Despite all this heavenly sunshine, however, the breathy confessionals beneath tell a different story. Out in the Storm proudly flies its flag as a break-up album, albeit one that ignores ‘woe is me’ emo-isms.

It's not an easy listen and it's hardly surprising that Lawrie has admitted his intention was "always to create a listening experience reaching beyond the realm of natural vision" but as Something In My Brain grabs you by the neck and thrusts you into the void, it's hard not to give into its dark and welcoming charms.

It’s not just that Toro y Moi is becoming more sonically ambitious with each album. He’s getting better, too. With Boo Boo, even retreading old ground is somehow an exercise in innovation.

An enjoyable if low-key listen that consolidates rather than shakes Stables’ current status.

An album that captures the rise and fall of restless youth in a fluorescent, dazzling city.

The beats are heavy, spare, and hard. Lamar demonstrates the versatility of his flow.

Featuring guest stars such as Joey Santiago, Teri Gender Bender and Anna Waronker, A Walk With Love and Death is like a one-stop shop of everything to love, hate and feel infuriated by about Melvins.

Hug of Thunder ploughs through emotional highs and lows with an empathetic grace, sometimes decorating its more dramatic moments with swells of brass, ditto its out-and-out rock’n’roll cuts; elsewhere they just let everything hang loose on a light robo-funk groove.

Every Valley is lush and symphonic, more interested in expressing the human spirit of the mining communities than aestheticising the conditions in which they toiled.

The songs have a feel of personal strife, but are so vague that they can fit into just about any explanation you care to apply to them. But these criticisms are unimportant when faced with the simple catchiness of the music.

The problem is that, elsewhere, the album rarely transcends its position as a soundtrack and, after watching the vivid--at times stunning--film it accompanies, listening to Mister Mellow solo feels decidedly less colourful.

What is clear is that Ride's fifth album is something of a triumph and infinitely better than many a fan could have hoped for. Almost 30 years on those vapour trails show no sign of fading just yet.

Dust breathes so easy at times, its beats are almost loose. ... Highly recommended; this time around there’s nothing to fear.

An album steeped in depth, warmth and positivity.

Most of Popular Music built around thrilling tracks like the classic punk-tinted Membership Man, in which Green mocks a ‘right wing cruiser’, and the frantic masochism of Electricity. Late-album track Beautifully Skint unwisely slows the pace down, proving that LIFE are best when they stay angry.

Ultimately, this is an important record at a time when galvanising young people to protest is needed perhaps more than ever. While it's presumptive to assume Algiers have succeeded, this record definitely won't hurt the effort.

The band took all the wrong lessons from the success of their last album, and doubled down on the syrup. Turns out too much sugar really can make you sick.

The overall charm is undeniable, even if it does feel very familiar.

Nostalgic, dramatic and not exactly short on synth, Iteration is the kind of album necessary to help us battle through the rest of 2017.

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

Overall, Black’s latest effort proves nothing less than a markedly ethereal romp beyond the traditional boundaries of pop, as its comic hints of electronica and rolling melodies lend it a profoundly cosmic air.

All told, Death Song might be their finest hour.

Americana is an album you’ll want to make friends with. If there’s ever been a moment in your life that Ray Davies or The Kinks made better, you’ll find joy here.

More candid but just as magical, City Music is another magnificent record from Morby.

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.

Fake Sugar is a real reinvention for Beth Ditto, but it’s not so much of a reinvention that her signature traits are unrecognisable.

She pirouettes into the upper echelons of her register during Rooting for You, conveying the affection and apprehension contained in the line 'you’re the only thing I’ve ever truly known'. The low scoops on Hell to the Liars are another, as if Reid’s digging in her heels to stand firmly against 'the righteous ones'. But these are rare instances of genuine feeling amongst what otherwise feels like palatable but empty theatrics.

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.

Big Thief aren’t the sort of band that will always hit you suddenly, such is their subtlety and restraint, but on Capacity they prove that when they do it’s powerful and memorable.

While The Guillotine's second half doesn't quite hit the peaks of its first, it still remains an enthralling and embittering listen.

At the centre of everything is Booker’s raspy vocal delivery, and therein lies the record’s central contradiction--the lush arrangements are lovely, but they too often threaten to suffocate that remarkably raw voice. There’s a balance to be struck, and Booker’s not quite there yet--maybe next time.

With more thematic clarity and less of a throw in everything and the kitchen sink attitude, The Age of Anxiety could have been a phenomenal debut for Pixx. Despite the high quality of many of the tracks, however, there’s just a bit too much going on for it to all make sense.

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.

This is a band on a journey. Modern English Decoration nods to its predecessor, certainly, but you can hear the way in which the original duo has consolidated their appeal as a five-piece. These guys have got promise written all over them.

For a record so brief, its ability to evoke scale--while still carrying the distinctive sound of the band that surprised us all with An Awesome Wave back in 2012--is testament to Alt-J’s demonstrable talents as artists.

Somersault takes a bolder leap forward, taking tropes and palettes from 60s pop, grunge, and even country, and making bold play with strings and horns, piano and harpsichord, surprising effects, freer guitar and more assertive bass.

This release marks a new sense of sincerity and authenticity for the band and the thematic issues which the lyrics raise are vocalised in a wonderfully relatable manner, free of any flounce or artifice. However, without humour the album feels a bit flat and even overly morose.

The band rarely deviate from their thematic nexus, which helps to tie the album together as it sprawls over nineteen tracks. As they move closer to the middle ground, Saint Etienne are far from re-inventing the wheel, but in writing delectable pop hooks about a place as decidely uncool as the home counties, that was never really the point.

Not abandoning her folk roots entirely, I’m Not Your Man proves an emotional and sonic progression for Hackman, a record that at its best is affecting and fun.

The album’s nitid production weighs down heavily, so much so it induces a fair few flinching moments.

Over the course of sixteen tracks here, we get a glimpse of both the glorious past and promising future of the Bandits.

The LP manages to consistently surprise and entertain for its entire running time, just two minutes shy of two hours. ... Bob's Burgers' unique music provides an offbeat, aural soundscape to its narrative and allows for characters to express themselves.

Frontwoman (and visual artist) Isabel Munoz-Newsome steals the show with her haunted-chanteuse vocals, generally floating and ephemeral, but always powerful. The arrangements complement and flesh out her tales of love, sex and identity.

After a long time away, Do Make Say Think are still able to captivate as much as ever.

These two tracks [This Time and Loving] crest an emotional peak that isn’t quite matched elsewhere.

They are perfect encapsulations of the snarky, fuck-you attitude that has been suppressed in the last couple of Wavves releases, but they don't have the scrappy, lo-fi charm that endeared fans to the band seven or eight years ago.

Ardently absorb all that there is to feel in this LP, and expect its lullaby-like melodies to draw from you that which is so deeply buried you don’t even know it exists.

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.

This is intelligent party music, but it’s also headphone listening. Production is manic and plays at an attention deficit (though really these songs are crafted with a mandala-concentration, rich in samples, styles, and sonic layering).

Where Ugly Cherries felt spontaneous and carefree, Pageant feels more mature and considered.

Compassion may not feel complete yet, but it’s an exciting portent of what may yet come.

It’s a bold, considered whole; it's rich in theatrical texture and ambient psychedelia, but it’s not an easy listen. Often deliberately discordant, it won’t be to everyone’s tastes, certainly not to fans of Palmer’s poppier work.

Hazier, more hypnotic, and like most sequels--yeah--not as effective, it’s hamstrung by an uncharacteristically grating synth refrain. While not bad, it’s hard to shake the feeling of déjà vu.

No Shape steps out as Hadreas’ brightest and most lavish record to date but, as in all the best fairy tales, it’s haunted by as many ghosts as it is populated by princes.

The Weather is Pond at their most daring--and most sardonic.

Slowdive represents an awareness of legacy, and the importance of not pissing all over it; to that extent, it’s an essential addition to canon.

In Spades is all Whigs. Dulli has never sounded better. If you ever loved the Whigs you will love this.

This is actually a great record, because Black Lips are the sort of band that can pull off preening and rambunctious in the same album (sometimes even in the same song).

Like a Russian doll which opens to reveal evermore intimate and foetal musings on communication, self-awareness and comfort, this debut album has, at its core, that which sits on its surface: raw, honest emotion. It wears its heart on its sleeve.

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

Much of the album remains true (or close enough) to the original arrangements, and you get a real sense that Oldham's singing these songs simply because he loves them and thinks other people should too. While that doesn't make for essential listening, it undoubtedly makes for an enjoyable and almost comforting experience.

In•ter a•li•a instead sounds vapid and empty, like it's blowing hot air around the room; the band sound like a parody of themselves.

An indelible soundtrack of intelligent and bittersweet beauty.

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

Gargoyle kicks massive ass; here are ten songs you won’t be able to hear enough. Just about essential.

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

All told, Rock n Roll Consciousness feels deep and multilayered, the kind of record you want to spend some time with, a piece of art that will continue to change and shift as you engage with it.

Mostly, What Now is intent on being bigger and brasher than its predecessor, perhaps to avoid politely slipping into the background quite so easily.

Pleasure is easily Feist’s most difficult album, far from the immediate accessibility of The Reminder, but she's a captivating performer and it may well be her richest statement.

There’s less of an exploratory bent to the record than there was last time out, on 2014's Too Much Information, and when there is a touch of that ambition, the band often revert to their comfort zone too quickly.

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.

An admirable album concept, sure, but it is this preoccupation with the connections between different genres which robs Electric Lines of a galvanising, driving force.

Ultimately IV is Part Chimp 101--a righteous addition to their canon whether a newcomer or long-time devotee.

K. Flay is definitely a Marmite artist and her alternative take on electro-pop/rock is likely to appeal to a lot of people, but unfortunately for some it will be quite difficult to stomach.

For all Season High’s exuberance, the record never pitches too hard. Little Dragon sense when to turn it down just as well as they know when to ramp it up, and tracks like Butterflies and Strobe Lights deal in emerald lights and moody ultraviolet.

With this slice of US college rock, tinged with British humour, the band prove that they can maintain this essential quality of their sound, even as they mature.

Glossy and calculating, Careless People rarely pulls back.

Savior seems suffocated by the very strict parameters that have been drawn for her, by herself and others.

d. If you’ve followed either Moore or Falkner, it’s certainly a curio. Everyone else--life is way too short.

The combination with Yorkston’s folky paeans was haunting and here, barely a year later, they’ve done it again.

The record successfully transfers all the eagerness of their energetic live shows to portray punk with unusual tenderness.

Dive in wholeheartedly; you’ll be happy to float in the outrageously catchy Whiteout Conditions for a long time to come.

He embraces the role, plays up to it, uses it to bend and manipulate the parameters of modern rock music and has managed to create something bitingly acerbic and cynical, yet achingly sincere. Again.

Sorcerer may not offer much in the way of straight-up pop thrills, and undoubtedly requires patience to truly appreciate its merits. ... [But] it’s an impressive statement of intent.

Potentially one of the most beautiful records you’ll hear this year. It makes sweet misery out of melody while articulating a forlorn yet rousing sense of hope.

[Bundick’s] in his element here, embracing the improvisational jazz of The Mattson 2 as together they pry open your third eye and flood your mind with their cosmic apparitions.

OK, this sort of retromanic pop writes its own logical criticism in a way (repeated formulas, looking backwards instead of forwards, etc etc), but when it’s done this well, it’s a timely reminder that the true logic of pop is music that communicates directly with the head and the heart.

What was previously disarming in its honesty, we now expect and prepare for. This doesn’t mean that the quality has suffered, it has just softened.

The biggest problem with this album is its bloated mid-section, which drags down the commendable peaks of its opening and closing segments.

Throughout, Grow Up is a bracing and vital antidote to genre norms, and shares a worldview that nourishes both heart and head. A huge undertaking, a staggering achievement. You need this.

You Had Me makes for a luxurious if over-rich listen.

There’s just nothing bringing the whole thing together, and a nagging feeling that he could do better if he tried.

Generally, though, this is an album of unobtrusive indie strum-alongs: Doris and The Daggers never quite explodes from the speakers, nor does it set your soul soaring with melodies to be bawled across fields and arenas.

In all, after 18 very long years, Damage and Joy is a near-faultless return to form, even if some of these 'new' songs are actually over a decade old.

This is perhaps not as immediate a record as Faith In The Future, the narratives of which were foregrounded in the song titles a little more, but it stands up to repeated listening just as well, and confirms his status as one of American music’s best storytellers, in the same mould as Leonard Cohen or Lou Reed.

Paradise may be titled ironically, but it refuses to wallow in cynicism, ending with concern about the state of the world, but hoping that unity will guide us through difficult times.

It’s perhaps convenient journalistic twaddle to suggest Great Ytene's loss of their initial recordings for this LP means that Locus feels desperate to get out of the traps, but there’s no denying the irresistible energy on show here.

Its fuzzy, dream-like patterns and navel-gazing can be hard to interpret, but there is a certain honesty and integrity that underpins the album.