While the songs feel of a piece with one another, there is subtly rich variety here, from the retro pop of Love Feel and Chain of Tears to stargazing reflection on Essence of Life and the dusky groove of Giddy Up and the title track.

Dripping in catharsis that seems to pour straight from Danilova’s soul, Okovi is rarely an easy listen, even when it’s at its most accessible. But it’s also profound, and Zola Jesus’ most emotionally stirring record to date.

On Supermodels, Claud combines humour with pure heart throughout, cultivating the ultimate soundtrack for summer and beyond.

Overall, Santhosam has the fresh vibrancy of a mixtape, but with the smooth cohesiveness of an album – it’s the self-assured debut of an artist who has fully arrived and is ready to carve out a distinctive space of her own.

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

Songs that are perfectly pitched to suit fans of Pixies, Daniel Johnson and Drive By Truckers; Lisa Walker on the other, working like Margo Timmins to make his harder (She’s Killed Hundreds) and funnier (Hello, I’m a Ghost) material more plaintive (Donny’s Death Scene, Hand of God).

Despite its title, New Ways doesn’t break boundaries or really see Vollebekk break out of his typecast. But it is nonetheless a nice, warm album.

The album's arrangements are uniformly beautiful, coddling Staples' vocals at all times, though sometimes to the point of being overly cloying.

It’s at times a frustrating listen – just as a flow appears, dark, ominous vignettes (Joyrider, Predator) shatter the illusion. Eventually, reward arrives. Carrying you through the epic collage of Round the World is McMahon’s anchor of a voice, proving there’s beauty to be found in the disquiet.

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.

It doesn’t present cookie-cutter visions of fear and insecurity to observe from afar; it crawls under your skin and drags them out to you--whether you want it to or not.

Over 14 tracks, repetitive funk riffs and chatty, conversationalist lyrics start to wear a little thin, and a lack of diversity makes for such comfortable listening that you risk all-too-comfortably tuning out.

Bazan’s wit and compassion shine throughout a dark voyage such as this; as one witness to a brutal suicide turns to black humour, while another, in contrast, valiantly tries to retain their emotional openness in a job that often requires distance.

With more thematic clarity and less of a throw in everything and the kitchen sink attitude, The Age of Anxiety could have been a phenomenal debut for Pixx. Despite the high quality of many of the tracks, however, there’s just a bit too much going on for it to all make sense.

The record successfully transfers all the eagerness of their energetic live shows to portray punk with unusual tenderness.

[Shows] a more intimate side to Barnett than we’ve previously encountered. ... Things start to feel monotonous and samey by If I Don’t Hear From You Tonight and Splendour and there’s none of the brazen intensity or deadpan delivery that graces Tell Me How You Really Feel to behold here, which is a shame.

This release marks a new sense of sincerity and authenticity for the band and the thematic issues which the lyrics raise are vocalised in a wonderfully relatable manner, free of any flounce or artifice. However, without humour the album feels a bit flat and even overly morose.

For the most part, the songs here are less immediately grabbing than those on his EPs, with greater emphasis on atmosphere than thumping beats, but they share the same glitchy DNA.

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.

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.

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.

These two tracks [This Time and Loving] crest an emotional peak that isn’t quite matched elsewhere.

The album is an expertly crafted assault on the fallacy that ignorance is bliss, an eye-opening invitation to see our society for what it really is. Bliss is overrated anyway.

Nuanced, thoughtful discussions broadcast with power and volume: please give Sad13 all your yesses. But only if you want to.

Every Loser is lyrically and technically multidimensional.

The band’s latest effort doesn’t fully shrug off the creeping sense of familiarity, but for the first time marks a real step forward. Glowing In the Dark’s most successful moments are those that stray the farthest from the band’s blueprint of sun-washed guitars and cascading vocal harmonies.

Craft’s nutcracker vocals and lyrical self-exposure never quite as endearing as they threaten to be.

The Glasgow-based quartet back it up with brilliantly catchy and inventive songs that will ensure a smile and a toe-tap while making their audience think.