This is James standing alongside the people who inspire her and made her feel like she belongs. That confidence pays off on closing track See Through, where James strips everything back. She stands alone, finally at ease with herself.

It’s a sensation that sneaks up on you, a kind of mania at once funny, alarming and harrowing, and it all adds up to something unlike anything else you’ll hear this year.

Not everything here works; the album’s middle section gets a little too bogged down in the weeds to the point of distraction. However, the final stretch sees a thrilling switch to route one, such as the climax of Third Double or the excellent Favoured Over The Ride.

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

Poem 1 is a return to form; so much more focused and well-defined, but moving forward too, showcasing herself as a great songwriter amidst the ambient wash of her earlier work.

Aldous Harding's fifth album doesn't deviate much from her winning formula, but there are small flourishes peppered throughout to keep it feeling fresh.

The sound is raw and grinds with edgier and harder beats, perhaps signalling a new direction for the group’s versatile beatmaker, DJ Próvaí. .... A well put-together album, thanks in part to working alongside super-producer Dan Carey.

It's a decisive success from one of NYC’s most distinct exports – though its head may sometimes come before the beat, it is no doubt an impressive achievement.

By key change three, your tolerance for theatricality may be tested, but Friko’s affinity for arresting melodies makes every twist and turn genuinely exciting and, with its wild, youthful spirit, their second record is the perfect soundtrack for the open road.

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.

Where WU LYF once teetered on the cliff-edge, barking every utterance like they knew it might be their last, they're now sure-footed and comfortable, speaking with a conviction that can only come with experience.

Closer Scorpio Purple Skies, a near ten-minute drone glistening with the lap steel of John Also Bennett, gestures to something more elemental and cosmic, the mythic and the earthly folding in on themselves.

The trick that Johnny Lynch, aka Pictish Trail, has pulled on us all, however, is that beneath the froth and the dayglo is a set of songs that truly shine, sticking to your ears like Silly String, getting tangled in your brain and your heartstrings.

The title track, Cruel World, is a brilliantly deceptive slice of sunshine. .... Elsewhere, the album is quieter and less sure footed.

Picton has led out of this gathered ensemble a record that lives and breathes, and can be lived and breathed in.

What unites it all is Eisenberg's ability to roam freely without ever losing the thread – it turns out the confidence was warranted.

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.

The duo commit to a kind of 90s-coded insouciance: lethargic vocals draped over a club-ready chassis and an occasionally unconvincing refusal to try too hard. For a band sold as the city’s next great party-starters, a lot of 'Ö' feels oddly undercooked.

It sounds uniformly excellent – often radiantly sunny – but for an album concerned with wheel-spinning, it spends a lot of time doing exactly that.

The titular track shines a light up to the album as a whole – fun, endearingly cringeworthy, luxury pop music.

There is no definitive answer in life, but this record is an incredible ride in questioning it.

Blunt colloquialisms can detract from philosophical musings, and sunny chords sometimes overshadow introspective lyrics.

Yes, it’s different and experimental, but those risks mostly pay off, and the DNA of Dream Nails, the thing that makes them so special, remains at their core.

There isn’t much depth to the lyrics. This album is about feel. ... For once this is a Ladytron album to listen to in the sunshine.

The result is a melodic and chilled-out collection that ripples with sonic goodness.

She blends traditional folk with experimental elements and psychedelic inflections so deftly that it is impossible to imagine it to be the product of anything other than years of dedicatedly honing her craft; the ten songs on Hard Hearted Woman might be the most potently distilled version of it yet.

With the release of PLAY ME, Kim Gordon has mastered a modern mixture of distorted guitar and intense trip-hop beats. Gordon’s lyricism throughout the album is more politically confrontational than her past two solo records.

A deeply profound album that’s dense in multitudes, allow yourself the time and patience to bask in Andrew Wasylyk’s latest compelling body of work.

There is a certain messiness that he has managed to pull together throughout the record, giving an overall impression of authenticity, as well as multiple formidable creative sources colliding.

This aching vulnerability is seared across the album, building upon the elegant orchestration of her previous LP to create a rich, sultry infusion of vintage pop and noisy indie-rock, easily matching her best songwriting to date.

Amid dense waves of sludgy guitar the classically trained singer manages to make herself heard, hinting at the resilience required to endure in a world that demands too much. Then the album exhales, shifting from confrontation to contemplation. What follows is a gentler, but no less affecting suite of slowcore ballads.

cannibal world’s breakbeats, a not unfamiliar sound for Nothing, brings them into the lineage of the bands – TAGABOW, forever ☆ – doing this well (better, even) now. However, the record cocoons into the kind of soft strummed ballads that a young Neil Halstead would write about pain and heartbreak in a Welsh cottage.

Like much of Callahan’s finest work, this is an incredibly contemplative yet focused collection of songs from one of the most talented raconteurs of his generation.

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

Even at its most heartbreaking, embraced for a second as we die reminds us to inhale life and that clarity and connection, however brief, can still be found.

The album sways more into the meandering rather than the conclusive – perhaps an observation on the unpredictability of life itself, but nevertheless leaving things feeling somewhat stunted.

It “accompanies” the film. It’s also the best part of it; a correction: Brontë’s gothica as something that clings and stains. And Charli, thoughtfully and tastefully, suffusing that stain into her continued ascendancy.

The poetry of it is woven into the musicality; the longer I listen, the more deeply I fall into it. The album is delicious; it's a nourishing meal for this cold and dark season.

The whole record contains this sense of purity, the songs sitting somewhere between hymns and nursery rhymes, not just in their simplicity but in the sense they seem to have always existed.

Whether shouting over martial drums, whispering behind thick, smoky synths or rapping against a razorwire guitar, URGH is an exercise in harrowing noise; unapologetically visceral and all the better for it.

Dorji remains a superb judge of when to introduce melody into the haze, but for a lot of its runtime you can’t help but wish for more.

So Much Country ‘Till We Get There is barely 15 minutes long; it is scarcely believable how much promise they’ve packed into it. Believe the hype.

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

Opener Belly of the Whale envelops us into a trance, setting the tone for an album gripping at dark corners.

There will be much to admire for Fontaines fans, but anyone with a penchant for the poppier end of The Cure’s catalogue will also find plenty to love.

Both make exclusively great records, and it’s business as usual here.

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.

The album doesn’t make for a grand departure from Let’s Eat Grandma’s sound, though fans of the band will have no problem hearing about what Hollingworth got up to on her holiday.

On their underrated Stumpwork though, they found surprising ways to provide setting, but their and Cate Le Bon’s production choices here are mostly safe. The album’s second side starts meaner, muddying the palette nicely, while the shuffling, pretty I Need You’s electronic elements are a breath of fresh air.

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.

Downey has captured something that you’d perhaps have to call 'Caledoniana' – Scottish country with a pure heart.

There is poetry in silence, and with Vesper Sparrow, Ellis allows us to lean in and hear it.

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.

While a few of the songs feel somewhat repetitive, they are more than compensated for with the experimentation and risk-taking on tracks like Angel Like You and Could Be Machine.

Twenty years on, The Dears still have a vital, driving passion that deserves a wider UK audience.

Night Light, their seventh studio album, is one of their best yet, even when they veer into Bryan Adams-cheese on ballad Everything Is OK.

Nestled among the more turbulent pieces are some truly infectious melodies, with euphoric lead single Lose It Again closely followed by the effervescent Part That Bleeds, while frothy, loved-up closer Stuck might just be the record’s most endearing moment.

Loading all but two songs with features leads to a certain amount of tonal whiplash, but Brown has the chops, charisma and unbridled energy to mostly pull it off. Few of the featured performers can keep up with him, but the production is inspired and demonstrates how a newfound clarity and focus have elevated every aspect of his artistry.

FEVEREATEN is an act of catharsis scaffolded by rage, disappointment and hope. At their most connected moments, Witch Fever are prophets of a kind, delivering the listener to a space where big things – noises and feelings alike – are welcome.

A record that speaks to notions of presence and absence, and the impermanence that underpins all things.

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

The result is less revelation than stress test – a popstar proof-of-concept. In that, Thirlwall proves herself pop’s newest chameleon: brash, uneven and impossible to ignore.

The record is at its best when it retains the sense of adventure that has defined their earlier work.

Circle weighs heavy with its search for meaning, but makes no attempt to gloss over the answers.

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

It could read as overstuffed – and at times, it can feel that way – but the sheer force of performance and skilled production more than carry the album.

Ace manages not to overwhelm its simply lovely melodies under sweeping layers of orchestration. With moments of sheer, sunlit beauty unfolding unexpectedly among the churning winds, Madison Cunningham shows us it’s well worth weathering the storm.

While Don’t Look Down might lack the knockout punches that would bring Kojey Radical to the top table of UK rap, it's another step in his rise as a star of the alternative scene as he continues to carve out his own sound.

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.

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.

It’s a treat when a band that’s spent the better part of three decades crafting their sound and poetic sensibilities has all those endless hours of commitment come out crystal clear on their tenth record, and it's precisely what Idlewild have accomplished here.

Most of the songs have the intensity of an opener, diluting their power and impeccable production; by the end, the drops and tonal shifts don’t hit as surprises.

The Art of Loving proves to be both a continuation and a step forward from Messy, with Dean bringing a new level of maturity and authenticity that brings depth and complexity to the album.

Chubb’s lyrics are so sharp they could pierce the skin like a sword. Embodying the ethos of punk, All That Is Over mirrors the horrific state of humanity that the world has found itself in.

It’s no surprise though to people familiar with Coates’ work that his input is sublime, expertly judged, particularly on Gown where he churns down into desperation and reaches for salvation simultaneously.

Consistently flowing from heartfelt numbers to classic electrifying rock, Futique is one of Biffy's most personal albums to date, cementing their status as one of the country’s most iconic bands.

Bleeds is an alt-rock urtext for Wednesday, both an entry point and a summation of their gifts: mixing the atonal with the blissful (Wound Up Here (By Holdin On)), bizarro choogle (Phish Pepsi), void-splitting hardcore (Wasp) and Low-esque slowcore (Carolina Murder Suicide).

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.

A nine-track tour de force laden with biting observations and curious characters.

It’s Dalt at her most exposed, and somehow, her most inscrutable. .... A cinematic exploration of the self that reveals the human psyche as a strange and uncanny landscape.

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.

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

Carpenter is at both her best and her worst when she leans into humour, which is threaded throughout the record. It’s a continuation of what’s made her so memorable in the past: the campy innuendo of Bed Chem’s 'come right on me… I mean camaraderie' or her viral 'have you ever tried this one?' sex position-asides on tour. Here, that same instinct bubbles up everywhere; sometimes brilliantly, sometimes too much.

It's an album that oozes confidence, from the UK’s indie-rock standard-bearers.

Vocally, lyrically, creatively, CMAT has never sounded better. In truth, you’d be hard pushed to find another record like this one.

Despite tracks expressing feelings of complicated relationship, the Royel Otis signature feel-good indie sound remains beautifully uncomplicated.

If previous releases made Laufey Gen Z’s jazz-pop queen, A Matter of Time affirms that title.

While the material is scarce, the quality is a renewable resource on par with a nuclear fusion plant. Choruses hum, drumlines bounce, and there's always enough subversion for leftovers.

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

A work of emotional clarity and quiet resolve, The Passionate Ones is a timely reminder that tenderness can be its own form of resistance.

Ultimately, Flux is an elegant yet frustrating album: meticulously shaped, impeccably polished yet feeling distinctly like the product of conceptual indifference at best.

This album is dad rock for my generation in the best way. Having come of age alongside The Black Keys' early hits, I'm finding resonances in their work again.

It’s strange then that in its opening stages it feels so lifeless. .... Then there’s the one-two of immaculate singles Girlie-Pop! and S.M.O., and it’s like the record has put its finger in a plug socket.

If Panic Shack has a constant theme running through it, it’s an appreciation of the power of female friendship, as crystallised on the disarmingly earnest closer Thelma & Louise. This is one of the debuts of the year.

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.

This is a magical release with far too much on display to communicate; it’s worth trying though.

It was just a few years ago where her calling card was that distinctive wailing falsetto, one that could crash into a ragged growl in a moment's notice. It's noticeably absent on a record being held from anonymity by a single safeguard.

Like its name, Billie Marten's fifth album is one to be dog-eared – revisited, rediscovered, and cherished.