Twerp Verse is a polished, sonically inventive record that’s both playful and punchy, but its purpose feels unclear.

The Lookout perhaps does not give up its pleasures as easily as some of her earlier records. There are triumphs here--not least the title track which marches along at a sprightly pace graced by some lovely violin sounds. But there are also songs that worry at their subjects, circling and darting in and out of the light.

These little monographs are masterpieces in their own right--they are thought-provoking and cleverly composed. Consider this a guided listen that continues on the brilliant path of its predecessors.

Beautiful Thing, though, is more of a straightforward float through space, with a starry, galactic feel to the album.

Too often the feeling remains that the joke isn't funny enough to sustain a whole record, especially one that follows a masterpiece.

It's not perfect (Hugs and Kisses is something of a misfire) but it certainly stands alongside the best of what Rouse has done before.

This music is experimental and diverse in its sonic scope, but each unique sound is in service of its greater whole, making for a record that is undeniably the vision of a singular artist, a true auteur.

Closing track aside, everything else on Loud Patterns is threaded through with intriguing noises and the kind of urgency you can only get from a live band, making for quite a unique sounding dance record which sits comfortably on the shelf alongside the likes of Caribou and Gold Panda.

While there’s a strange sense of timelessness surrounding Moosebumps though, it also takes some time to get into its stride.

Great moments in great songs ('I love you, there, I said it') still seem to be deep enough waters for EELS to swim.

Bark Your Head Off, Dog is another great Hop Along album, intimate and grand in a way only few can do.

It took three attempts with three different producers before being finished. But it arrives a work of rich, elegant beauty.

This is a smorgasbord of an album: one to be indulged, and one to be savoured.

This festival-friendly record attempts to turn Tom Misch (whether intended or not) from a producer and guitar-player into a pop star. It hasn’t quite paid off.

The Louder I Call, the Faster It Runs revels in keeping you off balance; it impresses, inspires and occasionally overwhelms, but it never outstays its welcome. A fantastic statement from an endlessly evolving band shouting louder than ever.

There are still plenty of the magic, chaotic choruses that set alight their live shows, but in between are touching moments of melancholy, frustration and imagination.

The tunes are massive and buried in strings, synths and stacked harmonies, but the subtlety of the lyrics is lost in tunes like the Gary Numan-esque In Eternity and Broken Algorithms' Appetite for Destruction obsession. It's left to album closer The Left Behind to offer a signpost to where the Manics could go next.

Goat Girl’s London is a murkier, and at times far more unsettling place. Creep exposes a public transport pervert, complete with a 'dirty trouser stain,' atop ominous strings and fierce percussion, while The Man with No Heart or Brain is as scornful as it sounds.

Overall, POST- is a moment-defining record both for Rosenstock but also for wider popular music and culture; it's equal places angry and fun, something we could all do with in 2018.

It’s true that psychedelia of this type is often frameless by its very nature. Yet, despite the album’s delights, one wonders how tight Neilson’s eccentric work would be if reined in a little.

Even when the songwriting falters, Lissie’s incredible voice elevates Castles.

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.

Sallee’s songs tend to expand outwards, the feeling established at the outset spreading itself thinner as the loops cover more area.

Overall, Space Gun gives hope for the continuing future of a band that’s already died twice. While there’s a few bumps here and there, this is the sound of a group drunk off its own energy and excited to be alive.

This is a record made by people who you sense are full of all of the possibilities of the world, looking to cram it all in and make some fine music as a soundtrack. They've done a pretty great job so far.

Jericho Sirens is an incredible turn, and proof to the other half-hearted post-hardcore comebacks of the last years (looking at you At the Drive-In, Refused and more) that it is possible to still be high-quality and relevant. In fact, in places Hot Snakes' fourth album is so good, it even puts newer bands who have come up in the meantime to shame.

Playing with a mix of spoken word and sung lyrics in both English and French, powerful techno beats and fear-inducing soundscapes, New Path is a beautifully balanced and flowing record.

As protest albums go, it’s a strange one, but if this is what the revolution sounds like: sign us up.

While half of the tracks here would make for decent singles, the hodgepodge of styles ultimately results in an unbalanced and disjointed album.

At times, however, Violence is uninspiring; it lacks consistency on the whole, but their ferocious new direction results in Editors sounding the best they have in years. And when they get it right, such as on lead single Magazine, they're up there with the best.

Nap Eyes are mostly concise in their wanderings, but occasionally meander too far from the path.

The most successful of these joint efforts is Outgrown which was co-written by Bonobo; elsewhere, partnerships with the likes of Lil Silva and Tracey Thorn cast a pop overtone--a characteristic of FitzGerald's past productions, but here it feels overly saccharine. Ultimately, All That Must Be’s best moments are also its least contrived.

For all the abrupt scene changes, Cocoa Sugar feels a self-contained universe. It gets straight to the point: human experience is messy. Young Fathers will always be restless and surprising, but for the moment it sounds like they’re right where they should be.

Felt feels slightly repetitive and overlong, but is an interesting and worthwhile effort from a band whose sound continues to mature and improve.

There are plenty of pleasant enough moments on the band's seventh record as there are on all of them, but one wonders if they'll ever recapture that magic that briefly made them feel a bit special.

While it's absolutely fine that he's not interested in making punk music anymore (or at least for the time being), hearing him run through the blues and rock repertoire of the 60s and 70s offers absolutely nothing that can't be achieved by just going and listening to all those great, original, records.

Whilst it's good Buffalo Tom are still around, and while there are enough moments that recall the highs of their vintage years, there is also a corresponding sense in which we and they have all gotten a little bit older and perhaps, just perhaps, they're not quite what they once were.

Pleasingly, it’s all done with New Order/Pet Shop Boys-esque synths and beats. Dancing with tears in your eyes is still dancing.

All Nerve shrugs off any burden of a ‘come-back’ and becomes a truly rare thing: a wild, visionary, timeless rock album.

Superorganism could've been the perfect indie pop record if they'd have cut back a bit on the style and added a bit more of the substance.

Dead Magic, though, is utterly derivative of the very few albums in this genre ever to succeed, and lacks all of their spark and life. Above all else it is unbearably, irredeemably boring.

Le Kov is a cinematic and atmospheric collection, crisply produced while also maintaining a sense of mystery. Its cosmic blend of psychedelia and strong synth-pop sensibilities once again bring the listener firmly into Gwenno’s psychological territory.

With a tracklist as tight as Tape Recorder, moments of indulgence are hard to stomach. When a song comes together, though, Lionlimb give their inspirations a run for their money.

Pasar de las Luces is over an hour in length, and while it is immersive and layered enough to justify a long run time, it still feels overlong. Nevertheless, it's a thoughtful and aurally beautiful album.

Geowulf have all the potential to be able to put together a decent pop album, with Kendrick’s blissful vocals and Banjanin’s chilled-out melodies, but unfortunately on Great Big Blue, they just fall a bit short.

All told, it’s a finely wrought collection that could appeal to fans of The Decemberists or Vetiver as much as some of those longer-in-the-tooth bands.

In a Poem Unlimited lives up to its aim and its name. It’s a reflection of abuse that feels all-encompassing, and of this era. It’s a timeless gem of an album that is about as powerful as pop music can be.

While there are some interesting elements to Music For the Long Emergency, and there are aspects of both POLIÇA and s t a r g a z e's music that work well together, the album is generally quite confused and lacking in any real excitement.

Sir is as extroverted as Spooner’s recent experiences, but some occasional, additional restraint may have added extra punch to its more introverted moments.

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.

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life is the sound of a band maturing and evolving, having come a long way from their first meeting in Liverpool. Now that they're 15 years and four albums in they know what works, and still have an ear for a catchy melody.

This is a record packed to the brim with guest vocalists and layers of instrumentation, all sitting on top of rock-solid yet unpredictable grooves.

Indulgent? Possibly, but it works, because this record – even the longest tracks--is punchy, witty and razor sharp.

JT’s smug family life is the single thread uniting this 16-track jumble of songs that swing between batshit and bland, and romance comes in two forms: soppy odes, or sloppy humblebrags about shagging.

This infectious record is a timely reminder that punk’s greatest trick has always been to make the isolated feel less alone.

What Ought achieve on this album both surpasses and expands on what they've already built. A joyous philosophical cacophony that finds new ways to inform, excite and challenge the listener.

On Black Coffee, these two scratch out a new groove in a very old record, and it’s well worth listening.

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.

DZ Deathrays are pretty consistent in that way. Yes, there are fun moments to their latest record, and there certainly are songs you can imagine sounding great while crammed in a small, sweaty basement nightclub, but beyond that, there isn't really a lot else to this, especially, when as mentioned, there's a whole slew of acts like this already.

Always Ascending thrives when the band indulge their sense of fun--it's not the best work Franz Ferdinand have ever produced, but it's proof that they should embrace their intelligence and their quirks more and not try to be a standard indie band. They’re too good for that.

Messes is the kind of album you feel rather than interpret, where what’s being said is less important than how it’s delivered. And when it comes to vocals, Chura’s delivery is certainly distinctive.

Quit the Curse is a mature, confident debut.

Working with a number of producers, he's created another collection of songs that speak directly to an intense and emotional connection with someone, and all the good, bad and sexy that come along with that.

Immersive and lyrically heavy, but not without radiancy and light, Hookworms' ability to turn desperation into euphoria is a quality that makes this album a liberating, often healing, experience.

In lesser hands, it might come off as an overwrought and incongruous addendum, but the piccolo and flugelhorn, rolling funk and string quartet that have peppered the album demonstrate that the band aren't simply flirting with new directions, but wholeheartedly embracing them.

Between Two Shores is another Glen Hansard album filled with good songs, gorgeous music and gregarious singing. Is that enough? You decide.

There is little to separate the tracks from each other, resulting in a batch of unmemorable songs. Lionheart promised much, but fails to capture the imagination in the way McEntire’s previous work has.

There’s new ground covered in the disco funk of Evan Finds the Third Room and the slow dance of album closer Friday Morning. Mostly, though, Con Todo el Mundo is a celebration of what shared creativity and influence can bring--something the world needs a bit more of these days.

It's a bold move to put out so much music in one go, but Freedom's Goblin is sure-footed enough to warrant to such a splurge.

As ever with Nightmares on Wax, Evelyn melds past and present with enviable fluidity, finding a universality that’s inclusive rather than generic.

Album opener Angel Fire make it tempting to categorise Vessel of Love as an uplifting summer album. Yet Cook’s lyrics contain a haunting melancholia, touching on love and survival to create a bittersweet effect. There's a hidden depth to her breezy pop that will stay with listeners for days.

The heavier tracks are the album's most interesting moments, allowing for singer Nicola Kearey to stomp out her vocals with extreme force.

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

Dream Wife is brimming with grungey, glam melters and dreamy pop melodies that perfectly capture the enthusiasm and confidence of Dream Wife's live shows, without sounding too over-polished.

Marble Skies finds difficulty in consolidating each defining element into a smooth blend, leading to a record that’s bookended by heart-stopping tracks with a frustratingly stodgy middle passage.

The Glasgow-based quartet back it up with brilliantly catchy and inventive songs that will ensure a smile and a toe-tap while making their audience think.

While his words do occasionally come to the fore, such as on the emotional Wren, the questions Shields raises surrounding religion and ceremony, the elemental and the domestic, can feel secondary to the atmosphere. Passover captures the spectre of death, but its existential meditations can be obscured.

TMBG’s 20th album, I LIke Fun, doesn’t mess with the template too much. If you come to this record knowing only the TMBG song used as the soundtrack to Malcolm in the Middle, you’ll get a hearty helping of everything there is to like--and, yes dislike.

Ruins doesn't aim to re-write the indie-folk/country rule book, rather, the Söderberg sisters are just fine-tuning their craft and growing into a comfortable groove.

The juxtaposition between weighty lyrical themes and musical buoyancy is cathartic. Simultaneously of its time while managing to sound like a classic, The Official Body is a healing experience; there is light in the darkness.

It’s uneven, certainly, but worth panning for the gold.

What Hold on to Your Heart really is though, is a lesson in the art of the chorus. Rarely have so many fist-pumping, singalong hooks been squeezed into 40 minutes of music.

Despite the seriousness of the lyrics, I can feel you creep into my private life manages to remain an uplifting album, with a collection of intricately-crafted pop songs that tackle a range of important current issues.

Parton’s eclectic tastes remain the beating heart of The Go! Team, but in producing a record genuinely representative of the band’s boisterous live shows, he sounds more revitalised than ever.

The House is an album of rare balance and beauty, managing to evoke hefty emotions and ideas while still feeling slight and ephemeral, never forgetting that this could all slip through your fingers at any moment.

Lex is inspired by lofty philosophical goals, on attempts to 'communicate a world distant enough that it can't be captured or comprehended in the present.' On this front Lex is undoubtedly successful, sounding consistently otherworldly, but still retaining enough humanity to make it effective.

Their problem is there are other bands doing this kind of thing better (Black Angels, we’re looking at you).

All up, it’s an energetic, accomplished debut from a group of highly-seasoned musicians, making Flat Worms an emerging outfit with a fuck-tonne of punked-up potential.

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).

You Might Be Smiling Now... is lyrically smart, funny, and terrifyingly relatable.

The true standout of the EP is Fickle Season. ... The other three tracks are inoffensive but somewhat forgettable

Dark Eyed Messenger explores themes of love, loss, nature and memory with the sort of understated evocativeness Crowley has made his own.

While Reflection of Youth doesn’t always capture the more brutal side of growing up sonically, Bruland does give off the sense that she’s come out of the other side, older and wiser.

The overall bleed from one to the next, the movement of the narrative, is what makes this such a brilliant piece of work.

By committing to one idea Maus has found a focal point around which to craft his own musical identity.

Utilising ideas of breath, space and breeze to thrilling effect, this is Björk at her most reflective and inquisitive. There are no clear cut 'hits' as such, and the album clearly begs to be enjoyed as a whole entity rather than have its innards plucked and picked at. However, if given your full attention, it will transport you to paradise.

It’s all reassuringly consistent and distinctively Baths, managing to be both personal and kinetic as well as fantastical and otherworldly. He may not have switched up his style between albums, but now with this hat-trick of gems, there’s no need.

Morrissey can alienate fans with outlandish outbursts or with decidedly average new music, but both at the same time is surely too much for even the most forgiving fan.