However dark the underlying motives are, The Collapse Of Everything gives a sense of hope, rising from ashes.

Paste is raw, emotional music whose kernel you will never locate – yet you may enjoy the wild goose chase.

Imitations lacks the visceral punch that Lanegan delivers at his best: it doesn't demand that the listener descend with it in the way that, say, Bubblegum manages to. That's not to say, though, that it's a failure; it's more the case that its emotional palette is a relatively comfortable one.

An enticing, at times uncomfortable and intoxicating record.

Dream A Garden is an album full of admirable ideas and clearly coloured by his past, but as a step towards his future, it falls in between its own ambition and true excellence.

There are worse barbs to chuck at an album than that it would make a beautiful accompaniment to some breathtaking scenery.

Suuns And Jerusalem In My Heart is more than just a stopgap or indulgence, and with those first three tracks in particular, it pulls off a convincing and vital meld of contrasting cultural and sonic palettes. And if not all of these experiments work, it's nevertheless proof once again of the myriad musical possibilities out there in the world just waiting to be brought into existence.

Transfer Of Energy [Feelings Of Power] serves as an experiment more than anything else, and one that's a thrill to boot. Still, it remains an experiment and without a thorough understanding of the technical jargon, our field of vision is very limited.

It sometimes feels as if Sleaford Mods retreat a little too far on The Demise of Planet X – diagnosing collapse with sharp wit but leaving little in direction or galvanising force. In a Britain that could use art to provoke unity as much as amusement, that distance feels not just like an easy route, but a missed opportunity, no matter how enjoyable the chaos remains.

It's fair to say with such as varied collection of sounds from disparate sources, µ20 doesn't make it easy on the listener. After spending two hours of being buffeted by a dizzying array of beats and sound textures, listening to the third CD, with its wilful experimentalism, was almost too much on the first listen.

Pretty much the whole way through, without pausing for breath, Pray For Me I Don’t Fit In sounds like a carnival band decided to make a covers album of 90s industrial rock classics. I don’t reckon this is an influence they’re especially punting for. However, happily or not, it’s where they land. This is a thrilling mosh, though it can get annoying.

There are moments in The Kid where Smith’s ability to meld the electronic and the organic into a symbiotic web of sound and music is comforting and soothing, the harshness of modern noise and atonality sublimated into something that provides a balming comfort.

This more lithe and economical album in many ways proves that Pond have taken a further step towards genuine maturity, but it does still seem rather thrown together and the result of a scattergun approach to both composition and arrangements.

While each of these tracks runs together almost seamlessly, the record is almost in danger of becoming a background presence. But there is a refreshing honesty to this consistency, prioritising texture and narrative over conventional structure or dancefloor impact. Long invites us to tune in and be moved, or to drop out and continue on as ever.

Old Fears is, then, a notably moodier, less accessible work than Field Music's last album Plumb.

Much like religious experience, the constellations of songs here (and their brethren on the two prior albums) rely on an intensely relatable core, a simple idea or feeling sizzling at the center that anyone can attach to. From there, the instrumentalists ripple out in meditative layers, never covering over or distracting from it, but rather reinforcing.

Sun is the light at the end of one hell of a tunnel, a record brimming with an assurance and playfulness that, if a little dorky in places, is about as cathartic as pop gets.

A good album, but one better suited to a former time.

While the album is often indulgent, this isn't necessarily a downfall.

They might need to be a little more consistent to make that one stick, but if they're up for it, One Day All Of This Won't Matter Anymore is a decent launch pad, proving they've the confidence to mix it up.

The result is a woozily involving mood piece that encompasses everything from the shimmering heat of daytime ('Lifesized Stuffed Animal', where music box chimes rub up against disoriented square wave bass) to the dead of night, caught in the lairy drunken lurch of 'Kitties'.

Restarter, the band's fourth full-length, sees a return to form for Torche that even in its unabashed nods to frontman Steve Brooks's other musical endeavors, retains the pop sensibilities that have continually been the point of distinction between the two.

On the whole, though, these songs are at their best when grounded in low region trickery: rumbles, clipping sounds, droplets, shudders, judders and all manner of absorbed low freak-uency eeriness, as exhilaratingly creepy as anything offered up by trip-hop's most skilled practitioners.

His vocal style might be somewhat polarising when not backed by a dense barrage of noise--and at times This World is a challenging listen--but there is no doubt that broadening his scope has added new strings to his bow; namely the ability to adopt breezier sounds without losing any of his emotional clout.

While it’s a formula they work to, it never sounds formulaic.

The instrumentation, forms, and concepts are familiar: “pure” country, as it were. Lyrically speaking, love, companionship, and family (‘Mama’) represent persistent threads; even more so, though, the passing of time seems to be Parton’s chief concern.

Going, Going... is a little overlong, but it’s also bursting with some tremendous songs and a vitality that belies over 30 years in the game.

An oscillation between control and disorientation continues throughout (the album’s title refers to a numerical vector for oscillation in physics and engineering). Hewing closer to the former is when Phasor is at its strongest, exploring the world of a character seeking connection but far from reach.