There is no definitive answer in life, but this record is an incredible ride in questioning it.

Converge may be slowing down in their output, but this is perhaps the band's best record since You Fail Me, keeping in mind the three albums in-between are not to be sniffed at.

It’s great, difficult, enjoyable, rewarding, prescient--a notable work of art. It wouldn’t be surprising if the years to come recognise it as such.

As the title suggests, I Inside the Old Year Dying feels like a product of Harvey cocooning, burrowing into a space that feels protected and unhinged from relevance or topicality, as time and space wither. With that she has produced her most beguiling work.

Alongside indulgently unadorned ruminations on fear and love, the record is boundlessly liberating, decadently indulgent, and irresistibly danceable. Aitchison has delivered her greatest work yet.

Staggering, and arguably the purest and fullest expression of the band in its current form. ... For those already converted, this is sure to tattoo a permanent smile on your face, but it will no doubt satisfy even the most casual appreciator of punk, hardcore or classic rock too.

Not a single emotion is spared, as manic meltdowns (Medicine Burn) blend into polished pop (Kerosene!) and moments of melancholy (Romanticist) – all of this depicting a mind running riot.

The results are unlike anything the band has produced before.

Taylor might not have been coming for the crown of pop star of the year, but with Prioritise Pleasure she’s certainly taken it.

What could well be their best effort yet. ... We're taken on a journey through many different genres, concepts, voices and anthems (I Don't Wanna Live in This World Anymore) which all manage to work cohesively to create an unbelievably satisfying whole by the time of finale Joy Stops Time.

Bright Future provides exactly that: a run of songs that captivates in plentiful colour.

BRAT comes together in a genius way; it's literary, musically complex and somehow effortless. Not to mention, perfectly suited for when you need to cry at the club.

Good at Falling has a feeling of the relief that comes after crying. It takes a moment to sit in sorrow, to feel every inch of it, only to find it washed away by hope and gratitude.

What Ought achieve on this album both surpasses and expands on what they've already built. A joyous philosophical cacophony that finds new ways to inform, excite and challenge the listener.

A gorgeous microcosm of sound, Love Heart Cheat Code is a perfect accompaniment for hazy summer days and nights.

This infectious record is a timely reminder that punk’s greatest trick has always been to make the isolated feel less alone.

Before I Die firmly establishes Hye Jin’s multifaceted sound and crafts a mood that feels very of the moment.

This is easily the Long Island band's most mature album, in that it acknowledges and improves on many of the band's past misdemeanours.

An earnest but keenly self-aware synchronisation of Gou’s ‘eyes on the Top 40’ dance music with an artistry that is both curious and willing.

There's an assurance on Um from an artist that has gained the requisite experience to release such an accomplished debut.

Nile Rodgers-esque guitars are a key feature throughout Life Is Yours. Aside from the more laid-back Flutter, the album’s danceable tempo shows no respite across its 40-minute duration. Its production is also extremely cohesive.

Sleaford Mods are already one of the oddest British bands in this fraught political era. With English Tapas, they continue to push the case that they’re also the most necessary.

Is merits (pep, sass, tunes) come to the boil in the ludicrously catchy I Hate The Weekend, but Lost Time is such an enjoyable half-hour you’ll barely worry about favourites.

The songs have a feel of personal strife, but are so vague that they can fit into just about any explanation you care to apply to them. But these criticisms are unimportant when faced with the simple catchiness of the music.

This debut comes from immense, fruitful collaboration. A collaboration between beings, instruments, melodies and spaces that offer room to listen, reflect and become.

Everything’s shrouded in enough metaphor to ensure that we never really see much of Rose the person, and instead spend the album’s forty-ish minutes with Rose the carefully-crafted, self-styled pop star. On this evidence, though, that’s just fine--she’s never sounded this thoughtful or measured.

Bottle It In calmly addresses rough themes with maturity and elegance. On his seventh solo album, Kurt Vile discards the negativity, generating an affirmative landscape of awareness.

It's sombre tracks like The Laughing Man where Clark carves deep into the family tree.