While Biig Piig clearly knows what sticks and what doesn’t in terms of easy listening, the album does demonstrate the artist’s desire to explore new sounds, but 11:11 is careful not to rock the boat, often playing it safe with the majority of its runtime.

Snares seems like a long EP--one that ends before it really gets going.

Much of the album remains true (or close enough) to the original arrangements, and you get a real sense that Oldham's singing these songs simply because he loves them and thinks other people should too. While that doesn't make for essential listening, it undoubtedly makes for an enjoyable and almost comforting experience.

While there’s a strange sense of timelessness surrounding Moosebumps though, it also takes some time to get into its stride.

As a mood piece, It's Immaterial works. As a showcase of the talents of Stewart's broad field of collaborators, less so--there's a homogeny to the album's sound that is by turns impressive and suffocating.

Even when the songwriting falters, Lissie’s incredible voice elevates Castles.

The album works in short bursts of adrenaline. That can leave midtempo ballads like Shoo feeling aimless.

All told, Rock n Roll Consciousness feels deep and multilayered, the kind of record you want to spend some time with, a piece of art that will continue to change and shift as you engage with it.

It’s a bold, considered whole; it's rich in theatrical texture and ambient psychedelia, but it’s not an easy listen. Often deliberately discordant, it won’t be to everyone’s tastes, certainly not to fans of Palmer’s poppier work.

While some tracks like Panpsych and Eternal Return remain lost at sea – the latter's lurching tempo is a bit of an auditory mess – KGLW's experimentation with brass, strings, and woodwind definitely hits more than it misses. Drawing together calamity and fortune in a novel way, 15 years in, Phantom Island shows a band still having fun making music together.

The Cutter and Rescue both build on their VU-esque original templates, and as always Will Sergeant plays an understated blinder when asked, but it's hard to see many fans going back to these recordings instead of the originals after a curious first listen.

The risk of taking that deliberately vintage tack is contrivance, and though this album tows the line occasionally, it never disappears into itself.

While it's an improvement from their lowest ebbs, it will equally never match their highest peaks.

It's a surprisingly spotty album from an artist who rarely puts a foot wrong.

Mostly, What Now is intent on being bigger and brasher than its predecessor, perhaps to avoid politely slipping into the background quite so easily.

Every element in his songs fight for control of the centre before inevitably decaying together like racing pennies in orbit around the centre of a funnel.

Keep Moving is the closest that Loving in Stereo gets to its own calling card, but too often the album gets mired in mid-tempo fare that allows the adrenaline to wane.

The record is ultimately a conflicted one. It has masses of recalcitrant spirit but little in the way of sonic inventiveness, with songs feeling more and more one-note as the album goes on. In the end, we're left with 11 perfectly listenable songs that are not quite as interesting as the ideas that lie beneath them.

The decision to front-load the album with singles means that you experience a jarring drop in energy and quality three songs in. After that Freakout/Release settles into songs that, while alright, sound a bit like the product of an AI program that has been made to listen to 100 hours of Hot Chip and then generate its own imitation.

His vocal runs and melodies at times provide an almost soul feel--everything is smooth with very few edges, however there’s still enough raw elements to sustain your interest.

It’s soft, woozy, melodically loose. Further investigation reveals that this approach seems to have spread to every aspect of Lorde's songwriting. Where Melodrama was razor-sharp in the universally relatable picture it painted of late adolescence, Solar Power drifts to a place altogether more impressionistic.

These duets are, of course, not standards. The production is exceptionally murky – mostly collaborators move through the dark, uncertain world Stewart manifests with his Scott Walker-like crooning of glossolalia.

DZ Deathrays are pretty consistent in that way. Yes, there are fun moments to their latest record, and there certainly are songs you can imagine sounding great while crammed in a small, sweaty basement nightclub, but beyond that, there isn't really a lot else to this, especially, when as mentioned, there's a whole slew of acts like this already.

He maintains his voice, his melodic instinct and knack for presenting raw emotional landscapes without ever slipping into self-pity or losing his sense of humour. However, in throwing himself into the garage rock mould he loses the loose relationship with genre that allowed the twitchy dynamism of his best work.

Ulltimately, Oh Inhuman Spectacle relies on its construction and craft at the expense of killer tunes, but it's never less than likeable.

Bathed in a heavenly glow, it’s easy to let these songs wash over you, but Chua’s soothing vocals invite us to lean in and listen more closely.

Hazier, more hypnotic, and like most sequels--yeah--not as effective, it’s hamstrung by an uncharacteristically grating synth refrain. While not bad, it’s hard to shake the feeling of déjà vu.

Either way, it’s a slightly boozy, bluesy, badly tuned, occasionally winsome collection of songs that treads a neat path between pseud’s corner and authentic alley.