He can still shred with the best of them (Wait, Hi Dee Dee, Watcher), but across this hour-plus album he revels in upending expectations, whether through abrupt tonal shifts (To You's new age synth excursions, Void's trippy synth hits), fried-metal no-wave (The Bell), or even a regular rocker that could pass for early Radiohead (Reflections).

The beats are heavy, spare, and hard. Lamar demonstrates the versatility of his flow.

The Nothing is a record that comes at you like a wood-burning stove. The band are unafraid to experiment and there are frequently moments of affecting dissonance but the dissonance is paired with a simple distracting prettiness that beguiles and transports.

Giannopoulos’ writing here has a dark intensity. But by closer Nude Descending, he has opened up to softness: 'I felt like needing your embrace'. The guitars are suddenly frolicking and playful. It’s that crack of hope that permeates the best slowcore.

It’s all reassuringly consistent and distinctively Baths, managing to be both personal and kinetic as well as fantastical and otherworldly. He may not have switched up his style between albums, but now with this hat-trick of gems, there’s no need.

Amid dense waves of sludgy guitar the classically trained singer manages to make herself heard, hinting at the resilience required to endure in a world that demands too much. Then the album exhales, shifting from confrontation to contemplation. What follows is a gentler, but no less affecting suite of slowcore ballads.

The House is an album of rare balance and beauty, managing to evoke hefty emotions and ideas while still feeling slight and ephemeral, never forgetting that this could all slip through your fingers at any moment.

With original Stereolab drummer Joe Dilworth also involved, there’s the feel of an avant-noise supergroup when DeerHunter’s Bradford Cox and Spacemen 3’s Sonic Boom lend some typically out-there contributions. Deeply sublime.

The dense barrage of Honey Water recalls the smoky alt-rock of Zauner’s second album Soft Sounds from Another Planet, while Picture Window is a much brighter, busier tangle of country, rock and pop. Closing track Magic Mountain paints another gorgeous cinematic soundscape, scattered with clusters of celestial chimes.

The results are rewarding. Could We Be More is a finely crafted unit that takes KOKOROKO’s span of influences (highlife and afrobeat in the vein of Fela Kuti and Ebo Taylor; a solid education in jazz; the entire city of London) and spins them through a dream machine of sorts.

A striking fusion of psychedelic rap and R'n'B. Peng balances otherworldly soundscapes with lyrics that bleed with vulnerability.

Human Performance might have sacrificed the band's rickety immediacy, but they compensate with wise, grass-stalk chewing authority and grubby, plentiful hooks.

An album that captures the rise and fall of restless youth in a fluorescent, dazzling city.

Bang is a truly original debut album that burns bright with emotion and wild imagination, confirming Zajac as one of Scotland’s most fearless and intriguing new voices.

Ben Watt’s restrained piano and taut, anxiety-laden synths hang back so Thorn can carry the weight. She’s more than up to the task – her voice now fuller, deeper, enriched by experience, and perfectly suited to narrations about seeking light in the darkness.

Snapshot of a Beginner might be their most focused and uplifting release to date.

Despite all this heavenly sunshine, however, the breathy confessionals beneath tell a different story. Out in the Storm proudly flies its flag as a break-up album, albeit one that ignores ‘woe is me’ emo-isms.

It's a bold move to put out so much music in one go, but Freedom's Goblin is sure-footed enough to warrant to such a splurge.

Animal Collective still lay down a challenge. It's the sound of a band refreshed.

A record made up of excellent songs, with a few great ones chucked in to raise the bar.

These little monographs are masterpieces in their own right--they are thought-provoking and cleverly composed. Consider this a guided listen that continues on the brilliant path of its predecessors.

While The Guillotine's second half doesn't quite hit the peaks of its first, it still remains an enthralling and embittering listen.

There's a lot to take in across the breadth of Below the Waste, but few could doubt the ecstatic creativity of this trio and their ability to take so many old parts and create something new.

Over the course of ten tracks in 30 minutes, Terry display the sheer prowess of their pop sensibilities and punk aesthetic, with brilliant movers and shakers like The Whip, or the more reflective Oh Helen at the core of it.

These are songs for dark evenings in big cities, dancing through heartbreak. For when you feel small, but anything feels possible.

It’s a superb return to the traditional album for Deacon. He's clearly learned a great deal making soundtracks, producing a record of a grand cinematic scale with a clearer eye on creating emotionally shifting tracks. Yet Dan Deacon maintains his constant look towards salvation and joy and retains an almost incomparable gift for conjuring them in a listener.

There is an attractive simplicity to this record, perhaps the band’s most straightforward since their debut. These are catchy feelings-forward songs with football chant-worthy choruses. It is, quite simply, an album full of singles.

Exploring retro music as inspiration can sometimes anchor acts to a sound, but in addition to the overarching transformation into this suave stranger, this artist’s ability to reinvent the album’s genre – hip-hop, R’n’B, synthpop – with each track makes Christine and the Queens' debut as Redcar transformative and enticing.