What Ought achieve on this album both surpasses and expands on what they've already built. A joyous philosophical cacophony that finds new ways to inform, excite and challenge the listener.

Boy from Michigan is an unhurried, loping listen; sprawling over 75 minutes with sumptuous synth and a ten-minute tirade on Trump’s America (The Only Baby). Sometimes the laconic style feels repetitive, but there are plenty of perfectly formed moments to bring the album back into focus.

By deliriously atmospheric closer Lisboa, it's clear that the Chicagoan trio have little new to offer the genre, but they sure know how to make a dead concept feel alive.

Ultimately, it's a collection of well-written and well-presented songs, though at this point the familiarity with the Condon style feels expected, and the few new tweaks aren't quite enough to raise Hadsel above a middling Beirut album.

There’s plenty of the usual Amyl fare here, with some absolute stompers right out of the gate.

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.

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.

Frances’s voice has a tendency to sway into a mumble throughout, making certain vantages into her world a strain to perceive – unfortunately lending itself to the album’s mysterious nature a little too well.

Meek’s vocals have always been quality, but on this release he has truly reached another level. The soft breathiness is used to the greatest emotive evocation yet, and the controlled manner in which his voice breaks cleanly into the following note in a way inimitable to few others than teenagers (certainly with less class than Meek) is impressive to the point of awe.

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

Allison paints a full emotional landscape of this chapter of her life that’s as complexly nuanced as it is brilliantly captivating.

Crush may be some of Floating Points’ most assertive work, but sinking into its rich and deeply layered textures reaps countless rewards.

The result is more tacky than glam. If you’re in it for the jokes, Hippopotamus is worth the effort.

Smith has taken his time, and made mistakes, in comprehending what he’s been through. And Deceiver is all the more honest for it. Impressively, that doesn’t shine through intricate detailing but as something more abstract. Deceiver sounds like that experience, more than it describes it. And there’s hope at the end too.

Stay Close to Music is captivating. Unable just to play in a background, Mykki Blanco has created an album that needs your full attention. It constitutes a narrative that is not only guided through words, but also sounds.

While it's a million miles from the techno of Holden’s earlier career, its rhythms and hooks are infectious. The Animal Spirits is, put frankly, one of the most complex, immersive and impressive albums of the year.

A hint of musical theatre elsewhere sees the record lose some of its bite, but in general it’s a robust rejoinder to some of the more depthless musicality of soul-baring, 'authentic', indie-rock. Kirby is instead funny, scathing and full of clarity about her personal epiphanies.

Barbara... is less massive comeback than slight return.

It’s a testament to Loma’s abilities as sonic world-builders that a number of tracks sound less like traditional songs than they do field recordings from shadowy, secluded habitats somewhere far from civilisation.

From voices in prayer to the jaunty organ and guitar pedal abuse of Congratulations, this is a record that rarely falls short of a creative arrangement but ultimately the gospel of Morby is one for the devotees not the unbelievers.

Overall, the album expands on the iconic Trippy Gum and Bamboo, showcasing how Cosials' drawl and Perrote’s wailing blend into a beautiful melody you want to sing along to.

These nine tracks prioritise serenity and beauty in their evocation of some unknowable beyond. Their sparkle can become almost too perfect, which makes the dark abruptness of the last two pieces feel like release, even if they throw its general hopefulness into uncertainty.

Despite the daring newness, Screen Violence still feels unmistakably CHVRCHES, and one of their strongest records at that.

This time around, it's the longer tracks that hit the hardest.

Overall, Learning How to Live and Let Go fluctuates in tone. But this doesn’t negate the clear effort the band have put into making this record a lot more experimental than any of their previous releases, and it’s still chock full of heart and vulnerability in its lyrical content.

nothing or something to die for is a jaw-droppingly beautiful, immersive experience where each track melts into the next, and in a quiet room with a decent set of headphones, you’ll get lost in its dreamy, bittersweet soundscape.

A Firmer Hand is an album in which Hawk daringly takes a searchlight to the complexities of the relationships with men in his life ('friends, lovers, family, colleagues') and, by extension, to the complexities within himself. The result is dazzling.

There’s no question DePlume is a remarkable saxophonist, his orchestral arrangements with International Anthem labelmate Macie Stewart are stunning, yet the appeal is a tenderness for the listener.