At least half of Chaosmosis matches its vitality; the only real stinker is opener Trippin' On Your Love, a happy-clappy rave generation anthem even The Shamen might have passed on. But the highlights here are as good as anything Bobby Gillespie and co-writer Andrew Innes have fashioned since 2000's touchstone XTRMNTR.

While his words do occasionally come to the fore, such as on the emotional Wren, the questions Shields raises surrounding religion and ceremony, the elemental and the domestic, can feel secondary to the atmosphere. Passover captures the spectre of death, but its existential meditations can be obscured.

There is nothing necessarily new offered here in the way of direction or sound, however Zeppelin Over China adds a suitable chapter to the story of Robert Pollard, who recently celebrated releasing a mind-blowing 100 albums over the course of his career in various projects.

Rush! perfectly captures the sense of spontaneous authenticity that makes for a one-of-a-kind show. Måneskin continuously prove that outcasts deserve a good time, and they are here to give it to us.

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

Too often the feeling remains that the joke isn't funny enough to sustain a whole record, especially one that follows a masterpiece.

Too often for a 30-minute record do you find ponderous filler (Notes in a Bottle, Now or Never, Properties of Perception), in which even the ever-earnest Murray doesn’t seem to believe the lyrics he’s opining.

Overall, Shiny And Oh So Bright, Vol. 1 / LP: No Past. No Future. No Sun. is a pleasantly nostalgic, brief album--half of which is sensational and the other is painstakingly poor.

For any listener beholden to folk-aligned contemplation behind the rest of the similarly-monikered canon, Summer of ’13 is an anomalous curio, bringing to mind an ‘80s hit not mentioned here: Eddy Grant’s I Don’t Wanna Dance.

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

The queen of Dollywood has more than earned her place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with this stupidly fun and over-the-top love letter to the genre.

The album’s nitid production weighs down heavily, so much so it induces a fair few flinching moments.

For a record so brief, its ability to evoke scale--while still carrying the distinctive sound of the band that surprised us all with An Awesome Wave back in 2012--is testament to Alt-J’s demonstrable talents as artists.

Kid Kruschev sees Sleigh Bells strike a delicate balance, branching into new creative waters whilst staying true to the musical formula which first garnered them attention.

Oxygene 3 is a minimalist--and exquisitely melancholy--wonder.

While there are moments on this album where Benjamin Francis Leftwich's positivity is genuinely very nice to hear, all in all Gratitude is musically beige and lyrically clichéd. Leftwich would be better to stick to what he does best: playing his acoustic guitar and singing about 1904.

Instant Halo is a reminder that the band's deepest roots are not in the snappy guitars of post-punk, nor the industrial-electro beats that inspired the likes of Trent Reznor, but a dub foundation that ensures the The Pop Group remain as danceable as they are confrontational.

The Modern Age is craftily frontloaded, rattling impatiently through the most immediate tracks and building up a steam of goodwill before slowing the tempo with the gentle experimentation of the title track.

Sure, Graham’s voice is powerful; not Levi Stubbs powerful, perhaps, but muscular and versatile nonetheless. It’s a shame, though, that even its most melismatic hints of adventure feel carefully rehearsed; slickly produced beyond any sense of risk or catharsis.

Phantogram's fix and mend methods, and above average song craft, are admirable and compelling. An unexpected treat.

Some tracks do repeat the same tricks or perhaps linger a little too long, yet Myself in the Way, while not one to excite fans of the old Turnover, builds upon the simplicity of Altogether to produce an alt-disco record full of intrigue.

There are occasional missteps (the sweeping strings and Fleetwood Mac-leaning vibe of Nicky Buckingham are overshadowed by interfering effects, while the slow tempo of Heaven Knows What jars with the buoyancy of the rest of the album), but as a whole Work is a heady exploration of dance-pop’s spectrum.

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.

There’s not enough adventure to make this truly feel like Pixies; it lacks the sense that the wheels might come off any minute. Lenchantin, for her part, holds her own, especially on All I Think About Now, but her new colleagues need to rediscover the urgency and ambition that defined their best work if they’re ever going to match it.

Even in Arcadia offers a window into the band’s psyche, while keeping audiences at arm’s length while inviting them to lose themselves in its emotional depths.

As a whole the experience lacks the nuance and multiple textures required to make such guitar-centric endeavours a real delight.

Lunice wisely gives ample room to his collaborators. As impressive as the beats are in their complexity, a special mention is necessary for the MCs who deftly weave words in between Lunice’s polyrhythms.

There are plenty of pleasant enough moments on the band's seventh record as there are on all of them, but one wonders if they'll ever recapture that magic that briefly made them feel a bit special.