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.

Despite the gentle forays into new styles, the universally relatable stories are still well and present, with enough morbid humour, intricately drawn character studies and down-to-earth wisdom to keep you coming back again and again.

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.

With its main influences taken from the distant past, Medieval Femme has an inherently Gothic feel; its mystical sounds transporting the listener through the rich, vibrant history of Arabic music and culture.

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

It's yet another successful reinvention from the Californian artist who continues to be an impenetrable force, laying herself bare and rebuilding for all to see and hear.

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.

Give Utopia Defeated time, and the alien logic that binds this outstanding record begins to unfurl and initial skepticism turns to sheer awe.

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.

A few wispy moments aside, there's a solid foundation of synthy techno-pop on Love Hallucination, as well as Lanza's greatest excursion yet in Marathon – a fizzing sex and sax romper that flows into the sultry, downtempo Double Time, a wonderful close to the album after a bit of a lull.

His best yet? Perhaps. For the first time ever, the Sheffield hero has chosen not to name the record after a local landmark close to his heart--the irony being, he's never sounded more at home.

Harris says these songs were recorded over a brief but intense period brought to an unexpected stop thanks to a high fever. The album itself is much like that – fleeting, over before you can catch your breath. But, an imprint of something – a distinct mark you’re not quite sure the meaning of--is left behind.

Running With the Hurricane is the sound of a band who have hunkered down at home and found calm at their core. They might no longer be storming the patriarchy with this contemplative collection but Camp Cope has pitched their spot for a bright future, regardless.

With The Jacket, Widowspeak prove once again they can find the irresistible spot between timeless and fresh. It might not be littered with huge, unforgettable moments, but the spell it casts lingers long after the music has finished.

For all the screeching dissonance and politically infused anger present, No Home Record is a real joy of an album, proof if proof were ever needed that Gordon will not allow herself to slide into anything approaching resting on her laurels.

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.

Where previous releases under the moniker have explored the grittier, DIY side of house, here Moss leans towards the lush, psychedelic end of the spectrum, and delivers a kaleidoscopic sonic journey that commands you to keep going back.

The best indie rock songs can often lean on the shorter side, giving in to the sugar rush of instantly memorable riffs. But Jordan has no qualms about letting her songs draw out, as they do on Lush. That’s because she always has something important to say and it’s worth listening.

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.

Vocally and lyrically charged, Self Esteem’s debut is one that takes several paths in its journey, revealing Taylor as a remarkable vocalist and a powerful lyricist.

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.

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.

Ben Watt’s restrained piano and taut, anxiety-laden synths hang back so Thorn can carry the weight. She’s more than up to the task – her voice now fuller, deeper, enriched by experience, and perfectly suited to narrations about seeking light in the darkness.

Their confidence is so clearly on show here, and despite two fresh members for the album they're already tight and unanimous of their vision: "to make interesting, up-tempo rock & roll."

There's a lot to take in across the breadth of Below the Waste, but few could doubt the ecstatic creativity of this trio and their ability to take so many old parts and create something new.

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.

It may well be Power’s finest solo record, a continuation of the last decade-and-a-half of pushing himself into new sonic realms. It’s an astonishing work; actively abrasive and incandescent with fury with a core of unaffected raw feeling.

Lovers may be a break-up album, but it’s one full of optimism, and more than a few catchy pop choruses.

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.

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.

The melancholia that underpins Trash Kit's music remains while they expand their palette, and results in an impressive piece of work.

Bang is a truly original debut album that burns bright with emotion and wild imagination, confirming Zajac as one of Scotland’s most fearless and intriguing new voices.

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.

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.

A record that thrives on its biocentric themes, it’s one you won’t want to leave behind.

Rozi Plain is miles away from the sedate folk of her early career, though the subtle interpolation of additional elements is so masterfully done that she makes it look easy.

Alongside indulgently unadorned ruminations on fear and love, the record is boundlessly liberating, decadently indulgent, and irresistibly danceable. Aitchison has delivered her greatest work yet.

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.

From Appalachian folk song Golden Willow Tree to shape-note tunes like I'm On My Journey Home, Amidon preserves the melodic integrity of his source material while allowing foreign tones and textures to seep in.

If the 50something version of Dinosaur Jr is happy to keep refining a formula that was pretty damn fine in the first place, we’d be fools not to indulge 'em.

This has been billed as his most reflective album, a chance to make connections across his musical career but there’s a quiet confidence too, delivering some of his most intricate arrangements and roaming far beyond the Americana tag that he was often filed under. C’est La Vie just goes to show, you never can tell.

Blissful, elegant records like this do not come about by chance.

Anderson has all but perfected a very delicate balance. She presents subjects boldly and forcefully, but also with a great deal of sensitivity and thought-provoking tact. The questions she presents here will linger long after its final notes fade out.

Blake’s sonic ecosystem thrives in fusing seemingly discordant sounds. In striking electronic karate chops and pouring into careening chords, he makes the man-made appear organic.

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.

30 years since the release of Pure, Godflesh continue to sound as relevant as ever.

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.

Every song here is expertly assembled, with the threat that they may crack and falter at any moment, but the band's unity holds everything together in a very pleasing manner. If there's any justice in the world, Love Keeps Kicking will be the record that sends Martha into the big leagues that they are surely destined to enter.

It’s varied, it’s vibrant, it’s wacky, it’s experiential. Loss of Life, contrary to its title, is brimming with the stuff and serves as unmistakable evidence of MGMT’s continued renaissance.

Deforming Lobes sees Ty Segall infallibly cement himself as a tyrant of stoner rock: it excites in its furious passion.

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.

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

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.

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.

It's an aimless wander through the uncanny valley, ideal for close-listening dissection or complete dissociation.

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

From the surety of Aquamarine to the simple vulnerability of Graves, Duffy strikes an irresistible balance between sorrow and joy, once again displaying their knack for dressing stark trauma in infectious beats and major chords. Whether a coping mechanism or an inside joke, the result is truly exciting music that is also uniquely heartbreaking.

King of Cowards progresses in a highly pleasing way as lead vocalist Matt Baty lyrically explores the seven deadly sins across the record's six tracks. This is metal bursting with imagination and innovation.

Enjoy this singular album, this moment, while you can--Clementine won’t be holding his breath.

Face Stabber's length owes much to its two centre-piece tracks, which end each side of this double LP, Scutum & Scorpius (14:24) and Henchlock (21:02) which sees the band go in full-on long jam mode. However, Dwyer counterbalances this with some of his shortest, sharpest, shocks, maintaining the balance between punk and prog rock that only he apparently can.

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.

Overall there's a great deal to love on this album, whether you're hiding from the world or belting out some catharsis at your next (socially-distanced) garden party.

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.

They’ve gone from mammoth, side-long pseudo-jams to relatively bite-sized chunks without sacrificing any of the fury they’ve harboured from the beginning.

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.

Full Upon Her Burning Lips is perhaps their most minimal effort yet--which is a big statement for a band defined by their monolithic minimalism--but the hypnotic spell these two put the listener under is remarkable.

Physical boasts one hell of a range of tracks, some suited for dancing but all suited to telling Gurnsey's favourite story. With it he's created a new and independent take on house proving that Gabe Gurnsey is not just a member of Factory Floor but a solo artist in his own right and style.

With his new album Space Heavy, King Krule takes varying flavours from his unique sonic world and brings them together to create his most colourful work to date.

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

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.

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

An Inbuilt Fault is a natural progression in Westerman's young career – a little more austere and timidly experimental. Like a similarly quiet revolutionary Amen Dunes, Westerman is carving out his own identity beyond his influences.

Nothing’s Real, the finished product in question, is imbued with the type of honesty that lends credence to the former [effacing, tongue-in-cheek hubris].

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.

SASAMI’s rich authority holds together an album that’s pulling apart at the seams.

There's a definite sense of deja vu, and maybe there's less of the bite that made the Durham band's debut Courting Strong feel so vital... but when the band kick into heavier tracks like Goldman's Detective Agency, it's free-wheeling, cathartic goodness.

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

While Aftering doesn’t have the consistency of Changer, it is urgent and incisive when it wants to be and serves as further proof of Thomas’ talents.

The constantly shifting mood makes it difficult to settle into a rhythm, which may be due to the missing visual element, but there are more than enough well-executed left turns on Ugly Season to make a solid standalone album.

This album could easily have been wrapped up in misery and the trope of the tortured artist, but instead it’s a pleasure to hear Tamko stepping bravely into a happy place.

Some of it works tremendously well. The slightly gormless swagger that propels Blue Kite meshes brilliantly with the opulent pomp of its surrounding strings, whilst Ballad of Billy has a really enjoyable surly barroom energy to it. But by the same token, the record’s move towards the anthemic is done without much subtlety, their sense of invention deserting them in the rush to get the lighters in the air.

PJ Harvey's least beautiful record by some distance, The Hope Street Demolition Project's intentions are admirable and inarguable. But weighed against the expectations raised by the overwhelming invention of her stout back catalogue, it falls uncomfortably short.

One for the wee small hours, Empire Builder is made of stronger stuff than its delicate nature would have you believe.

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.

Everything’s shrouded in enough metaphor to ensure that we never really see much of Rose the person, and instead spend the album’s forty-ish minutes with Rose the carefully-crafted, self-styled pop star. On this evidence, though, that’s just fine--she’s never sounded this thoughtful or measured.

That isn't to say there aren't enjoyable moments on III that transcend genre--the final build in Days Turn Into Years is particularly good--but ultimately, this is largely standard fare.

This is the work of an artist who's been honing his craft for some time now, and is perfectly primed for his moment in the spotlight.

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

[The] spirit of reflection bleeds into Every Country’s Sun, their latest effort, which draws and borrows themes and styles from across their career to build a whole as monumental as anything they’ve achieved so far.

On I quit, HAIM are unbound. It is brilliant, then wandering, then brilliant again; an imperfect, burning, compelling work.

There’s not much depth to the lyrics. But when it sounds this good, who cares?