It’s densely packed but never oppressive and yet also feels uninquisitive enough not to delve too deeply or for too long.

The record feels strongest at its scrappiest; when it harks back to the charm of her humble beginnings full of compressed vocals and effortless funk.

[Cigarettes After Sex] continue to refine their vision with more clarity, bigger baselines, and a continued promise to envelop you in their hazy, romantic pop noir. It’s that kind of consistency that fans have come to expect; still, one can’t help but wonder how many more releases Cigarettes After Sex will sustain this sound before they risk consistency for experimentation within their artistic boundaries.

Where previously her voice could feel hampered by heavy instrumentation, Charm’s arrangements carve just enough space for it to flourish, allowing her words to speak for themselves behind refined, never overbearing, production.

She explores themes that have been relevant at least since the advent of the Cognitive Revolution 30,000-plus years ago – creation, destruction, ecstasy, transcendence – yet does so in her own contemporary, refreshing, and utterly commanding way.

It’s hard to think of a record with such an uncompromising, borderline claustrophobic dedication to toying with utter unadulterated yet vibrantly rhythmic racket since the distorted finger piano workouts of the first Konono No. 1 record, definite fellow subscribers to a rusted-out aesthetic, and perhaps not coincidentally also from Kinshasa, although BUTU admittedly lacks the variety and shade of its predecessor.

Greene dials down, as was the case with the preceding LP, Notes from Quiet Life serving as a comedown equivalent to the sonic swelter of the former.

Fratti’s voice is honest, almost deadpan, in its delivery of plain and modest phrases – and scoops up to notes like she’s a radio starlet. But that familiarity is constantly unsettled by its instrumental landscape, where scratching strings recall the compositions of Tony Conrad, and song structure is thoroughly disjointed and unpredictable, recalling the arrangements of Marina Herlop and Meredith Monk.

Even for those of us who’d never before considered the possibility of a James Blake and Lil Yachty collab, Bad Cameo somehow provides exactly what you’d expect. Ideas in abundance, terrific variety, a little indulgence, and an end product that actually makes perfect sense.

There’s an enchantment in the album's pacing and sequencing that we journey with the band through each of these emotions and emerge from trepidation with renewed hope, feeling reborn.

From the terrifically bombastic opening of “Intro” to the chiming finish of “A Party” the entire album twists and turns between bursts of energetic pop-punk, frenzied expressions of lust, calmer reflective honesty, and sharply observed moments of uncomplicated joy. American Hero sounds very easy and fluid.

Tapestried by contributions from the likes of Rousay, Roy Montgomery, caroline’s Alex McKenzie and Squid’s Laurie Nankivell, Murphy’s debut is an uncanny and heroic game of hide and seek.

A strong love and fight for life and its experiences drives this album forward.

With Scream from New York, Been Stellar have announced their presence with a gem that’s sure to fire them into wider consciousness.

Ultimately needing her record to be “Cinematic and dreamy”, Nash utilises her boundless creativity to deliver layered soundscapes and intricate narratives in arguably, her most honest and personal project.

Radiosoul understandably doesn’t pretend to be radical in style. His identity remains in the mist, a potent star yet to arise, a minor upgrade from the debut as he suggested in the press.

Cale’s ability to do so many things so well is what makes him a true artist amongst amateurs, but it's also a clear disregard of the need to encourage people to like him that feels refreshing in an age where there seems to be a desperate stampede in the opposite direction.

His creatively unrestrained approach results in a record that is hotch-potch but also one that contains several stirring, noteworthy songs.

Does the record deliver after all these years, then? Occasionally, but not satisfactorily when playing with the tempting what-ifs.

There is a mix of winsome romanticism and righteous anger throughout the album, but it’s occasionally difficult to see which are tongue-in-cheek or genuine.

One of Grant’s richest & most satisfying sounding albums thus far.

A more concentrated soundscape, and a couple omissions, What Happened To The Heart? could’ve been a remarkable stepping stone to a career high. Almost everything feels transitory and unduly explorative, as if trying to discover another niche to excel in.

This is a damn heavy record, but with it, there's faith and optimism of equal measure.

On You Won't Go Before You're Supposed To, Knocked Loose expand in all directions while staying true to their core.

Goat Girl push the boat out while maintaining, for the most part, a considered and deliberate mood across the 48 minute run time, and the few pitfalls are due to ideas that didn’t quite coalesce more than anything. The finest tracks can feel familiar only to grab you and hold you in entirely surprising ways.

Peggy Gou has always yielded her talents to the complete advantage of the listener. On I Hear You, she pays homage to these talents, laying a path that is singularly hers to embark on, one on which she carries the future of dance-music, and all of it’s fun.

There’s something remarkable about Staples’ ability to display such emotional complexity within a relatively brief 35-minute runtime. It is an art he has mastered over the years, yet on this album he manages to pack an immense amount of content in that space – more so than ever before.

At fifteen tracks, the album’s club-friendly repetitiveness can make it a bit of a stretch to get through, especially because a few tracks feel less essential than the rest. But overall, it’s still surprisingly exceptional as a front-to-back listen.