvious resolution), the extremely aptly titled Rhythm must belong amongst the year's more impressive releases.

Plainly speaking, this is psychedelic music, and it’s music that’s both moving and a pleasure to move to.

[This record] showcases a band capable of innovating, pushing themselves and experimenting eight albums deep to come up with an album more than worthy of praise.

Anarchist Gospel is an assured melting pot of disparate influences and ideas that somehow coheres into a unified whole – and ultimately doesn’t really resemble anyone else.

It’s The Wedding Present as we’ve known/loved them since 1991’s tour de force Seamonsters--opening squalls of feedback, a deceptively sweet melody, and Gedge’s lyrics fluctuating between self-lacerating and acrimonious in the midst of ferocious guitars. We’re on far less familiar ground with a number of the other 19 tracks, though.

A Firmer Hand not only cements Hawk’s status as a unique voice in modern culture but also builds anticipation for the exciting directions his future works might take on and off stage.

The instrumentation on My Back is gentle, self-conscious, and loose in structure while that on her earlier works is poised and intricate. This rawness doesn’t make it any less powerful; it intensifies the despondency haze that hangs in the air of each song like a yet-to-rain nimbus.

If anything, Voir Dire is a record that pulls itself apart as it continues, subtly dredging the listener in philosophical bile and pause-the-track one-liners.

Something To Give Each Other isn’t changing the game or reinventing the musical wheel, but ask yourself: does it need to? It’s exactly what it needs to be, and it's done so incredibly well.

For a group so often criticised for the coldness and the metronomic aloofness of their catalogue, this is a record that sounds warm, tactile, and is evidently the outcome of five musicians spending six years on the road together.

While moments on Species don’t quite touch on the grandeur we’ve heard from Moore in the past, the trio more than make-do by enticing us still. They’ve created an album that melds into what feels like a massive piece, our patience is required to see how it unfolds, to realize what’s contained inside, and what to do with that information if we ever uncover it.

This release is not a cliched, sulky attempt to do something new fuelled by the frustrating necessity for a narrative to complement their art. Instead, Sunlit Youth sounds like music Local Natives want to make.

Bubba has a subtle confidence that beds in after each listen. Welcome back mate, we missed you.

Hayter fervently straddles a line between proclamation and judgment, venting and preaching, deliverance and elitism. She is, perhaps, lost and saved at the same time, again wielding paradoxes with grace and ferocity.

Even though Thee Black Boltz may fall short in comparison with the band’s best records, it still offers flashes of brilliance and maybe even some comfort if you’re going through a difficult patch.

They’ve come out the other side with a debut that rips and tears with a whole lot more force. The band hasn’t lost any of its wildness, any of its chaotic energy, though it does feel like they’ve gone through a bit of development: they’re now a full-sized, frothing rottweiler, instead of the growling pitbull pup they were just a few years ago.

It’s the kind of record to laugh, rage, and cry to, very much delivering on its early promise of “All rip'rs / No more skip'rs.” Each moment, whether of effusive joy or of tender intimacy, is anchored in well-honed pop hooks, standout engineering prowess, and larger-than-life personality.