WOOF charms mainly by the dint of its barefaced cheek: a record like this has been long overdue, especially since the pandemic.

Gossamer has enough going on musically to shift the focus away from the occasionally mawkish lyrics.

Judging by the results of Juice B Crypts, this revitalisation of purpose feels very much like something radiating directly from the artists themselves. Hardly a complete renewal or about-face, but rather a refining of methodology and intent, a distillation of what made them so exciting to begin with.

Hype and arrogance created Watch the Throne and stifled the creative revelation it could have been. It would be nice if that could serve as a kind of lesson for the hip hop world, but somehow that seems unlikely.

With 1989 she has succeeded in leveraging the most cordial and familiar of pop music outpourings to something that feels like a statement, a work of note and the sinew of some kind of emotional connective tissue–binding tastemakers, rock critics, guys I work with and my 12 year old cousin; irrevocably and unexpectedly.

It is a proper bass album representing all aspects of the current dance music scene through a noble kind of austerity.

Taken from the album sessions, the organ-bolstered "Polymers Are Forever" combines classic FOTL with a worrying tendency for grandiosity which was emerging on Travels...; a stylistic development which, along with an increasing funk elasticity, is a far cry from Falkous's efficiently cutting Mclusky.

While nothing quite meets the precedent set by the first track, the album is a bracing adventure in texture.

Be Up a Hello is Jenkinson’s strongest album for a decade and is easily up there with his best work.

Sandwell District still seem eager to assault the biggest speakers in the darkest rooms and they eloquently marry the primal physicality of techno’s propulsion with its forward-facing techniques. It might not have the initial groundbreaking impact of its predecessor, but End Beginnings pushes the techno continuum on, inch by inch, bleep by alien bleep, beat by rib-crushing beat.

From the glissandos and vertigo of 'Milk & Black Spiders' to the jounce and yawn of 'Providence', in every note and noteless space you can feel it: the physical unburdening, the personal reckoning, the fatigue and reprieve of letting go.

All too often the album lacks the requisite light and shade to make for a consistently enjoyable listen.

This is a concise and clever record.

An immersive journey, to be sure, it’s one worth taking the time out for to experience in a single sitting.

If Nada! was the sound of punk rock overcoming itself, passing into its opposite, Love Will Prevail is the sound of it re-emerging once more, irrevocably altered by the journey.

It really does speak volumes about the groundswell of depth in his writing that a record with stakes this high don't feel like a step out of character, but rather a continuing stride through a storm.

This is perhaps Faust's most solid and coherent body of work since their 1990s resurrection. It roars with sadness and anger at a world's squandered opportunities.

Intermittently enjoyable, Wonderful, Glorious is unmistakably the work of Eels but unlike previous and successful meditations, their tenth album frequently feels like well-honed schtick rather than a worthwhile insight.

With Homesick, Matrixxman has at last found a depth of exploration and expression that stands up to the ideas so visibly floating around the edges of his work.

[This is an] excellent, playful and moving album as a whole: the closer you examine Glynnaestra, the deeper and stranger the rabbit hole goes.

The second half of the album lacks the spirit of its first two transcendent tracks. ... But, for those first 19 glorious minutes, Thrice Woven skirts the eye of the storm, flitting between untrammelled power and celestial beauty with a finesse that few can match.

A thoroughly good larksome house record.

As ever with Yorke's work, a strong desire not to get stuck in a rut results in a few experiments that don't quite pay off, but largely, AMOK is a slender, admirable record well worth investigating.

Wald nods towards electronic Kosmische music of bygone years while simultaneously reflecting and commenting upon Betke's own back catalogue.

This apparently punkish slam out, is their finest to date. For it seems to capture the very essence of Islington Mill which, coincidently, is situated in the darkest corner of Salford.

UR FUN is as concise, focused, and sparkling as of Montreal have ever been.

Algiers isn't so much a portrayal of New Orleans as it is a manifestation of the city's often observed ability to both elevate and weigh heavily on the soul.

Everyday Robots signals a sea change in Albarn's oeuvre because it is, ostensibly at least, a work that tackles its creator's origins with something close to sincerity. I say close to, because there are plenty of moments here when the familiar orientalism returns to produce slightly nauseating results.

Indeed, on both of Lost Time's pieces, Fox and Millions make good use of non-drum instruments to further their percussive investigations. And although the steadiness of 'Post Encounter Effect' threatens to make it a little tougher to sit through than the more immediate, thrilling 'Telegy/Time Lapse', its implication--a renewal of our relationship with time, wherein we find agency--arguably renders it more satisfying.

Rarely have a band so perfectly captured the nonchalant thrill of being beautifully stuck in their groove.

There are some astonishing moments on At Least For Now. Clementine's voice is a force to be reckoned with--throaty, powerful, and theatrical to the point of histrionic – and his piano-playing bears all the hallmarks of unorthodoxy you would expect from a successful autodidact.

What we end up with is a fairly decent dubstep album with Cuban samples sprinkled on top.

Opeth's Pale Communion is confirmation of artistic success borne from purity of vision--it is a sublime album of impeccable scope and execution, created by an extremely important band who have finally reached the pinnacle of self-actualisation through music.

In 2013, a Pearson Sound album would have been a great event and certainly a major step in a career already full of them, but waiting two years effectively sapped the urgency.

There's nothing fetishistic, voyeuristic, or pathetically ambiguous here, more an outpouring of disgust that we seem to be in similarly horrendous times again. There are moments of beauty here too, of course, for that contrast has always been a hallmark of Jamie Stewart's songwriting, and what makes Xiu Xiu bleed where others merely pose.

Everything is Beautiful/Everything Sucks is a fun album that allows Frasqueri to show both sides of her personality. ... The main problem with Everything is Beautiful/Everything Sucks is that it doesn’t contain anything as devastating as ‘G.O.A.T.’, ‘Tomboy’ or ‘Kitana’. The songs never quite hit the same vein of intensity, catchiness and lyrical abstraction. There are moments when it comes close.

This is an album about a mother's love, made by a mother, for a mother. And it also happens to be Martha Wainwright's greatest artistic achievement to date.

MMX11 is unexpectedly loaded with similarly bomb-laden gems.

It is electronic music unencumbered by genre rules and the specificity of signification. It is at once completely familiar and pleasingly fresh.

These are long form constructions, masterfully wrought from the simplest of sonic elements--basically just synths, the odd sample and plenty of percussion--and festooned with idiosyncratic detail.

You'd think that with the weight of success behind her, Adele could, and would want to, do anything. Instead, she largely retreads the same paths and explores the same tones.

Sometimes their simple guitar riffs can feel too plain and familiar, and mingled with the consistently doomy atmosphere, it can at times feel relentless, but equally, they take their hard-wrought innovative DIY aesthetic and refine it.

Lux is a surprisingly rich experience that's difficult to fault. It's not the most startling record Eno's ever made, but it probably is his most successful ambient work.

All-in-all, Janet has made an album that is sophisticated and personal, but carrying that trademark carefree, freewheeling atmosphere that makes her so wonderful.

Disaster Piece is proof that Flowdan is still capable of the acerbic flow and rhymes that many have come to associate with the MC. Proof that he can stand on his own, the album actively pushes against the growing hordes of casual fans of the grime sound.

Eggleston cycles through separate fugue-like riffs, filling in transitions with electronic crescendos that lend the piece a cinematic energy.

It doesn’t take long for the opening ‘Perspex’ to draw you into Plaid’s blissed-out dimension.

Mudhoney have released an astute, politically relevant and commendably fired-up garage punk belter of an LP. Aye, it blindsided me too.

Elegance and delicacy seem to be the intended effect, as well as intelligence, both innate and hard-won with time.

By the end, Upside Down Mountain sounds like a rejuvenation. In Wilson, Oberst has found an editor who will reward future collaborations.

It may not be his finest hour, but that doesn't mean it's without value. Yes, there are both righteous highs and tedious lows, but the inspired moments are worth cherishing.

Nothing is another manifestation of Jaar and Harrington’s efforts to preserve a harmonious fusion of rock and electronics, without compromising either side.

For all the heroics on display here, though, it sometimes sounds as though these three hyper-prolific virtuosos are--believe it or not--resting in something of a comfort zone. They've increased their compositional and improvisational fortitude as a unit, but they're still wandering the same general aural territory as Rangda (or Sun City Girls or Chasny's Comets On Fire).

West is consistently the weak link. The musical patchwork of The Life Of Pablo is frequently--but not always--diverting in its restlessness and detail, from the abruptness with which Price is faded out on 'Ultralight Beam' to the scrawling guitars that underpin 'Feedback', probably the most straightforwardly good song on the album.

Phased bottleneck guitars, Rhodes pianos, basses and synths lay a solid foundation, each instrument perfectly balanced with the other, though keeping a distinguishable part in the harmony, giving the songs a layered and complex structure never overdone or taken too far as Cohen croons on top.

Despite the transience, this is the most settled and mature his work has ever sounded. To put it another way, it's a look that suits, and you hope it sticks.

Universes is not quite grasping the heights of the Horsehead Nebula, but the novelty of Seven's poly-genred bravura certainly leaves it reaching in that direction. If you're looking for a happy medium between well-crafted house and happy-go-lucky slur-along songs, take some direction from this man, because he does it with serious panache.

It's a sparse, isolated and overlong affair that's more difficult to love than previous solo outings like the lush The Forester or the sweet Wild Dog. However, for an artist with the vision to take such on such a huge subject as the three-pronged relationship between one woman, her gods and her planet, even managing to squeeze it down to a mere 22 songs is achievement enough. That the album is spectacular, introspective and terrifying all in equal measures is just a bonus.

The collaboration works wonders for both artists, as the textural beauty of Poliça is expanded with the added depth that s t a r g a z e bring.

It's not quite its own thing yet still, but it's the sign of a band gelling well, with Crain's collaborators Dan Quinlivan and Rob Frye happily in the same sphere while aiming beyond it.

The album Cistern is thoughtful and meticulous, agile and artful.

Like the curveball they are, Shake Chain zig just when you expect them to zag, proving that there is such a thing as a jaggy snake.

Lanegan blends his most satisfying and heady aural brew to date.

Despite the strength of the track list, there’s little doubt that Groggs, Parker and Ritchie are the stars of the show. The trio’s chemistry infects every track on Injury Reserve.

You'd think that a tried and tested method of the same old thing would have a shelf life that its novelty would wear off. But when the buzzsaw, ear-piercing keyboards and thumps of the drum machine hit your eardrums, all rationale is rendered futile.

Interstellar easily contains enough beauty to confirm that Frankie Rose is more than just the buzz-scene she once helped create and should provide lift-off into all manner of new sonic territories.

Feel their energy flowing through your mind. Satisfaction guaranteed.

Kilo exchanges pure visceral impact for control and composition, but in doing so it focuses its own energy into a sharper edge.

Here they've painted another masterpiece in post-midnight malevolence. Only this time, it's more hypnotic, with a new-and-Neu-found intransigence.

All in all, there's enough to see and hear to make this one museum worth queuing up for.

Give this album time and an open heart, and you'll get an album that initially seems slate grey blooming into colour. In The Seams is Saint Saviour's best yet.

Live albums are inevitably products of a particular time and place, and Live At The Orpheum sometimes sounds like a band still testing its limits, pleasingly proficient rather than definitively awesome. But it's hard to think of any other group of their vintage that still sounds so vital and forward-looking.

You come through it all not with a standard sense of enjoyment; playing it loud, you really feel like you’ve been through the wringer. But it’s the way that Sex Swing blend textures of psych, krautrock, doom, and goth that rewards those who are prepared to get their ears mangled.

Mr Dynamite combines something genuinely sinister with a sense of fun, and far from being a whimsical side project for its members, it can be regarded as a landmark release for all of them.

In this time when dank edgelords across techno and industrial music are still flogging the dead SS cavalry charger of suspect aesthetics and prissy growling, it's refreshing to listen to a record where you've never a doubt that the sturm-und-drang is in aid of righteous causes. May the Test Dept cogs keep on grinding.

Beautiful eulogies, luscious instrumentation and the occasional funk freakout, Shaman! is up there with the best of all of Ackamoor’s works.

Despite everything, CEL never feels sprawling. It’s not complete anarchy. The arrangements remain lean and starched, austere even, with clipped, unprocessed jazz drum breaks regimented underneath icy, hyperactive square wave arpeggios.

Jad Fair knows what time it is and yet he still offers hope, which makes his positive qualities appear all the more authentic and necessary in these dark times. That is the essence of this record, whilst still acknowledging the perilous near proximity of the void, we can choose instead to Jump Into Love.

Shackleton’s deep bass rumble and Six Organs’ ritual folk both echo through Jinxed By Being where together they conjure something strange and absorbing.

If the start of Too Cold To Hold is faintly predictable, the rest of the album opens up into something rather more unexpected. The band have always weaved elements of hip-hop and jazz into their messed-up punk-funk but here they’ve refined it and pushed it forward. The sounds seem richer and more ambitious.

Whether this album’s your first insight into Prison, or you’re a die-hard fan, on Downstate, the band hooks listeners in with a unique compilation of progressive stoner rock songs.

It's a work of music that seismically shifts in front of your ears. Melodies form crystalline shapes that grow, morph and solidify under a haze of generative ambience. Some of those ideas laid down on Get Lost have taken shape as an LP, designed to play through from start to finish.

An intimate collection of fireside confessionals which weave their spell on you with a slow-burning intensity, seducing the listener by stealth.

Actually, You Can might tumble headfirst into doomsday, but Deerhoof’s day of reckoning sounds just as botanical and prismatic and baroque as they proclaim.

On Late Night Endless, Pinch and Sherwood come close, but coming from two of the most influential figures working in these areas today, there's a greater expectation here that isn't always met. When it does, it shines.

Each of the tracks on The Loud Silence pointedly, yet effortlessly, foregrounds the folk-y marranzano within the otherwise calm, techno-centric sonic context that Dozzy has outlined notably on Plays Bee Mask and with his group Voices From The Lake.

The two pieces enhance and complement one another to make a combined whole. This is very much a considered and, with regards to its structure, composed body of work.

Conquistador is recognisably cut from the same artistic mindset as Earth 2 or Primitive And Deadly but is as different from them as they are from each other. Each record Carlson releases, as Earth or under his own name, seems to both evolve from and react to the previous one.

The power of Wand may not be pleasant, but its pandemic of virulent noise may well become the itch you can't scratch.

Taken on their individual merits there's nothing particularly 'wrong' with the 11 songs that form DFA 1979's long-awaited second album, but altogether there's few standout moments and the tight, self-imposed confines of DFA 1979's sound shackles them to the floor.

From the base material of improvised music made in a situation of flux, his arrangements are incredibly dense and layered, linking intricate snippets and components together perfectly.

If something’s missing, it’s in production that can’t hide ageing spread; over separate sessions, with separate moods. None of it parlays a singular vision. It’s not meant to. So although the songs often hit the spot (it’s a fuck ton more enjoyable than Teeth Dreams) it’s not a follow-up to Stay Positive.

It remains quite literally sublime--i.e. it creates a stirring sense of awe and fear in the listener, by creating an abstract representation of a facet of nature that we are right to be humbled by and terrified of: giant oceanic waves.

Slow Summits doesn't rank with the Pastels' best work, but it will subtly remind the group's committed, fanatical following of why they fell in love in the first place.

Mirror II sounds so much more sophisticated, self-assured and, dare I say, grown up.

With Weird Sister, attentiveness pays off, and rewards with deeper comprehension of what this band are about.

Not all of Spectre is quite equal to 'The Whistleblowers'. There's the occasional functional interlude--standard-issue industrial synth propulsion. But, compositionally and sonically, Spectre is intriguingly accessible.

[Government Plates] is bursting with kinetic energy and texture, and never focuses on one particular sound for overlong over its economical 36 minute run time. It's that sense of ever shifting energy and momentum that characterizes Death Grips best work and it's a relief to see it returned to.