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

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.

Taking cues from her early mixtapes, its songs function as sketches that reinforce each other to create a heavy and rewarding listen.

Painting a portrait of life in Montreal, one hand... is narrated as much by hurt as it is by hope, and demonstrates Levy’s ability to develop her artistry without letting go of the colouring of sound that renders her music hers.

A grab-bag of experiments, as the now-trio try on a variety of stylistic hats while they figure out what the future of WWPJ sounds like.

It’s in the curation of the record where Ayewa excels, presenting a platform for black and queer collaborators throughout.

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.

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

Their newest body of work retains a fiery core, it also reveals a more pensive and reflective side to the band.

To be making music that can truly surprise you 13 albums and 28 years into a career is a testament to Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker’s continued dedication to their craft.

While pulling from here and there, what binds Sometimes I Might Be Introvert together is a flair for the cinematic and the result is an album that's both monumental and an innermost peek into Little Simz’s soul.

The album spans TikTok pop to grunge and lots in between. De Souza commits to them all.

Despite the daring newness, Screen Violence still feels unmistakably CHVRCHES, and one of their strongest records at that.

Aisles is a simple concept, executed spectacularly.

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.

While Deafheaven's change in direction isn't an unwelcome one, there isn't quite the same rush as their previous best efforts, as they adapt to their new surroundings. Minor gripes aside, Infinite Granite proves Deafheaven's mettle and shows you don't always have to shout loud to hit hard.

A record imbued with full faith in the minor masterpieces that dominate Villagers' fifth studio album.

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.

Liars' tenth album is a spotty affair with showy highs (Sekwar, The Start), pulpy mediocrity (From What the Never Was, My Pulse to Ponder) and enigmatic experiments (Acid Crop, Leisure War).

From the bombastic earworm title track to the pulsating requiem that is Paradise, to the twisted pop spectacle We Cannot Resist, Animal is utterly intoxicating – something that cannot be contained. Surrender to it.

Yellow brims with kindness and connection through its musical messages, reminding us refreshingly of what it is to be a human among humans.

Spiral is a more settled affair. Jaar and Harrington lean into rhythm and repetition more here, not willing to pull out the same number of jump scares just for the sake of it, a masterclass in the art of precision and withholding.

Wavves are no stranger to this smooth-to-rugged combination, and on Hideaway, the mix feels like a familiar cocktail recipe that mostly hits all the right notes.

Overall there's a great deal to love on this album, whether you're hiding from the world or belting out some catharsis at your next (socially-distanced) garden party.

Pink Noise is a John Hughes soundtrack just waiting for its film to be written and it’s a bold return from an artist with a point to prove.

It feels like a cathartic release, where she faces her fear of disasters head-on – through floods, tornadoes and burning cars – and she firmly places us within that world right alongside her.

Home Video is intimate, occasionally discomfiting, and, most of all, brave – the sound of an artist choosing to be at her most vulnerable, in front of a bigger following than she’s ever had before.

Boy from Michigan is an unhurried, loping listen; sprawling over 75 minutes with sumptuous synth and a ten-minute tirade on Trump’s America (The Only Baby). Sometimes the laconic style feels repetitive, but there are plenty of perfectly formed moments to bring the album back into focus.