When Bright Green Field follows in the footsteps of their best track The Cleaner – supercharging the banal and mundane with vigour and purpose – it rips, mixing genres like straight-ahead indie-rock with funk and jazz, and exploring ambient and textural backdrops which make their now-home Warp apt.

Besides some pretty clear face value, there are layers, moods, attitudes and tones to dissect and unpick which are overshadowed somewhat as the album stands.

None of this group of songs are as good as those from her concise solo album, which only sprawled out with the ambient abstractness of its instrumental companion, something new and unheard for her. Here, listless listening is interrupted by the dangerous, mystical Simulation Swarm, saving the record’s back half. Big Thief are at their most beguiling when giving in to weird experiments.

On their underrated Stumpwork though, they found surprising ways to provide setting, but their and Cate Le Bon’s production choices here are mostly safe. The album’s second side starts meaner, muddying the palette nicely, while the shuffling, pretty I Need You’s electronic elements are a breath of fresh air.

Badu collects good work, but the second half of the collection trails off; the whole doesn’t stand up to sustained listening without herbal aids (which, to her credit, Badu recommends).

Overall, TRU is a promising step for Ovlov, albeit one that doesn’t always succeed when it comes to standing out from its peers.

The xx are moving forward, but they don’t know quite where they’re headed.

The record is a bit slow to get going, and at times meanders into excessive atmosphere – next to The Slow's Bullet's ambient fuzz, the urgent jungle rhythms on Higher and Devotion in particular pop. But Avery is engaging with the art of the album as a sum of its parts, and from start to finish conjures a fantastical, dreamlike world.

There's a great album in Fontaines D.C., and Skinty Fia takes them one step closer.

Barrett has moved away from the big city, but small-town living has inspired his most accessible work to date.

Arab Strap’s first studio album together since 2005’s The Last Romance is marked by a feeling of not quite-ness; everything’s there but it just doesn’t quite click into its potential at many points. A good half of the record treads in similar ground to opener and comeback single The Turning of Our Bones; drum machines, faintly angular guitar arpeggios and Moffat’s largely spoken dissection of middle age.

Snares seems like a long EP--one that ends before it really gets going.

CACTI is understandably more subdued than her self-titled debut, but the boisterous numbers it does contain, like spite, might feel more dynamic played live by humans – it feels like the energy that makes her such a captivating performer is being restricted by her drum machine.

The album sways more into the meandering rather than the conclusive – perhaps an observation on the unpredictability of life itself, but nevertheless leaving things feeling somewhat stunted.

Liars' tenth album is a spotty affair with showy highs (Sekwar, The Start), pulpy mediocrity (From What the Never Was, My Pulse to Ponder) and enigmatic experiments (Acid Crop, Leisure War).

The Great Bailout, while resting handily within her trademark virulent atmospheres and spoken word, is among her most impenetrable and least entertaining from a practical sense. This is not a fault of the record, but a necessary and expected byproduct of its existence, as each track runs up to ten minutes in a dirge of menacing poetry with instrumentals more evocative of a sinister mood-piece than a traditional song

Ultimately, although it’s more immediate than their 2016 record, what you gain from We Are Sent Here By History will be dictated by how much you connect with its musical vision. Sink into its groove though and it’s an album that presents a fascinating societal commentary.

Alpha Zulu is everything a Phoenix album has been already: slick, silly, maximalist. ... They mine nostalgia for call-backs (Tonight); find comedy in impending doom (Alpha Zulu). But the boys are ageing and, separated initially by lockdown, an emotional core burned a hole in the centre of this new record instead of a six-minute space-bound instrumental.

At 16 tracks the album does slightly outstay its welcome, and in its latter stages it begins to feel like ideas are being repeated, but with less focus and immediacy.

Pensive, resting beats provide a backdrop to the album's many experiments with it really popping in its quieter moments of lyrical reflection and confrontation. Loggerhead requires repeat listening to discover its true depth.

Baker doesn’t shy away from the weight of depression, but depending on your emotional state, the album is either cathartic or overbearing.

At 20 tracks long, however, it takes some serious listening to get through the whole thing, and a sense of sag in the latter third threatens to overpower on the first few spins. Essentially, this flower could've used a little more judicious pruning.

On the Land Blues is especially reminiscent of the latter’s Blue Ridge Mountains, but lacks their pathos and grandeur. Otherwise, there’s plenty else for the ears to feast on.

It’s in the curation of the record where Ayewa excels, presenting a platform for black and queer collaborators throughout.

The album’s tendency towards soft and sugary can sometimes grate a little, especially when the band sound so vital and exciting when they amp up the dirt and energy (Silence is Golden; I Told You That I Was Afraid). Overall though, this is a solid collection of bittersweet pop gems for anyone with half a heart.

It’s strange then that in its opening stages it feels so lifeless. .... Then there’s the one-two of immaculate singles Girlie-Pop! and S.M.O., and it’s like the record has put its finger in a plug socket.

On the back half of the record, the production turns towards the kind of lo-fi psychedelia of Stereolab and Broadcast, Clairo embodying Trish Keenan’s detached delivery, another previously unseen aspect of her artistry she wears well. Like Sling, Charm is a grower of an album, Clairo growing with it.

The fact she’s instead opted for a bunch of gritty, Bunker Records-inspired analogue improvisations makes the end product all the more enjoyable. Qualm is also underpinned by a peculiar sense of Britishness.

But with all this exploration, the record lacks a little impact, not quite achieving the cohesion and emotional gravity of Good at Falling.

Which isn’t to say that she gets everything right--the new arrangements of both Killer and Georgia lack the immediacy of their originally released versions--but when she does, you can see her making a long career of this.

God Games provides glimpses of what makes The Kills so compelling, but is unlikely to convert many new listeners to the cause.

There are long stretches, particularly during the muted take on V1 in which the pieces are impressive rather than affecting, where you can marvel at Malone’s skill with timbre without being moved in any way. It leaves a sense that the album feels more like one for the most committed fans of all three artists, but one that, given the chance, has some astonishing moments.

The risk of taking that deliberately vintage tack is contrivance, and though this album tows the line occasionally, it never disappears into itself.

The Nashville Sound isn't a bad record by any estimation, but there are flat moments.

Cool It Down is topical without getting too deep, and fun without overstaying its welcome, but even for a band as mercurial as YYYs, it feels a little too ephemeral.

Things start promisingly on opener Special, with the equally rip-roaring Fantasy shortly after. The problems emerge in the album's latter half, starting from the latest single Tonight, which feels sadly very safe and leads to songs that wouldn't feel out of place on an early 2000s generic pop-punk album.

While Nearer My God isn’t always successful, the imagination behind it is more than enough to give it your time.

Dead Channel Sky’s brilliance is front-loaded. .... This vitality soon becomes mired in conceptual slog – testament that clipping. are capable of greatness but struggle to stay consistently great.

001 is at its best when collecting material made just before Strummer's death, including a duet with Johnny Cash on Bob Marley's Redemption Song and the heartbreaking folk rag of Silver & Gold.

Baloji often presents a grand, cinematic vision here that can be thrilling in short bursts. Taken as a whole though, the sheer scale of 137 Avenue Kaniama can be a bit exhausting.

Experimentations galore, Sundara Karma’s second album is one that works well, as tracks blend into each other despite jarring soundscapes. But there is no track that appears a clear standout, and therein lies the failing within an otherwise bold record, as no one track roots you in your place wanting more.

While IRL is satiny and consistent, sonically and lyrically you’re eager for some bigger swings. At times operating in truisms, you await unspooling of edgier insight. IRL is like a path reflecting dappled sunlight: we can see patches of brightness but its full light is obscured.

Sometimes though the more minimal vibe that runs across Broken Politics feels a bit too languid and relaxed. Tracks can float by too easily, while the clattering air horns and steel drums of Natural Skin Deep feel out of place on an otherwise low-key album.

Witty, odd and carefully drawn, Woolhouse nails whimsy without once hitting twee.

There are curve balls--Rise sounds like The Lighthouse Family (!); Leatherette like an outtake from Madonna's Ray of Light--but this is business as usual for Gilmore: great lyrics, good melodies and production chasing today's radio. But you can't help feeling there’s still a great album to come from her.

Damned Devotion is not an album you can play once and get a grip on. She remains sultry, she remains a late night proposition; this is music geared for the come down, but for all that there is reinvigoration here.

Compared to some of their previous works, it’s an album that also feels somewhat gloomy with Isaiah Barr’s thoughts on issues such as gentrification and eviction distilled into dark and often murky compositions. ... Despite this, Lower East Suite Part Three still manages to capture contemporary urban discord.

Every element in his songs fight for control of the centre before inevitably decaying together like racing pennies in orbit around the centre of a funnel.

The studio mix is excellent, and sample-heavy interludes provide a welcome break from what at times seems like a label compilation. One unifying thread, however, is the playground-fidelity sampling and the prominent, plucky bass, which gives the album a Parliament-ish, heavy funk overtone.

[Redemption Love's] use of repetition is borderline annoying, the instrumental is completely uninteresting, making this track feel like just another piece of filler on an album that otherwise features some truly captivating songwriting. The title track, for example, is the Joan Armatrading we know and love, and then some: contemplative, wise and deliciously groovy.

By deliriously atmospheric closer Lisboa, it's clear that the Chicagoan trio have little new to offer the genre, but they sure know how to make a dead concept feel alive.

Ultimately, it's a collection of well-written and well-presented songs, though at this point the familiarity with the Condon style feels expected, and the few new tweaks aren't quite enough to raise Hadsel above a middling Beirut album.

There’s plenty of the usual Amyl fare here, with some absolute stompers right out of the gate.

Frances’s voice has a tendency to sway into a mumble throughout, making certain vantages into her world a strain to perceive – unfortunately lending itself to the album’s mysterious nature a little too well.

The result is more tacky than glam. If you’re in it for the jokes, Hippopotamus is worth the effort.

A hint of musical theatre elsewhere sees the record lose some of its bite, but in general it’s a robust rejoinder to some of the more depthless musicality of soul-baring, 'authentic', indie-rock. Kirby is instead funny, scathing and full of clarity about her personal epiphanies.

Barbara... is less massive comeback than slight return.

It’s a testament to Loma’s abilities as sonic world-builders that a number of tracks sound less like traditional songs than they do field recordings from shadowy, secluded habitats somewhere far from civilisation.

From voices in prayer to the jaunty organ and guitar pedal abuse of Congratulations, this is a record that rarely falls short of a creative arrangement but ultimately the gospel of Morby is one for the devotees not the unbelievers.

These nine tracks prioritise serenity and beauty in their evocation of some unknowable beyond. Their sparkle can become almost too perfect, which makes the dark abruptness of the last two pieces feel like release, even if they throw its general hopefulness into uncertainty.

This time around, it's the longer tracks that hit the hardest.

Overall, Learning How to Live and Let Go fluctuates in tone. But this doesn’t negate the clear effort the band have put into making this record a lot more experimental than any of their previous releases, and it’s still chock full of heart and vulnerability in its lyrical content.

Keep Moving is the closest that Loving in Stereo gets to its own calling card, but too often the album gets mired in mid-tempo fare that allows the adrenaline to wane.

While stylistically The War on Drugs have never released anything revolutionary, A Deeper Understanding lacks that spark that their previous releases had, which could well be due in part to their move to a new major label home.

He maintains his voice, his melodic instinct and knack for presenting raw emotional landscapes without ever slipping into self-pity or losing his sense of humour. However, in throwing himself into the garage rock mould he loses the loose relationship with genre that allowed the twitchy dynamism of his best work.

The baggy mid-section gives over to pared back singer-songwriter fare that reigns it all in, the record’s bright flame burning out rather too fast.

It's a surprisingly spotty album from an artist who rarely puts a foot wrong.

This record isn't exactly a "pleasurable" experience, and its relatively brief half-an-hour run-time may seem like a relief, but it actually somewhat undermines the tension in its brevity.

One More Thing is the product of an accomplished band noodling around in the studio. There's a playfulness and creativity here that promises bigger and better things from the Brighton four-piece in the future. As far as debut albums go, this is a promising one.

Between its moderate tempos and spartan production, In Between seems designed to turn as few heads as possible and at first even comes across a tad glum. ... With a little patience though, its sunnier side shines through. All the hallmarks of The Feelies' sound are present, but in a pleasantly subdued state.

While they may not have completely achieved seventh heaven here, 7 is still a solid first step heralding Beach House’s next phase.

A selection of often very solid songs that waivers a touch towards its back end, but nonetheless marks another solid entry to the output of an always interesting artist.

Bathed in a heavenly glow, it’s easy to let these songs wash over you, but Chua’s soothing vocals invite us to lean in and listen more closely.

Even if it doesn’t always hit the mark, Evergreen is an album that should see Gunnulfsen continue to climb festival line-ups and charts alike.

Big Sigh's strength is in not holding back from confronting darker feelings, and revelling in the raw honesty of experiencing them.

The constant changes in tone that come with such disparate collaborators mean that the album never settles into a comfortable groove the way 5:55 or IRM did.

Patchy and unfiltered, but charming as all hell, it’s a candid reflection of its creator.

The album’s second half slows down and lacks some of the oomph of the first, and the tone does shift around a bit too much, but that’s part of its joy.

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

Aside from the heavenly chorus that opens the title track, this feels very much like business as usual – which is no bad thing. Nada Surf are a fine guitar pop band. There’s not much sense on Never Not Together of them looking to change things up.

While displaying every tongue-in-cheek, New Age sleight of hand Lopatin is famous for, it all feels less immaculate this time around, more polished for the big screen.

It’s not all headbanging and blistering hooks. Penultimate track Hangovers plays with the classic album construct of a stripped-back number, yet it’s really in the nostalgic nod to emo heartache where Muncie Girls dazzle.

Four talented youngsters from LA of Asian and Latinx descent, wearing their influences on their sleeves, have produced a light-of-foot album of fun riffs and effectively simple ideas.

The Beggar is another solid entry into the Swans canon, if not one that suggests it will have the staying power of their classics. It still marks Swans as a group intent on developing long into their career, and there’s no threat of them losing their intensity.

However, for as many tunes that feel dynamic in their constant morphing there are a good few that never quite find their way beyond a bunch of interesting noises.

It’s all here, and though it may not reach the dizzying, if somewhat bloated, heights of 2017’s Humanz, it still slaps.

It sounds uniformly excellent – often radiantly sunny – but for an album concerned with wheel-spinning, it spends a lot of time doing exactly that.

This Is How Tomorrow Moves is a sentimental and self-aware album that, at times, is emotive and infectiously catchy. At others, it is a little too safe, a little too generic and reserved.

There's something of an air of spontaneity to some of the tracks here, but this same spontaneity can make feel the album feel slightly ephemeral in places. Pang! can sometimes leave you hungering for more, but it’s still often an engaging listen.

Her voice is at times limited, with melodies in the second half of the record becoming indistinct. But when it works, Lotic is at the height of her powers.

Hannigan's oeuvre requires patience and focus, and while much of this new collection is dependent on tone and texture to connect, eventually deeper qualties shine through.

Ultimately, ONDA is an interesting but forgettable experience despite its origins.

While it is enormous fun, there should be no expectation of a 'shock of the new'; it can feel, somewhat, like ConMan are treading water.

There’s a pervading darkness over All This I Do for Glory that makes it a tricky listen at points.

At one extreme, you sense Anathema want to be taken seriously (in the way that, say, the aforementioned Mogwai are taken seriously); unfortunately, however, there are times they can sound a bit like Deacon Blue or Tom Odell, which is not to be wished for.

All That Was East Is West of Me Now, begins as a noisy yet meditative record with crunching guitars and snapping snares, before settling into a more reflective pattern to suit the resigned sighs and stuttering sounds his tunes twist taut upon.

While it is endearing to hear Karen O working with a more patient form of songwriting, the raw energy and emotion of her best work isn’t here.

Opener Human and later, less successfully, Faith For Doubt, divvy up the greatest hits of a Laurel Canyon-indebted film soundtrack with the driving rhythms of Fleetwood Mac. The latter is The War on Drugs without the transcendence. These, unfortunately, muddle an album filled mostly with quiet, vocal-led tracks that veer from haunting, sparse ballads to something more hopeful.