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).

The band consistently reward close listening with little treasures, like on Echo, where a deceptively barebones instrumental is coloured with keys that decay slightly differently every few seconds, and bass that uses flourishes so understated they’re basically subconscious. That’s to say nothing of the songwriting, which is as catchy and uncool as ever.

The songs are resonant and cleverly unhurried--the group aren’t afraid to sit in silence, letting a feeling wash over the listener for a beat before continuing their story.

Manning Fireworks is polished and lean, and it’s not unfair to wonder if the record is an attempt to capitalise on Lenderman’s sudden popularity. It’s front-loaded with his best work – funny songs about sad acts and disappointment.

A meditative body of work specked with spots of boldness, Secret Measure weaves new colours into Cloth’s musical fabric.

There is a lot going on in PARANOÏA, ANGELS, TRUE LOVE and yet it remains remarkably cohesive. It skilfully borrows and elevates.

The results are certainly a departure for an artist who seems to relish the chance to collaborate and while each of these ten songs is a Roberts original, the lush song craft recalls the golden age of electric folksters like Fairport Convention and Trees, ensuring Roberts' ongoing connection with the past.

Lunice wisely gives ample room to his collaborators. As impressive as the beats are in their complexity, a special mention is necessary for the MCs who deftly weave words in between Lunice’s polyrhythms.

This is a carefully crafted, complex pop record that benefits from the production contributions of industry heavyweights like Nicole Morier (Britney), but undeniably it’s the new-fangled delivery and star appeal of Rina Sawayama that gives this album its sparkling essence.

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.

This is an album that’s been made with care and intelligence. The results are compelling.

This is a sharp and quite possibly an important album, as memorable and considered as it is acerbic. Bravo.

Cate Le Bon and H. Hawkline join Gwenno for the spiky, feline Y Gath, sliced between the celestial ballad Utopia and the windswept desolation of War. Finally, on airy closer Hireth, the album seems to take off out of the city streets and into an otherworldly reverie, delicately strung together with harp and flute.

Skullqueen and Electra Rex mix serenity and apocalypse to excellent effect, with the latter indulging in the manic pitch-shifting you've come to expect from Arca. But the quieter cuts are also nice, like the Björk-ish Joya and hip-hop inflected Señorita (co-written with Max Tundra!).

Keys and pianos prove especially important as seen on John Lennon-esque finale The Barely Blur making WHY?'s latest a dreamier affair, easy and pleasurable enough to get lost in.

Light Information is a mixed bag of indie rock gems, ramshackle in sound and structure, but there are clear lyrical themes.

I Have to Feed Larry’s Hawk delivers the same meticulously crafted, 60s indebted, but still idiosyncratic psych-folk that Presley is known for. It just happens to be sandwiched between some of the most outré music he has ever put to tape.

Throughout, Jlin's command over rhythm and texture make what could be too impenetrable a blast to hear.

WOW blurs the line between intentional and incidental noise to celebrate the sonic richness of everyday life and the ability of sound to trigger memories.

Moogmemory is a brave and rewarding left field adventure.

Boat is a triumphant debut album because it’s both familiar and authentic. And when you have a melodic impulse that shines as brightly as this, you can’t really go wrong.

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.

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.

All in all, this is a welcome return for Dave Clarke and an album declaring his rightful place at the helm of electronica.

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

While the coherence of the record sometimes lends itself to monotony, the darker sonic undercurrent, coupled with a newly found more intricate and explorative sonority, has a sensation of quiet and dreamlike absorption.

Age of Indignation is a convincing and credible advance, and September Girls return with their songcraft finely honed.

Both blissful and bloody-minded, Ullages is raincoat-clad gift from goth heaven.

What follows is a 14-track reintroduction to everything that makes Les Savy Fav so unique: tightly-knit duelling guitars, an impactful rhythm section and frontman Tim Harrington's vociferous delivery and wordplay. Legendary Tippers is full of the ironic swagger we've come to expect, while Don't Mind Me finds room for rare vulnerability

His final statement cuts a broad swathe, taking in soul, pop and psychedelia across its 11 ambitious tracks. ... A fine songwriter has bid goodnight.

A late night journey of the highest order.

The methods have changed but Shadow's unorthodox sense of rhythm remains reassuringly familiar.

Even if subdued, light folk lullabies channel old-school Big Thief in this journey to homecoming and cosy familiarity.

While some may miss the band's more direct approach of previous records, tracks like Homo Sapien show Parquet Courts can still rock out.

Rather like Bruce Springsteen's lo-fi masterpiece Nebraska, Wolfe re-creates a sparseness (albeit with modern production methods) that shows off her best assets, doing more with less.

While the music itself never strays far from Lewis' usual anti-folk template (although In Certain Orders' spot-on replication of The Cult's mid-80s stadium rock sound is an interesting aside), there's a focus and commitment to make each of these songs sound the best they can. It's a plan that's worked and Bad Wiring is an electrifying addition to the Lewis canon.

An elevated level of bravado is present from the outset on La Luz’s third album, Floating Features.

Keepsake is an assured debut, but what it reveals is Pilbeam has actually not yet realised her best self. Keepsake is at its best when not trying too hard for substance, and rather leaning into soaring choruses, as on Without a Blush.

Pratt’s voice is still gorgeously muffled and her words remain indecipherable at times. But while she may have once sounded fragile, here she is almost swaggering.

They’re weird. Wired. Wonderful. They sound like no one but themselves, and they’re still getting better.

Through it all, Lotic maintains a deep sense of nuance, sounds constantly morphing and remaining grippingly vital, still with great emotional intensity around every corner.

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

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.

Raspberry Moon brings out the best of what the Hotline TNT project can offer; it's an emo-shoegaze-indie-noise-pop melting pot that hits just right.

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

On Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You Cain has once again been able to translate incredibly personal experiences into deeply universal feelings that come from young love and heartbreak.

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.

On Hey Mr Ferryman, Eitzel no longer exudes such a colossal sense of searing introspection; perhaps he has finally reconciled with himself and, in Butler, has found the perfect foil to achieve this harmony.

Taking chances while renewing and enhancing their inimitable sound, Eton Alive is a belch in the face of the architects of austerity, a cry of sheer life amid an increasingly deadening environment.

If you’re looking for another Bros or Good Girl / Carrots, it ain’t here. What there is, ten tracks co-produced with Animal Collective bandmate Josh Dibb, is worth celebrating. These are meticulously crafted songs performed by one of modern music’s most distinguished vocalists.

kick iiii was intended to be all instrumental piano, and while it certainly isn't that, it is a relatively calm affair (in stark contrast to its violent cover).

American Football build on their distinct craft for creating pop songs out of odd time signatures, seamlessly weaving multi-minute epics without ever feeling overblown such as on Silhouettes, cementing the band's return as a success.

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.

Praise a Lord… is Yves Tumor’s most palatable music to date, and for those that have enjoyed the hurricane horror of their production previously – listen back to Noid with its blood-curdling screams and whirring sirens – the clean lines here will feel a little too neat. But with a new sense of clarity in sound comes a conceptual rigour.

Bolstered with warm tones of sax and synth, bearing colourful thumbprints of the past, Pompeii is certainly a success of Le Bon’s continual daring.

It's the peppiest, jauntiest, most charismatic debut you’ll likely find in the next 12 months.

Teenage Fanclub sound refreshed, renewed and remarkably like themselves as Endless Arcade reveals an old group with some new tricks sounding in rude health.

All Mirrors retains a good amount of iconic devastation. Olsen’s timeless, musing lyrics are wise as ever, if perhaps more cynical than before. Yet there is a new, almost paradoxical, quality to the sound, as though it comes both from the past and the future.

Bold and ambitious, Future Ruins is deliriously difficult to place, and all the more exciting for it.

It’s at times a frustrating listen – just as a flow appears, dark, ominous vignettes (Joyrider, Predator) shatter the illusion. Eventually, reward arrives. Carrying you through the epic collage of Round the World is McMahon’s anchor of a voice, proving there’s beauty to be found in the disquiet.

Mostly, though, this is everything a debut should be: fascinating, confused and a little bit terrified.

Lotta Sea Lice is a joyful, ambling product of two connected creative minds.

Heart Under is an ear-piercing piece of intuitively crafted work.

This record, like the band behind it, repeatedly and successfully refuses genrefication in its ambitiousness.

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

It’s the Le Butcherettes vocalist’s sheer power that makes Crystal Fairy feel less like a Melvins offshoot and more like its own entity.

Harnessing a very earthy and elemental attitude and sound, ANCESTOR BOY is often powerful and overflowing with sound but never feels overwhelming as it is consistently surprising and deeply engaging. It's difficult not to dive head first into Lafawndah’s musical vision.

As soon as you get a grip on it, TFCF wriggles into another shape. But even at its weirdest, Angus Andrew’s songwriting couldn’t be clearer, and that’s what makes it a mess worth unravelling.

You Tell Me is probably at its peak when it leans further towards these pacey, pop-infused moments. However, the handful of tracks that stray into ballad territory are still often striking--not simply due to the musical intricacies that lie within them but because Hayes' vocals evoke strength and tenderness in equal measure, giving them some real emotional weight.

Just when it all seems familiar, you're struck by a specific detail and realise you’ve started to smile.

The lyrical paranoia dovetails beautifully with the raw, bone-scraping arrangements to powerful effect, challenging listeners in both intensity and message. It feels like the record HEALTH were supposed to make.

The record makes time for sharp skit humour and ends with a dazzling dance-pop groove. Where Cheek smooths down her effervescent ability to discard genre for more conventional psych-rock numbers, it’s not as exciting. But she can even do that better than anyone else.

There’s a fair degree of whimsy to Across the Multiverse, especially given May’s penchant for Hollywood-sized scores in the style of Randy Newman or Brian Wilson. But amongst that silliness lies an honest, raw desire for companionship.

While previous Oh Sees tunes have tended toward explorations of mood, spread out over a krautrock-scented riff or two, here individual songs find themselves bursting at the seams with ideas.

The album freewheels through soundscapes borrowed from pop, trap, balearic house and old-fashioned balladry with irrepressible joy.

Nuanced, thoughtful discussions broadcast with power and volume: please give Sad13 all your yesses. But only if you want to.

Still On My Mind is Dido’s most engaging album to date. It’s her first time trying a style of music that connects multiple genres as well as retaining her original sound and she’s delivered a masterful creation in one take.

New cute or not, CHAI make a pretty strong blend of all the best bits.

Kid Kruschev sees Sleigh Bells strike a delicate balance, branching into new creative waters whilst staying true to the musical formula which first garnered them attention.

Only occasionally does the grandeur threaten to run away from them, as on the over-blustery Pale Kings; otherwise, their form is more or less impeccable, with the swooning vocal melodies of Backchannels and the off-kilter creep of Filaments among its standout elements.

There’s much of TOTS's recent past hidden in WRAITH. The industrial cyberjams of 2015’s Highly Deadly Black Tarantula are unceremoniously drained of their colour and body fat for a second go-around; blocky drum machines protrude like bones from rotting flesh on opener I’d Rather, Jack.

There’s a certain depth and outright honesty in Ray’s lyrics that sets him apart from many of his peers and shows that he’s not afraid to bare his soul in his music. That openness makes for incredibly powerful listening.

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.

This is the group’s first album without founding member Brady Ebert, and the riffs feel less inspired across the board. There are glorious moments throughout, though.

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.

Ultimately, The Mountain blends darkness with light to explore the thrills of existence in Gorillaz’ own idiosyncratic way.

It’s Johnson’s voice that takes centre stage, however (clear, plaintive and inviting, as though the ghost of Grant McLennan had dropped by to give some pointers), and as he explores the concept of closure through relationship breakdowns--painting the very notion as mythical, unattainable--you ponder why the time is apparently right for Piano Magic to call it quits.

Mystical and psychedelic, with a real knack for texture and detail in the midst of a big, blown-out prog adventure, this is an album best served whole.

The record’s sequencing underlines its restless thesis: the solemnity of Appointments melts into the weightless bounce of Drop A, a movement from stasis to momentum central to Duterte’s embrace of flux. Past Lives, buoyed by Hayley Williams’ harmonies, erupts into a scale Jay Som once shied from, before collapsing into the spectral murk of D.H.

kiCK iiiii is her most celestial, yet unadorned, collection of songs yet.

It all sounds nice enough, but it's lacking the biting insight of the best Oldham records. Luckily, the second half is a lot more contemplative, with a fascinating final triptych of moody cuts, reveling in an air of opaque imagery (less so on the final track) and campfire rumination.

Dependent on its rich texture and brought to life by the depth of the duo’s musicianship, this is an intriguing and deeply satisfying debut.

Rest assured, although still more cerebral pleasure than triumphalist pop breakthrough, this uniquely accessible record is a subtle delight.

The ten tracks collected here are an excellent slice of brilliantly composed pop masterclasses, and only further add credence to the idea that Folick is indeed the real deal.

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

Across its 15 tracks, Madlib’s constant beat switches make it feel more like one piece rather than a series of divided tunes, and you're left with a stunning collage of Gibbs’ headspace: flawed, politicised, desperate to change but tied by circumstance to the things he needs to escape.

It’s a well-rounded selection of tracks on an album that can sit comfortably next to your best Fabric and Watergate compilations.

This is a thrilling and beautiful return well worth the four-year wait.