It's perhaps unfortunate that Guardian Alien fall into the cliché of extended, trippy freak-out at the last moment, as Spiritual Emergency toys with as of yet unheard musical syntax, touching upon some peculiar motifs and hinting at perhaps full future maturity and subsequent greatness.

It's not the spartan techno of the early SCB records by any means, but the never-quite-convincing progressive window dressing has mostly been thankfully thrown out said window in favour of an approach that maintains big room impact without pandering to its more simplistic tropes.

It isn't quite as lovely as 2012's Hotel Shampoo and it isn't as otherworldly as his 2005 solo debut, Yr Atal Genhedlaeth, but it does manage to push his freewheeling spirit to the fore throughout and there truly is a sense that journeys long and important are being taken within and alongside the music

The Pleasure Is Yours absolutely delivers on its title: it will surely make any room its in a sweeter place for playing it. But its proof, too, that sometimes you can have too much of a good thing.

NOT TiGHT is a solid showcase of the pair’s considerable chemistry.

Whether by accident or design, Wooden Head is a charming record. It oozes gentle optimism--evoking, in its quiet euphoria, some halcyon aural safe place of lush hazy sunshine.

While most of the songs on Fuse have sharp electronic edges, a soulful ballad such as ‘Run A Red Light’ isn’t going to scare Radio 2. Nevertheless, as the album unfolds, it becomes clear this isn’t EBTG simply revisiting past glories, but cautiously experimenting, and perhaps hinting at where they might go if they make more albums.

Here we find more of the same, with Sean's vocals switching from likeable to thoughtful with a hooky, synthy musical backdrop--it's catchy as hell.

It's not exactly pushing these MCs towards a new rap revolution, tapping the past and present but skipping predicting tomorrow, but it's consistently engaging without overpowering the stars of the show.

Farmer's Corner is a slow burner whose finer points emerge on repeat listens, but put it on while you do some chores, or during your daily commute, and it's bound to sneak up on you.

Thomas White sings, oddly enough, too well, lacking the fragility of Nick Drake, the androgyny of Stuart Murdoch, not to mention Jim Morrison's virility.... Idiots! is an excellent journey through the more poppy instincts of Electric Soft Parade.

Given to the Wild is resolutely The Maccabees best.

A record that may occasionally get on one's nerves, yet undoubtedly overflows with vitality.

For the most part, Jarre has effectively dovetailed repetitive drum patterns, slow-rising, siren-like synths and processed voice on Oxymore – making this a pretty dancefloor friendly record. However, tracks like ‘Synthy Sisters’ and ‘Epica’ are not devoid of their monotonous moments that seem to tune out in comparison with his penchant for the agile textures of musique concrète.

Sounding freer and better than she ever has before.

I was hoping for a leap forward, but Morning Phase just feels like a very pretty place to sit and wait for one.

This is not as viscerally thrilling as many of his other releases; it is warm, it is something to quietly contemplate.

It is by no means perfect, and at points misjudged, but for the first time since the early 2000s we have a record that runs the gamut of what makes Franz Ferdinand great: it is an album full of character, craft and flair all at once.

This is not the Manics’ best album, but it is one of their most charming. As a document of where they stand it is endlessly fascinating.

It doesn't always work, but that's what makes Grapefruit live up to its name--the epitome of an acquired taste; one that, when hooked on the intricacies and possibilities of its flavour, opens up so much potential for the future.

Tomorrow's Hits is an easy album to admire--this is The Men stretching out and aiming for new targets--but a difficult one to fall in love with.

There remains a re-assurance in these grooves that here is a band that knows what is does best and is perfectly happy to play to its strengths.

R.A.P. Music is an album that takes the energy of hip hop's rebellious instincts as its heart and reminds us of their importance.

Leave No Trace favours synths over horns – in fact, it's not until about ten minutes in that we get our first taste of brass - and whilst the sound is still impressively full-bodied, without the continuous stream of interwoven saxophone and trumpet solos that made its predecessor such a joyous affair it feels pretty empty in comparison.

Love Jail is no masterpiece, but Wilson and his bandmates' instincts are most often good. There are far worse roadtrip companions.

While we often expect clarity of thought from our favourite lyricists, Wolf's admission that he doesn't hold all the answers makes these songs all the more relatable and poignant.

Ignoring the pair of low-key, forgettable tracks that close the album, Howlin is a cracking summer album.... but whether the album has a shelf life beyond that remains to be seen.

The Whole Love is, therefore, just another Wilco album. But it's Wilco at the top of their game, or at least close to it, patrolling territory they've made their own and secure in the knowledge that they belong there.