It’s an album that doesn’t demand attention but rewards those willing to sit with it, probably best described as an understated success. It would seem the more things change, the more they stay the same.

As it stands, the more things change the more that stay the same. But, when you have a formula as egregiously glorious and cacophonous as PUP is no bad thing.

I Got Too Sad For My Friends doesn’t deliver much versatility. Each track rolls into the next, and while that is alike to the depression Denton dissects in the record, it doesn’t make for varied listening.

An endearing, lo-fi filtered record not limited in what it has to say.

Dream Wife is a fierce finger to the patriarchy for a fresh and socially aware generation.

Nothing continues his life’s work to twist and distort. To invert boundaries and genres and do more. Yes at times it seems like there’s a little something missing. Yes at times it could use something more. But there is and it could. It’s called Nothing. Sometimes that’s the point.

While not a step forward, What Went Down is a consolidation and refinement of Foals’ artistic strengths and explorations over their previous trio of albums.

There’s too much telling and not enough showing across More Light‘s 70 minutes.

A surprising and moving step forwards in the restless career of a master melodian.

In embracing a formlessness, he may have found a new, truer form for his work. In making this album, he has in fact created a world; perhaps not one you would want to inhabit, but one inspiring awe and dread in equal measure.

If there’s a critique, it’d be on density, the album feels super compressed with a hectoring pressure that barely lets up despite some smart sequencing choices chopping up the pacing as well as it can to ride the turbulence. More moments of atmospheric space could have given the emotional catharsis room to breathe.

Erupting out of the soil quicker than daffodils in spring, Sigrid’s growth is nothing short of remarkable on How To Let Go.

Marlon Williams is a perfectly pleasant listen, but we’ll have to check back to see what Williams can do when his personal experience catches up to his subject matter.

The echoes of his home band are clear, but there’s also an underlying feeling of something greater at play - the proof that he can cut it as a name as much as he can a band, and Serpentine Prison is Matt Berninger’s artistic truth and joy.

We’ve only got eight tracks here, about twenty or so minutes of music, but not a second of it is wasted, and just about every moment is brilliant.

It’s those little moments that best prove that Slow Pulp themselves have found that same type of sweetness, and with it they’ve delivered their best project thus far.

A collection that isn’t going to win over the world but might just help you make more sense out of it.

With riffs weighted so they're heavy enough to bludgeon, and vocals that feel like they're being torn straight from the larynx, the album is a tour de force of high octane refrains and filth-driven focus.

Freakout/Release features many moments of quintessential Hot Chip fun, but explores other exciting avenues as well. What’s clearly still at the centre though is the heart and love for creativity that this band still have, and it’s a testament to their talent that through all the music they create between them they can still turn out interesting hits in new ways.

Even if seems a touch outdated at points, though, there’s not likely to be another punk album this year that unleashes its ire with such precision--and it’s proof again, too, that Oberst remains a master of switching through the gears.

Rave Tapes doesn’t quite reach the euphoric heights of Hardcore Will Never Die, but it is an elaborate and intelligent album from a group that isn’t interested in grabbing their listeners by the scruff of their collective neck anymore; instead, today’s Mogwai are purveyors of nuance and subtlety, and fine ones at that.

There’s a notable evolution here, and we see the lone Jackson strive for something you can sink your teeth into over the course of a few days, weeks, month, rather than something you can insufflate at a club in the space of a few minutes.

While it might not appeal to name-checked acts Phil Collins (dead, apparently) or Sting (“Lose the fucking yoga”) those who seek solitude in the British weather, putting the world to rights in the local and who see the beauty in Motorway services and high-vis jackets will be thrilled with a collection that’s Blighty-themed, from a duo whose output is still beautiful.

A futuristic perspective on post-punk and rock and roll. Clever enough to implant electronic hooks into your brain, subconsciously. Dumb enough to smash a guitar into the drum kit, just for kicks. These guys have got it all.

While it’s not their masterpiece, it’s still a great record.

It’s a classic high-quality, well-arranged and passionate album from First Aid Kit, but this time--it’s not so innocent.

Ultra Mono is an enjoyable but ideologically confused record and one in which some of IDLES best material must compensate for some of their worst.

Moondust For My Diamond is another essential album from a man who couldn't make a bad one if he tried. Realistically, it's not quite as powerful as its direct predecessor, but the fact is that very few albums are.