If there’s any justice at all, the future ahead after the release of this deeply moving, often mesmerising, sparse yet still richly nuanced album will see Chapman conclude his much-overdue journey to wider renown from the shadows he’s operated in for far too long.

There are a number of beatless mood pieces ("Crush", "Keep Driving") which showcase a more restrained, cinematic style, but ultimately bring little to the table, especially when the non-committal, monosyllabic vocal ice of Jae Matthews is such a focal point. Overall, though, this record leaves quite the impression; if uneasy listening is your thing, Boy Harsher’s murky interpretation of dead disco will envelop you in its dark delights.

It’s a tense work, a deeply troubling piece--it evokes, at least in terms of mood, noise-terrorists like Throbbing Gristle and Cabaret Voltaire. It’s also a thrilling record, one that stands up to multiple listens, and with each listen it becomes easier to digest.

As a standalone document, this is a gem of an album.

hile Stuffed & Ready shares the glossy sheen (thanks to Carlos de la Garza, who returns for a second go-round as producer) and excellent songwriting of its predecessor, 2017’s Apocalipstick, the former is darker and more insular both musically and lyrically.

The Sun Will Come Up opens as a consistent story, but it’s not one into which all of its components can sensibly fit. That’s not to say Nesbitt’s diverse adaptability is all bad, it’s simply that she shines brightest when committing to a style without sacrificing her individuality.

In all Galipolli is the sound of one of our most talented musicians rediscovering his love for what he was born to do. It’s Zach Condon’s career highlight so far and shows that he's at his best when he enjoys making music and cares less about what critics and fans might think of it.

Sophisticated and sombre, Carney knows how to evoke emotion with precision; on this record, she does so with extraordinary effect.

The magic by which we were all spellbound in those early days remains, now augmented by a newfound range of diverse influences. Rogers writes anthems for the modern age, with all the paradoxical feelings of empowerment, anxiety, heartbreak and growth that that entails.

All in all, Almost Free is a FIDLAR album - brash, unhinged, wild, a tad nonsensical, but most of all, a testament to their nature.

While it’s difficult to not fully engulf yourself in his ethos from the LP’s sit-in folk jam stylings to even crossing over into more celestial territory that finds itself throughout Goes West, Tyler’s dexterity in capturing emotion and conveying a story is rather significant under his instrumental hand – a gift that he’s always yielded, but likely now more than he ever has.

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

Despite the wide range of aesthetics on the record, however, there are no two ways about it; this thing is bloody gorgeous. Two of the most adept singer-songwriters in haunting, poignant melancholy, the beauty to Better Oblivion Community Center lies exactly where you’d expect.

There’s a unique heart hidden deep with every album he creates, and Power Chords is no different. Open yourself up to the world of Krol.

Joy, recorded with Ty Segall and released last year, was a cocksure, psychedelia-tinged swirl of sex and limbs and thumping rhythms. I Have To Feed Larry’s Hawk exhibits little of this exuberance and is in large part a more gentle work of perspective and introspection, aided by a curatorial production that treats each element of the music, electronic or acoustic, like a moving part of a clockwork diorama, Presley’s breathy vocals condensing on the glass of the bell jar as he watches them all tick and turn.

Perhaps the only disappointing thing about Highway Hypnosis is its brevity, with not one song reaching over the three minute mark. You could see this as a failure to let the songs truly fly, but, regardless, it ensures the LP's selection of knock-out tracks gets stuck on repeat--a selection that's arguably her finest to date.

Richly nuanced and always intelligent, fifteen years have passed since the last album, and much like Bazan prior to the record’s conception, its release feels like a homecoming.

Toro Y Moi’s overreliance on autotune can also stand in the way of his lyricism at points which is disappointing. Ultimately though, Chaz Bear’s decision to take himself less seriously is an experiment to be considered broadly successful and sees the release of some of his more inspired and infectious material in years.

His most sincere and optimistic record so far.

Goldie and Davidson’s sound is full and rich, and as Subjective they have managed to create an electronic album drenched in melancholy and distorted nostalgia.

It Won/t Be Like This All the Time (IWBLTATT) is another dauntless step forward, unflinchingly embracing the core aspects of their sound, while boldly incorporating loftier ideas. It is not some grandiose attempt at a knockout punch or some cheap leap at the mainstream; you cannot fake sentiment, or force people to feel something. IWBLTATT is a laser guided arrow to the heart; an enveloping noise that chips away at you over time.

Within its nine tracks, Gunn addresses matters of death, acceptance, and expectations, all of which round his music with serenity and credence, thus positioning him on the forefront not only as a quintessential narrator for our time, but a faithful guide who gently directs us revitalized and untroubled.

Dyer and Sanchez’s synthesis of the familiar with the new, however, revels in a disparate identity that both challenges and lulls. While not to be crudely termed genre-defying, it would be difficult to argue that the idiosyncratic sound of Buke and Gase can be easily defined.

Much like Hunter, Remind Me Tomorrow is brutal, but it’s honest and open and true about how grim life is sometimes. By not pulling her punches, Van Etten has seemingly done the impossible--reinvented herself by doubling down on her own artistic tendencies.

This is a solo debut that’s been made with love, care, and plenty of ability, and although it has a tendency to veer too far into bleaker territory at times, there’s no denying its subtle magnetism. Nili Hadida’s found herself a new groove, and it makes a quiet yet engaging impression.

It’s utterly, completely, resolutely and defiantly them. It’s futuristic but warm, nostalgic but distant, pretentious but human.

Tomb is a record of heartbreak that never wallows, a reflection on loss that does not allow itself to become stuck in the past, and resolutely optimistic at its core. What we find here, on what is arguably the pinnacle of his output to date, is De Augustine achieving the beautiful balance between introspection and grandeur; straddling the place where pain and hope intersect.

The Imperial is far from a standard rulebook-revising nostalgia turn. Both the stark realism of the romance-averse blue-collar settings (here, the narrators are too busy hustling for a living to croon sugar-coated rhymes about romantic ideals) and potent musical left-turns (such as the stripped-bare minimalism of the weary-beyond-words "Roll Back My Life") make The Imperial sound thoroughly authentic, as opposed to a trip through someone else's back pages.