I can feel you creep into my private life never feels worthy or didactic, partly because its component doubts and sorrows nonetheless conspire to a joyous union.

It's clear that these compositions are infused by strong emotions and the inescapable weight of memories, but it's not always easy to interpret the hidden meaning.

While a covers album can be a pedestrian thing, often about what the artist can do to make their mark on a song or set of songs, Bonnie Prince Billy’s homage to Haggard is so much more than that--it’s reaching out to a ghost, pulling the uninitiated to a plane where it’s possible for Haggard to be renewed and revitalised while all the time being revered and respected.

On Hold On Baby, we find King Princess both more coy and more confident than we’ve ever heard her, and she leaves us little doubt that both those sides of her feed one another.

This is also her most musically subtle and lyrically direct album to date.

With II, Metz have done more than enough to cement themselves as the new kings of transgressive hard rock, and that's a crown which is going to be difficult for anyone to wrestle from them.

The record may be 24 tracks long, but it is delivered at such a speed that it packs its punches long before the ice in your drink has a chance to melt.

Seeds is a very strong album, even if it may alienate fans of their older synth-led doom-gaze sound. Their loss--this is a triumph that has risen from tragedy, a glittering testament to a fallen band mate who has been done proud.

Yes, this is serious music, but it blends a mischievous sense of fun and incredulity at its heart.

Lyrically, Ape is among his best records, even with a few missteps on tracks like “Fancy Man”.

Ibeyi is an ambitious debut record from the twosome, and one that deserves to be heard by as many people as possible.

Elytral is rarely a passive listen: Epworth’s maximalist approach means that every song throws up at least one surprising moment. Even the more pop-leaning tracks have uneasy elements.

Ultimately, Indian Yard doesn’t really leave the listener knowing Ya Tseen. But some songs do hint at a distinctive identity.

It emits a level of depth that leaves you sometimes not really able to pinpoint what’s what, and other times feeling yourself being drawn in.

Ultimately, the album repays careful and repeated attention, its varied qualities cohering effectively with a measured sense of control that, simultaneously, offers positive indications of the considerable potential for future even more diverse arrangements.

With just a mere 26 minutes forming its contents, you’re left wanting to know more. On the other hand, it’s the short, creative simplicity of The Bunkhouse Vol. I: Anchor Black Tattoo that makes it so special.

It’s an admirable essay in re-invention, brought about by necessity certainly, but no less successful for all that.

Comparing Happiness Not Included to their previous material is futile and mildly ridiculous, that push-pull of pop success, art-school background, and the resulting imposter syndrome which comes when all they wanted to be was a Throbbing Gristle you could dance to is a demon they’ve spent decades trying to escape from, whilst also courting, that unease creating the tension which is evident in all their output, including here.

Songs like “Give Up”, “So Long”, “Terrible Youth”--all of them, really, there are only nine--are fuzzed out and unfussy, but not just simple pleasures. They kick in the door but then make themselves welcome for a long stay.

Happy in The Hollow is their most satisfying work to date, doubly notable for its being the first record the band have produced themselves.

While Taylor definite seems to prefer to approach his themes and ideas with a sombre touch, he’s not afraid to whack up the pace a notch or two, and it appears he actively enjoys getting stuck into dissembling standard percussive forces.

Welcome Break is an album that asks listeners not to scour for small faults, but to devote themselves fully to the ambiance of this simultaneously retro-sounding, yet forward-looking album.

As heavy, hard rock records go, Once More ‘Round the Sun isn’t necessarily a bad one; it’s just that it seems, like The Hunter before it, to be nudging Mastodon further and further away from what made them stand out in the first place.

Terrestrials sounds surprisingly cohesive considering the project’s improvised roots and slow development.

Its slight downfall is a lack of lyrical dexterity, recycling phrases as a crutch, perhaps. The overriding feeling, however, is that this record indicates no end to the creativity of a commercially undervalued act whose longevity was never prophesised.

While Emperor of Sand is amongst their heaviest, proggiest material to date, it’s also the quartet at their most emotionally bare. Mastodon have dug deep into their darkest moments and have surfaced with one of the best albums of their career.

The Feminine Divine can’t match those first three deathless classic albums and falls just below the convincing return that was One Day I’m Going to Soar. Still, there’s enough of their unique brilliance on display to make this a qualified victory.

Strange Burden, while infuriatingly short, is paced and produced acutely.