This is Suuns’ third album but their essence hasn’t changed, just honed.

It’s sludge but impeccably clean; and it’s all frighteningly good.

The violence and sheer horror of Deaths is not only immensely enjoyable, but utterly necessary.

Acetone may have preferred to follow the silent way, but they were the strong, silent types, which makes the contents of 1992 – 2001 resonate so strongly now.

SweetSexySavage is a powerfully optimistic record, and while it glances back to a pop/R&B heyday, Parrish has crafted something entirely of her own, refined by a canny approach to lyricism and unbridled intimacy.

Wig Out at Jagbags is pretty much everything we could have hoped for from Stephen Malkmus at this point in his career.

There are some dazzling moments here.

With Truth is a Beautiful Thing London Grammar have created a world that knows when to be expansive and when to be introspective, building on their DNA and adding more dextrous, yet suitably restrained arrangements.

It’s tempting to see it being one day considered an “essential listen”: compiling and collating the first half of the decade’s tastes, trends, aesthetics and politics into a cohesive and inoffensive whole.

As an indicator of the kind of music the Wainwrights indulged in at home while they and their many and various offspring went on to charm and dazzle the musical world, this is an invaluable document. For those who simply want a dazzling, slow sunset of a folk record with the occasional lyrical bite--the same applies.

With Not Even Happiness she’s spreading her wings musically. There’s more polish to the production, yet the joy that is her storytelling, heartfelt singing and inventive guitar playing are the songs heartbeat.

Their first full-length doesn’t feature too many surprises, and a lot of the cuts have already been released in one way or another, but start-to-finish, it’s an honest conflagration of scuzz that will leave jaws agape, eyes moist and hearts full.

Ritter hasn’t just surrounded himself with some of the best musicians in the game for his milestone tenth album, but he’s found a way to reinvent himself while not forgetting where he’s come from. After twenty years, this pillar of Americana folk is as relevant as ever, and sounding better than ever too.

Though the topics may be hard-hitting and steeped in despondency, Crookes still finds space to allow the light to shine through, with swooning vocals and infectious percussive beats (“Perfect Crime”). Throughout, vocals remain reminiscent of Amy Winehouse, with gritty yet honeyed intonations detailing intricate narratives.

Don’t expect this LP to reinvent O'Connor’s established ‘wheel’, but it certainly shows signs of a formula being gradually improved and perfected.

Their ability to collaborate with the likes of Barker, Slipknot’s Corey Taylor, rappers Bun B, Saul Williams & Jasiah, whilst remaining authentically Ho99o9, is what makes SKIN such an exhilarating listen.

Semicircle is enthusiastic and a little rough around the edges, although this is absolutely intentional.

Album stand out "Death Engine" seems to be the perfect balance of all the elements at play – it’s momentous but it stands still, it’s modern but it’s also so rose-tinted, it’s where hard percussion meets yearning keys and where elation greets loss. Sadly the album does stumble a little at the last hurdle, as "Depression Tourist" adds an unnecessarily vocoder-happy outing to the mix, but thankfully it does not fall or overshadow this otherwise stunning return.

The Fine Art of Hanging On isn’t entirely free of faults. Hemming and co's way with the more downcast material is so compelling that, for all their strengths, some of the jauntier material seems lightweight in comparison.

For better or worse, it always celebrates the thrill of what’s to come, capturing the frailty of a mind wrought with anticipation and bewilderment in the face of the unpredictable trials of a world away from home.

While it isn’t pretty, cute, comfortable or enlightening music, Field of Reeds is important, resonant, serious and very very clever.

At times, despite the fact that this is his 12th collection of compositions, it’s often as if Lazaretto is Jack White at his most vulnerable.

While the set brims with a sense of unrest and dislocation, it also rouses an implicit exuberance: though we suffer profoundly, art is redemptive, life is inexplicably beautiful.

["Atropos"] (and the record as a whole) is a testament to the enduring potential of the old, mythical Woodstock tradition of a band setting up in a room (or a basement) and waiting for inspiration to strike.

There are no tricks on show here, the sound is refreshingly clean, the ethos is admirably simple, embracing the DIY punk spirit and spitting out a beautiful record that will also fill that Sonic Youth-shaped hole in your life.

Maybe it’s a little lighter, a little more carefree, a little sparer than her last few--or maybe it’s just that she doesn’t sound so hurt--but this feels like a step into something fresh. If not a creative rebirth, then a creative renewal.

This is a finely crafted, elegiac album.

It’s a celebration of what Maribou State does best: creating music that feels timeless and deeply personal. And while we might continue to wait for the moment when they push their boundaries and fully realize their potential, this journey toward that horizon is just as compelling.