As with all Callahan’s work, his immaculate comic timing, pathos and heart are intertwined – the strongly held centre of the maelstrom.

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.

Wyatt has sustained and continues to sustain himself with quality, idiosyncrasy, and integrity over so long a time, as these eight sides so amply demonstrate.

More richly-nuanced than Mastermind and far trippier than 4-Way Diablo, Last Patrol sees the elder statesmen of stoner rock back at the very top of their game.

The raw and at times, ferocious navigation of the album soars in its earnest delivery and marks a career-defining release for (Sandy) Alex G.

With Sallows, Mayberry and Psutka have crafted something deeply human and eerily, beautifully contradictory, like meeting someone you already know for the very first time.

The trio’s music here is still that much more dynamic and to the point, especially as Ambarchi’s ghostly riffs start waving through the groove’s valleys and mountains, evoking the intricate loops of his solo albums.

The Childhood of a Leader opens up further notions on the increasing use of mise en scene within Scott's music as well as positioning himself as a modern composer utilising cinematic techniques within narrative frameworks. It is an unexpectedly urgent addition to a master's late period canon.

In its 58 minutes length, Grey Tickles, Black Pressure notches up fourteen masterful tracks with no down-swing, enchanting the listener until the very last words, "love never fails".

Nothing here is complex or highbrow, but instead filled with the joy and clarity of understanding and connecting.

Beyond the impressive list of guest stars though, this is an album that reflects on one person’s history and is steeped in honesty, grief and empathy as a result.

Mangled and volatile and filthy though it may be, Jummy is deeply refreshing.

I AKA I is eclectic and forceful, but always at the service of melody, atmosphere and, if you listen hard enough, emotion.

What makes Jane Weaver and Modern Kosmology such a joy is that it comes as sharp and welcome relief to so many of the serious and po-faced purveyors of cynically cosmic vibes. This is music that simultaneously celebrates and explores, that takes pop as its foundation and then builds a multi-layered space on it that welcomes one and all.

This ego-stripped project may not be to the liking of some of his original grime fans. But at this stage, Stormzy is aiming to break boundaries both materially and spiritually. He achieves both on this new album.

With Archive Material, Silverbacks bring so much fun, personality, and excellent musicianship across their songs. It’s a record that, once again, confirms a bright future ahead.

It's both texturally ravishing and textually fascinating.

It's a cavalcade, certainly, but a thrilling one which feels like the proper realisation of Adebimpe, Drucker and Patton's quixotic talents combined.

Ekstasis is ecstatically good.

If Konnichiwa was Skepta’s coming of age, then Ignorance is Bliss is a comfortable consolidation, one that hints at the changes in the artist’s life without ever delving deep in. Nonetheless, the project comfortably asserts his place in the current moment as a unique figurehead of UK culture, possessing artistic ability in bags and a persona that suggests far more to come.

In moving away from the vestiges of full-on noise that defined his previous two albums, Luke Younger has paradoxically come up with a work that packs more punch than either.

Fans of Nick's previous work should feel right at home; it's livelier and more overtly catchy than anything in his catalogue, but at its core, much of Anchor is a refinement of the things he's done well in the past.

For a fan it's fascinating stuff, a parallel universe of unfulfilled potential.

Unlike the cohesiveness of earlier releases, Echtzeit has the feel of a compendium of sketches playing upon inherent strengths within Roedelius's considerable back catalogue. However, what it lacks in experiential probing is made up for by the simple fact of Echtzeit being a nice place to dwell and linger.

Japanese Breakfast is turning into an artist with much to adore, unabashedly authentic but creating music that we can still all see a little bit of ourselves in.

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.

There’s no clever foreshadowing here, and the real-time emotions make the death of the relationship so much more powerful. Both she and we got something terrific out of it.

Which is the thing all the way through DSU, the parts that you recognise, that feel familiar (or rather Alex G's creation of a comforting sense of familiarity) make everything else seem richer for happening around it.