Bingo! is pulsating with energy, humour and intimacy. Viens' lyricism continues to use poetry to magnify pieces of everyday life with increasingly evident skill.

Staples' devilish hymns from the depths make Cry Baby his most focused and concentrated work in recent memory. Not one to miss as the uncomfortable truths ring out like war cries. Outstanding.

This combination of hushed melodies and harshness should clash, but instead balances in a push-and-pull harmony.

Lazy Daisy suspends time entirely, Clerkin's unhurried vocals drifting over a hazy dub bassline, its chorus poised somewhere between lullaby and daydream. Meanwhile the loose drums, plodding bass and haunting vibrato of Ups & Downs gives the record a smoky jazz club warmth, whilst the title track locates the album's emotional centre.

As much as the record plays on the surface like a catchy sugar rush, there is reward in deeper listen.

While it would be easy to dismiss Ngonda’s work as pastiche, the strength of his melodies shows a deep reverence for his craft.

Every Single Muscle comprises the same beautiful and raw poetry Willmett (vocals/guitar) and Harris (vocals/bass) are adored for writing; the duo have merely adjusted the tempo and kilter of their riffs to reflect their new project's faster pace.

I Built You a Tower is the sonic diary of a man compartmentalising trauma, and amongst it all, still hanging in there. Set against the backdrop of a rejuvenated band in full flight, this tower is most certainly assembled on solid ground.

Opening track 'sideways' is connective tissue, re-energising the Lana-assisted, Blue Nile tincture of 2024's Alma Mater with its stalking alto sax, while beatnik anthem 'the van' trades in Antonoff’s usual emphatic abstracts. The overstated prophetic bent will irritate some, but proves a worthy rhetorical jaunt.

Iceage pulls this all together in a surprisingly cohesive record, capped off by brilliantly woozy closer True Blue, showing they're not resting on their laurels just yet.

Inferno may the wonkiest and most unnerving album from the duo, not uniformly menacing, but one undoubtedly apt for the current climate in its restless energy. Hope may be in short supply, but at least we've got a brilliant soundtrack for the apocalypse.

Sweetly melodic, passionately crafted, it could just be his best yet.

So What is a delightful addition to the 'I’m doing great, actually' canon, where barely concealed heartbreak begs to be felt under swaggering lyrics and Big Stick is a snarling powerhouse.

This is James standing alongside the people who inspire her and made her feel like she belongs. That confidence pays off on closing track See Through, where James strips everything back. She stands alone, finally at ease with herself.

It’s a sensation that sneaks up on you, a kind of mania at once funny, alarming and harrowing, and it all adds up to something unlike anything else you’ll hear this year.

Not everything here works; the album’s middle section gets a little too bogged down in the weeds to the point of distraction. However, the final stretch sees a thrilling switch to route one, such as the climax of Third Double or the excellent Favoured Over The Ride.

It’s swift, at just 24 minutes across nine songs, but The Afterparty is Lykke Li at her very, very best, which makes her recent claim at an LA listening party that it could be her last, devastating. It might only be May, but it's already a serious contender for album of the year

Poem 1 is a return to form; so much more focused and well-defined, but moving forward too, showcasing herself as a great songwriter amidst the ambient wash of her earlier work.

Aldous Harding's fifth album doesn't deviate much from her winning formula, but there are small flourishes peppered throughout to keep it feeling fresh.

The sound is raw and grinds with edgier and harder beats, perhaps signalling a new direction for the group’s versatile beatmaker, DJ Próvaí. .... A well put-together album, thanks in part to working alongside super-producer Dan Carey.

It's a decisive success from one of NYC’s most distinct exports – though its head may sometimes come before the beat, it is no doubt an impressive achievement.

By key change three, your tolerance for theatricality may be tested, but Friko’s affinity for arresting melodies makes every twist and turn genuinely exciting and, with its wild, youthful spirit, their second record is the perfect soundtrack for the open road.

Altogether, it has the faintly dispiriting sheen of something commissioned by its own success. Ware is deft enough that the album still plays best when it coalesces her 2010s crooner poise with the 2020s reassertion of her pop bona fides.

Where WU LYF once teetered on the cliff-edge, barking every utterance like they knew it might be their last, they're now sure-footed and comfortable, speaking with a conviction that can only come with experience.

Closer Scorpio Purple Skies, a near ten-minute drone glistening with the lap steel of John Also Bennett, gestures to something more elemental and cosmic, the mythic and the earthly folding in on themselves.

The trick that Johnny Lynch, aka Pictish Trail, has pulled on us all, however, is that beneath the froth and the dayglo is a set of songs that truly shine, sticking to your ears like Silly String, getting tangled in your brain and your heartstrings.

The title track, Cruel World, is a brilliantly deceptive slice of sunshine. .... Elsewhere, the album is quieter and less sure footed.

Picton has led out of this gathered ensemble a record that lives and breathes, and can be lived and breathed in.