Like most LSD songs we’ve come to love since the band’s rise in popularity around 2011, Side Pony is packed with tunes you’ll want to sing along to before you know any of the words. But there’s also more sonic muscle here.

Where EUSEXUA is immaculate in its design, EUSEXUA Afterglow is the glorious unravelling. It’s hedonistic and messy, somehow both more lithe and more maximalist than its predecessor.

Ornate, sometimes grand and shot through with their distinct brand of colloquial folk rock, Weem is beguiling from the first listen and only gets better the more you cosy on up with it.

The production of this record is flawless, but when so many talented writers are trying their hands at precisely this kind of pop music, substance is paramount, with style a distant second. Sadly, the opposite is true here.

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

Young’s jump into pastures new feels significant throughout, coupled with lyrical themes of escapism and adventurous spirit. As such, the record feels purposely detached from much of their discography up until this point. That said, the band’s long championed easy-breezy, summer indie-rock still exists in bursts.

What remains from their early work is their command of atmosphere. What’s new is a real prestige in the instrumentation, felt in the soaring interlude on Mr Cold Embrace, the restrained build of Something’s Broken and in the scuzzy layered guitars on the thrillingly furious Roobosh.

For newcomers, it may feel too uniform to stand out. But for longtime fans, Not For Lack of Trying offers cosy autumnal listening and a continued exploration of dodie’s style.

Nadler's work is ultimately less storied than Del Rey's and too under-dramatised to really connect, to really hurt.

Greentea Peng’s debut album Man Made captures a central paradox from the past year: the compulsion to turn inward, brought on by the psychological fallout from living through the pandemic, and the need to look outward at the inequalities that have been brought into sharp focus.

Short and snappy it may be--its 12 tracks are done and dusted within half an hour--yet the band still manage to cultivate dramatic intent amidst the jangly guitars and posturing hooks.

With its screeches of synth and operatic vocals it’s a strong final blast, but points towards a record of more tonal variety. As it is, the other songs in its final third, which work perfectly well when listened to in and of themselves, can’t help but feel like re-treading ground covered better earlier in the record.

Serengeti in particular is darkly captivating when portraying the self-obsessed Davy. ... Wolf’s typically lush backdrop meanwhile takes in sun-blurred psychedelicism and Pinback indie groove, all cut to a deft hip-hop pulse that’s both brightly hopeful and mournfully direct.

The juxtaposition between weighty lyrical themes and musical buoyancy is cathartic. Simultaneously of its time while managing to sound like a classic, The Official Body is a healing experience; there is light in the darkness.

The true standout of the EP is Fickle Season. ... The other three tracks are inoffensive but somewhat forgettable

There's little on this album that would sound out of place on any of their other works, but GY!BE's apocalyptic vision remains as relevant and powerful as ever.

One of his greatest talents is his ability to craft an album that takes the listener places. Health is no exception; like all greats it grows on you the more you listen.

There are times when this commitment to innovation and experiment costs Los Angeles its ability to hold the listener’s attention. .... Even so, Los Angeles proves that each artist on the record is a visionary in their own right, as they push the boundaries of the past whilst looking to the future.

The best album of Vetiver's career. Provided we all agree that Nick Drake’s Pink Moon is as good as Sunday morning music gets, Up On High is just about the sweetest Sunday morning record you’ve ever heard.

It sometimes roars to life, while other tracks present a flat wall of noise. Gina Was emerges as the album’s most musically complete moment, showing what they can do when it all comes together.

What makes No Grace feel most like a breezy treat is its fatalistic slant, as Phillip Taylor’s lyrics weigh up life’s daily struggles before concluding that they’re just not worth the worry.

Bandleader Robert Grote yells with a whole lot of heart throughout Popular Manipulations but often struggles to translate that passion into meaningful lyrics.

Altogether, it has the faintly dispiriting sheen of something commissioned by its own success. Ware is deft enough that the album still plays best when it coalesces her 2010s crooner poise with the 2020s reassertion of her pop bona fides.

This is the least inventive product you could have expected from a bunch of varyingly inventive songwriters. Which is to say, it’s not much good at all.

Ultimately, while there are a few moments that are undeniably hypnotic, the album as a whole feels just slightly less full in scope and vision than her previous bodies of work.

Guitar is undoubtedly a pleasant listen and a fine addition to the DeMarco canon, if unlikely to go down as a classic.

Messy, discordant, and beholden to the serrated edge, there’s nonetheless a seam of verisimilitude in the execution.

Messes is the kind of album you feel rather than interpret, where what’s being said is less important than how it’s delivered. And when it comes to vocals, Chura’s delivery is certainly distinctive.