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.