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.