Sunshine in music form, A LA SALA is another stellar addition to Khruangbin’s blissful repertoire.

Skip A Sinking Stone isn’t an immediate record, and neither is there anything particularly novel in its utilisation of imagery, but that’s picking holes for the sake of it; tracks such as Getting Gone and the titular Skipping Stones balance naturally, the harmonies gentle, the acoustic guitar, piano and strings positioned with grace.

he languid mid-tempo tones are certainly pleasant and, on the likes of Wildwood, sometimes capture a sense of achingly beautiful melancholia. Still, you’re left longing for Amos’s social commentary to be laced with just a little more venom to truly conjure the state of upheaval in the world.

The Penguins’ music always defied easy definition and Arthur’s determination to keep the band’s trademark sound keep careering its way from traditional folk and pop styles to minimalism and South American music is admirable in the extreme. What’s even better is that the music is now matching the sentiment.

KiCK ii is deconstructed reggaeton. A great idea (see DJ Python), but it makes for some of the least interesting music of the whole collection, as the first half leans on typical reggaeton beats (though nicely spectral on Rakata) for fairly straightforward songs.

Although the project offers quality in production and vocals, tracks like Roller Coaster and Bang Bang Boom fall a little flat with overly repetitive refrains. Despite some hiccups along the way, Brijean have continued to carve out their own sound through an increasing mastery of production and vocal talent. The album achieves dreaminess without sending you to sleep.

While there are certainly some decent enough ideas to be enjoyed here, this is ultimately a rather flat listen that doesn't challenge anywhere near enough as it appears to intend to; a real wasted opportunity.

Producers Marius De Vries and Eldad Guettta, alongside the Valve Bone Woe Ensemble, have helped Hynde find the sweet spots on a selection of songs that bring to mind Iggy Pop's excursions into jazz or the sound of Bob Dylan's recent covers collections.

Like The Bride, there is a common conceptual thread running through these tracks, but unlike that record, there is less effort exerted in shaping them to fit a narrative. The songs are better for it, each unspooling like a miniature movie of its own without the same need to move the story from point A to point B.

Come Around doesn’t have the tonal or the sonic variety of that previous record. Instead the record polishes to perfection dal Forno’s specific sound-world, feeling more like a jigsaw, the songs forming a kind of composite dreamscape.

Produced by Bernard Butler, its ten tracks hum with greedy ambition.

All in all a gracious record, and one that grows on the listener.

Sticky harmonies and the running theme of longing for something more are just a few elements that make both GUV I and GUV II very fun, intriguing listens.

From the ghostly mid-tempo beauty of tracks like Missus Morality and my kiss era, to lead single Nurse!, bar italia demonstrate how to be complex and seductive, without ever feeling pretentious.

These songs are more impressionistic than anything Kenney has produced to date making for interesting and thoughtful music, and an accomplished second album.

Still disorientating yet more alive than ever, this is a bold album that skillfully pairs darkness with light.

The further away Hansard gets from his roots, the closer he is to home.

Witty, uniquely Australian observational songs such as 6L GTR, Ticket Inspector, and the particularly ferocious The Price of Smokes are testament to the trio's power-pop-punk.

Byrne claims that he doesn't fully understand why the avant-garde resonates with him and so many others, but continuously proves himself (as he has done throughout his entire career) as an arbiter of the genre.

The lengthy tracks here lose their momentum and oeuvre, dragging wearily toward the end. But when it's good, it’s great – similarly lengthy tracks in the first half, Wandering Through and Our Song feel varied and forceful enough to keep us on our toes.

Like most LSD songs we’ve come to love since the band’s rise in popularity around 2011, Side Pony is packed with tunes you’ll want to sing along to before you know any of the words. But there’s also more sonic muscle here.

Where EUSEXUA is immaculate in its design, EUSEXUA Afterglow is the glorious unravelling. It’s hedonistic and messy, somehow both more lithe and more maximalist than its predecessor.

Ornate, sometimes grand and shot through with their distinct brand of colloquial folk rock, Weem is beguiling from the first listen and only gets better the more you cosy on up with it.

The production of this record is flawless, but when so many talented writers are trying their hands at precisely this kind of pop music, substance is paramount, with style a distant second. Sadly, the opposite is true here.

Snapshot of a Beginner might be their most focused and uplifting release to date.

Young’s jump into pastures new feels significant throughout, coupled with lyrical themes of escapism and adventurous spirit. As such, the record feels purposely detached from much of their discography up until this point. That said, the band’s long championed easy-breezy, summer indie-rock still exists in bursts.

What remains from their early work is their command of atmosphere. What’s new is a real prestige in the instrumentation, felt in the soaring interlude on Mr Cold Embrace, the restrained build of Something’s Broken and in the scuzzy layered guitars on the thrillingly furious Roobosh.

For newcomers, it may feel too uniform to stand out. But for longtime fans, Not For Lack of Trying offers cosy autumnal listening and a continued exploration of dodie’s style.

Nadler's work is ultimately less storied than Del Rey's and too under-dramatised to really connect, to really hurt.

Greentea Peng’s debut album Man Made captures a central paradox from the past year: the compulsion to turn inward, brought on by the psychological fallout from living through the pandemic, and the need to look outward at the inequalities that have been brought into sharp focus.

Short and snappy it may be--its 12 tracks are done and dusted within half an hour--yet the band still manage to cultivate dramatic intent amidst the jangly guitars and posturing hooks.

With its screeches of synth and operatic vocals it’s a strong final blast, but points towards a record of more tonal variety. As it is, the other songs in its final third, which work perfectly well when listened to in and of themselves, can’t help but feel like re-treading ground covered better earlier in the record.

Serengeti in particular is darkly captivating when portraying the self-obsessed Davy. ... Wolf’s typically lush backdrop meanwhile takes in sun-blurred psychedelicism and Pinback indie groove, all cut to a deft hip-hop pulse that’s both brightly hopeful and mournfully direct.

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.

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

There's little on this album that would sound out of place on any of their other works, but GY!BE's apocalyptic vision remains as relevant and powerful as ever.

One of his greatest talents is his ability to craft an album that takes the listener places. Health is no exception; like all greats it grows on you the more you listen.

There are times when this commitment to innovation and experiment costs Los Angeles its ability to hold the listener’s attention. .... Even so, Los Angeles proves that each artist on the record is a visionary in their own right, as they push the boundaries of the past whilst looking to the future.

The best album of Vetiver's career. Provided we all agree that Nick Drake’s Pink Moon is as good as Sunday morning music gets, Up On High is just about the sweetest Sunday morning record you’ve ever heard.

It sometimes roars to life, while other tracks present a flat wall of noise. Gina Was emerges as the album’s most musically complete moment, showing what they can do when it all comes together.

What makes No Grace feel most like a breezy treat is its fatalistic slant, as Phillip Taylor’s lyrics weigh up life’s daily struggles before concluding that they’re just not worth the worry.

Bandleader Robert Grote yells with a whole lot of heart throughout Popular Manipulations but often struggles to translate that passion into meaningful lyrics.

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.

This is the least inventive product you could have expected from a bunch of varyingly inventive songwriters. Which is to say, it’s not much good at all.

Ultimately, while there are a few moments that are undeniably hypnotic, the album as a whole feels just slightly less full in scope and vision than her previous bodies of work.

Guitar is undoubtedly a pleasant listen and a fine addition to the DeMarco canon, if unlikely to go down as a classic.

Messy, discordant, and beholden to the serrated edge, there’s nonetheless a seam of verisimilitude in the execution.

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.

What it does signify is a willingness to embrace and learn the uncomfortable from a prolific artist whose output may have seemed set in its ways. Malkmus’ continuing willingness to think outside the box is much appreciated.

It feels unsure of itself, and what it wants to achieve. ... On the other hand, this sense of insecurity within the album rewards standout tracks.

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.

WOOF. is an intense joy, and absolute in establishing Fat Dog. It can, however, hit the same notes throughout.

Fall Into the Sun, while bursting with bounce and youthfulness, is a maturation, tweaking the aesthetic that brought them a loyal band of cult followers using a long-developed confidence.

A dazzling record that finds the trio slightly more optimistic, slightly more resolute, but defiantly themselves.

Suffocating, stressful, and challenging, Splendor & Misery is uncompromising in its desolation, and it’s all the better for it.

To be sure, it's a crazed, nihilistic rollercoaster and like all rollercoaster rides it has its ups and downs, its moments of exhilaration and its dizzying plunges into horror.

With Dirt interlude pt. 1 and pt. 2, Rodgers structures the record to complement her narrative--leaving us with these three acts against misogyny, and again evidence of the sheer intricacies of talent that dance through the record.

Hozier’s far-reaching vocal range is on full display on Unreal Unearth – as an artist, he possesses that enviable fearlessness when it comes to being earnest. At times, the gospel overtones in the album reach cinematic scope. In places, this orchestral breadth comes off as over-produced, in a departure from the intimate honesty we've come to expect of Hozier.

Statik is muted to the point of silence. It’s hard to truly warm to a record that, while often morosely pretty, feels like it struggles to say much beyond a defeated sigh.

Teenaged at heart, but adult in mind and execution, Smitten combines sounds, moods and eras to present arguably Pale Waves' most complete album.

He shares the ennui, dissociation, irony and unfulfillment of his particular celebrity destiny, coupled with a biting and original take on a more widely shared quotidian anxiety that listeners will note with nods and laughs and hums of recognition. But a hit or two would have been nice.

In all, Bunny is as varied, strange and untethered as you might expect. There are moments of singular genius that can only come from a committed tinkerer like Dear, but also forgettable experiments that sometimes get lost in the whirlpool of creativity that this album stirs up.

Is merits (pep, sass, tunes) come to the boil in the ludicrously catchy I Hate The Weekend, but Lost Time is such an enjoyable half-hour you’ll barely worry about favourites.

Ruminations isn’t going to blow anyone away--it’s in the title--but it is a quiet addition to his substantial body of work and this thoughtful set of acoustic songs will certainly keep us warm as winter sets in.

This early run of songs is perfectly enjoyable and the lyrics play superbly with country clichés, but rarely does it reach towards the quality we know the band to be capable. That is until lead single Gentleman turns up and gives the album the kick it needs.

Ultimately, though, Close It Quietly doesn’t sound particularly exciting or new, but it certainly succeeds at its intentions – it’s a triumphant album for people that find catharsis in indie pop’s niceness.

Dulcet and sensitive, high on love and open to change, Nao expresses it all in vulnerable communion on Jupiter: the collapse, the calm, and the ascension.

The band knock it out of the park with a magical cover of Unable by the elusive, long-defunct Suburban Lawns which makes a convincing case for their new sound. Much like their expeditious songwriting style, Snõõper are always moving forward at breakneck speed, unafraid to broaden their wacky musical horizons.

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.

Thankfully for them, Thrice Woven returns the band to their original glory. This is, simply put, a beautifully composed black metal record that stands up with all the greats.

The record is an interesting proposition, and one that, while never quite hitting the nail on the head of what it could be, still offers glimpses of what both artists are capable of.

There's a point during Transuranic Heavy Elements where the bludgeoning beats pause and something (Guitars? You? The earth?) begins to howl, and you think: This is probably not for everyone.

It’s confidently compressed, and where this kind of urban dance music can serve as a vehicle for ego, Rodrigues' deft arrangements and choice guests speak for him--and speak volumes.

Gnod continue to take no prisoners; play loud.

It’s an introspective record and, although there are flashes of the melodic indie-pop Mull Historical Society are known for, it’s overall more laid-back.

Cheerfully melodic, you’d be forgiven for not noticing the dark biblical story it retells – of assault, abandonment, fear and faith. These themes persist across this sparse diaristic record, coming to the fore on the grungy, vulnerable Don’t Kiss Me. Surprises, too, sees Zeitsch reckon with how mundanely a life can be altered.

Overall, and despite a brief lull, Babes Never Die is enjoyable from beginning to end. Peppered with catchy choruses and heroic riffs, and with sing-along moments galore, it's much fuller, better rounded and more complete than 2014's Honeyblood.

Occasionally Ibibio Sound Machine venture a little too far into the wilderness with some slightly half-baked R'n'B and a rather meandering slow number, but they’ve taken risks and for the vast majority of this superb record, it has paid dividends.

Familiarity – and earnestness – is, however, what Japandroids do expertly at their most locked in. It’s also been the heaviest load for their music to bear, the easiest way to knock them down.

Real Estate show that this is a band you can rely on in uncertain times; that’s as good a reason as any to stick around a while yet.

Shapiro’s solo album is a portrait in greyscale, dissecting the rules by which we live with nuance and compassion.

Before I Die firmly establishes Hye Jin’s multifaceted sound and crafts a mood that feels very of the moment.

Much of The Possum... feels like an echo of earlier, better work.

Grizzling, fuzzy guitars occupy a large amount of the album lead parts and chord shifts between major and minor mix up the mood while still retaining a positive outlook and feeling of cheery hopefulness. It’s short, sweet and easily one of the band’s best efforts to date.

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

It feels cohesive and wholeheartedly honest, embracing its rough edges with vulnerability. Guitar scene frontrunners once again? Most certainly.

Cigarettes After Sex ends up overstaying its welcome. Most of the tracks retain the same languid pace, drifting through slowly like smoke lingering in the air.

IV isn't Black Mountain's most ferocious album, but you might well find it their most profound.

The album works in short bursts of adrenaline. That can leave midtempo ballads like Shoo feeling aimless.

Woozy synth chords imbue the scene with a perverse mundanity that feels all too familar. At its best, New Spirit wallows in this kind of everyday helplessness.

Drinking more water, kicking bad habits and focusing on positive relationships are things which can be easier said than done, and even harder to make compelling art about. With The Lamb, Lala Lala have done that.

Animai's guest vocals feel fresh on Curtain Call but wear a little thin four features in. Mostly, though, Flowdan flexes every inch of hard-won experience for a listen that's brutally, shamelessly exciting.

In a confusing attempt at experimentation, the album shifts through different genres featuring elements of big band sound with the use of brass, synths and acoustic guitar-jazz which at times borders on ‘easy listening’. Despite playing it a bit safe, it is clear that KT Tunstall is very much in charge.

It’s a creative, energised exploration of the power of both the human voice and electronic music to move us.

There are times when the keyboards and lyrics gel (like they do on Moments and Whatnot, easily the best thing here) but for the most part, it feels like a pedestrian Morrissey album (without, of course, the taint of dubious politics).

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

All of the beats are familiar, perhaps to a fault, from the instrumental at the midpoint to the shyly epic closer, but Forever Turned Around represents nuanced progress from an admirably subtle band.

Nothing remains a heady listen, but there’s an embodied immediacy that’ll make it easy to return to when the sun hits our skin again.