Producers Marius De Vries and Eldad Guettta, alongside the Valve Bone Woe Ensemble, have helped Hynde find the sweet spots on a selection of songs that bring to mind Iggy Pop's excursions into jazz or the sound of Bob Dylan's recent covers collections.

Everything from funk-inflected bass to smoky brass and even New Jack Swing is represented here. Despite this, sometimes the clash of sounds can feel slightly diluted by some slightly hazy production, including on The Warning, where Robyn’s emotionally-wrought vocals and the melancholy orchestration are dulled by the washed-out beats. Yet, even in these moments, there’s an air of self-assuredness.

Like The Bride, there is a common conceptual thread running through these tracks, but unlike that record, there is less effort exerted in shaping them to fit a narrative. The songs are better for it, each unspooling like a miniature movie of its own without the same need to move the story from point A to point B.

Essentially, while Hunter is fiercely conveying an important message, one's enjoyment will depend on the unsubtle nature of the message or the slightly formulaic nature of the music – but with openers as soaring as Galapagos, it sure is hard to resist.

Unfortunately, for all but the hardcore, Free seems to baffle as much as it bewitches.

All of the beats are familiar, perhaps to a fault, from the instrumental at the midpoint to the shyly epic closer, but Forever Turned Around represents nuanced progress from an admirably subtle band.

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.

An album imbued with heartfelt sentiments, both expressed and inexpressible, At the Party with My Brown Friends is at once earnest, rippling with intensity, and a refreshing summer soundtrack. It’s a colossal forward-step for BBES, but one that keeps intact, and sees Paul’s unique artistic vision flourishing.

As a whole, Anak Ko is the type of project you listen to while allowing the rhythm of the singer to take you away.

Face Stabber's length owes much to its two centre-piece tracks, which end each side of this double LP, Scutum & Scorpius (14:24) and Henchlock (21:02) which sees the band go in full-on long jam mode. However, Dwyer counterbalances this with some of his shortest, sharpest, shocks, maintaining the balance between punk and prog rock that only he apparently can.

forevher is an excellent comeback from Shura, proving that she is more than the sum of her capacity to go viral.

Ride’s legacy is set in stone, but, in the end, most of This Is Not a Safe Place is not as wildly contentious in its desire to be different. After a strong start, more of that risk would have been welcome.

Thrashing Thru the Passion is a good album of fine songs, great lyrics and passionate playing – but ending with the playing-at-being-The-Clash Confusion In the Marketplace, after various nods to Dexys, E Street Band, Van Morrison, The Replacements, Boomtown Rats and more, its staccato block chords might be one homage too many.

It may well be Power’s finest solo record, a continuation of the last decade-and-a-half of pushing himself into new sonic realms. It’s an astonishing work; actively abrasive and incandescent with fury with a core of unaffected raw feeling.

Cala is a beautifully crafted addition to his collection. The record will appeal to those who enjoy soothing melodies and imaginative lyrics, as the Irishman continues to follow his own wonderful path.

Meaty riffs, expertly orchestrated songwriting skills, arena-championing choruses, and delicate experimentation with metal nuances – this is Slipknot, and this is undoubtedly a Slipknot record. If you want We Are Not Your Kind to be heavy, you got it – but there’s far more craftsmanship hidden beneath the distortion.

Despite some over-zealous Top 40 attempts, High Expectations is a well-rounded pop record.

First Taste is the first record of new material in his name this year, and while it doesn’t fully offer the uncharted sounds suggested by its title, it tastes delicious nonetheless.

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.

A vibrant, eclectic joy.

Yawny Yawn finds Ryder-Jones parting ways with every instrument that, on Yawn, did more than simply accentuate the trauma, resignation, fondness and care colouring his vocals. For the most part, this is an incredibly rewarding endeavour, as Ryder-Jones' painful words are brought, emotively, to the forefront, though the deceptively similar pace and ambience of a few songs may frustrate those who aren't listening intently.

There are times when the keyboards and lyrics gel (like they do on Moments and Whatnot, easily the best thing here) but for the most part, it feels like a pedestrian Morrissey album (without, of course, the taint of dubious politics).

Lyrically and production-wise, Falling, bar a couple of moments, fails to catch the imagination in a crowded field.

Hotel Last Resort is a collection of music that is poised and deliberate, provoked and provoking. Not a record to be taken at face value, it begs for a conscious listen, start to finish. It affirms Violent Femmes’ place as one of the greatest contributors to both the punk and the American musical canon.

With a multi-layered narrative, Levy sings between abstract and Auto-Tuned clippings of her purchasing a dove, and in this proves the success of her experimentalist artistry. By welcoming the world into her record, Alexandra Levy has created something much more whole and warm than perhaps it might have been.

Weather sees Hansen and co teasing out some new strands to their winning formula of blissful electronics. At just eight low-stress tracks, this isn't so much a headlong dash for horizons new as it is a gentle evolution, but you could do far worse than kick back and enjoy the weather.

The charm of Bleached's earlier, scattier records (Ride Your Heart, Welcome to the Worms) are nowhere to be seen, replaced by a glossy pop-rock sound that would have been fashionable a few years ago, but has surely passed its prime.

Tiny Changes is the sincere and inventive celebration deserved by The Midnight Organ Fight, a record many of us hold closer than any other.