Kinetic and unpredictable, whatever has instigated such an about turn, this idea-packed collection provides an evolution from the ambient, new age music Smith has become known for.

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

It may lack the richness and depth of her solo work, but that is replaced with absolutely towering riffs and Jurassic grooves.

It adds up to a remarkable work of often queasy beauty that never releases its grip.

With a clearly defined sound and unapologetic enthusiasm, The Linda Lindas are absolutely a group to watch.

The album loses some of its momentum through the last few songs, foregoing the weighty power of Minor Feelings for something more airy and nebulous. In many ways, this album feels like a love letter to Sawayama's younger self. It feels like a promise that joy is coming.

Overall, V feels like a consolidation of all of the strengths that The Horrors have built up over the last ten years, tightly bundled and perfectly accessible without sacrificing any of their artistic integrity.

An indelible soundtrack of intelligent and bittersweet beauty.

Universalists is an extension and expansion of his solo debut, an evolution as simultaneously radical and just-right as any of the changes he’s known for improvising live.

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.

Whilst the duo blend their styles deftly, there are moments where their individual personalities dominate.

Unlearning is a daring and ambitious debut from a band who aren't afraid to take risks in order to achieve their vision, and for Walt Disco it’s a risk that’s paid off.

Les Racines is a personal project that reinstates Vieux’s own identity and unique skill, while thanking the roots that he grew from.

World Eater is ferocious and intense, but it's also thrilling and bristling with life--and it’s these contrasts that make it such a blast to listen to.

Although refusing to be pigeonholed, the album hangs together effortlessly and each part feels as vital as the last; despite its 17-song length, it’s hard to imagine Yanya’s vision without each one of these tracks.

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.

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.

A record imbued with full faith in the minor masterpieces that dominate Villagers' fifth studio album.

Sparseness can often lend a chilliness, but Rundle’s work here can be grippingly hot and suffocating – the feeling of air being sucked out of a room – as she recalls past traumas.

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 wordless interstitial Flutter is abstract and freeform, its processed violin combining with cranked up electronics into a great surge, but Somerville can just as easily channel that spirit of experimentation into a perfect pop song like all her forebears.

Williams may be known for her inventive approach to the guitar – inspired as much by the spiritual blues of Elizabeth Cotten and American primitive guitarist John Fahey as it is Guitar Hero II – but it’s her egalitarian approach to collaboration that makes Acadia so alluring.

The Loneliest Time is still a solid leftfield pop album, showcasing Jepsen’s ability to draw across eras and genres to push the boundaries of what pop can be: ultimately, this is what makes her such a compelling artist.

Gordon manages to hit that sweet spot, creating an album that is adventurous, charmingly deadpan and visceral at every turn.

Taking cues from her early mixtapes, its songs function as sketches that reinforce each other to create a heavy and rewarding listen.

At times, Miami Memory feels like a streamlined repurposing of pop music's warmest sounds – be it the glowing synth jabs on Stepdad or the crispest of snares on Far From Born Again and Divorce – all retooled with a new level of subtlety and honesty for Cameron. What you’re left with is ten great pop songs; bitingly funny, bombastically anthemic and gently sensual, often at the same time.

A two-way artistic exchange in which everyone wins, musicians and listeners alike.

Nothing here feels inauthentic.