There’s just nothing bringing the whole thing together, and a nagging feeling that he could do better if he tried.

Generally, though, this is an album of unobtrusive indie strum-alongs: Doris and The Daggers never quite explodes from the speakers, nor does it set your soul soaring with melodies to be bawled across fields and arenas.

In all, after 18 very long years, Damage and Joy is a near-faultless return to form, even if some of these 'new' songs are actually over a decade old.

This is perhaps not as immediate a record as Faith In The Future, the narratives of which were foregrounded in the song titles a little more, but it stands up to repeated listening just as well, and confirms his status as one of American music’s best storytellers, in the same mould as Leonard Cohen or Lou Reed.

Paradise may be titled ironically, but it refuses to wallow in cynicism, ending with concern about the state of the world, but hoping that unity will guide us through difficult times.

It’s perhaps convenient journalistic twaddle to suggest Great Ytene's loss of their initial recordings for this LP means that Locus feels desperate to get out of the traps, but there’s no denying the irresistible energy on show here.

Its fuzzy, dream-like patterns and navel-gazing can be hard to interpret, but there is a certain honesty and integrity that underpins the album.

Some tracks, like Pretty Good WiFi, fail to hit the spot leaving the singer somewhat exposed at times. Still, with his parent band said to be writing album number four, it won’t hurt to add another string to the bow.

If you’re a fan, rest easy knowing that PABH have done good. The Haze is their best yet. For the rest of you, make a bonfire of your Foo Fighters, Biffy Clyro and Bring Me the Horizon records. You’ve got no need for them anymore. PABH are it.

Real Estate show that this is a band you can rely on in uncertain times; that’s as good a reason as any to stick around a while yet.

While this may not be the most cohesive record that Spoon have ever produced, it is one brimming with ideas (one might say overflowing), and serves as testament that more than 20 years into their career this is still a band with plenty to say.

Curiously what you have here is an album composed by someone with an obvious love of the big band sound, blatantly wearing its influences on its sleeve but heartfelt as all hell.

There’s a certain depth and outright honesty in Ray’s lyrics that sets him apart from many of his peers and shows that he’s not afraid to bare his soul in his music. That openness makes for incredibly powerful listening.

Although the spiritual undertone (providence meaning ‘divine guidance’) feels somewhat overdone, Fake has created a truly impressive release--managing to weave together diverse and eclectic sounds into a cohesive whole.

Despite the obvious Tame Impala similarities, sir Was manages to carve out his own brand of psychedelic pop on Digging A Tunnel, leaning more towards funk, soul and hip-hop than classic psych-rock. Plus, you’ve got to hand it to him for trying to make bagpipes happen.

Heavy Meta is most likeable when he directs those high standards inwards. ... More often though, Gallo is on the offensive, and his technically commensurate and frequently enjoyable garage rock gets entangled in a scornfulness that becomes a little uncomfortable.

Aimless and fussy, Heartworms sounds like the kind of album a person with slightly too much money, their own studio and a massive ego would make. Crushingly disappointing, this is, alas, no return to form.

The question of identity is touched upon throughout the songs here (national, political, gender), but in terms of musical identity, Hurray for the Riff Raff know exactly who they are.

Semper Femina continues her decade-long hot streak with another collection of finely wrought vignettes on love, loss, and the empowerment that can be found in both.

On Solide Mirage however, they’ve emerged in full bloom on the other side, making for a confident and consistent record that should be a great entry point for newcomers.

Patchy and unfiltered, but charming as all hell, it’s a candid reflection of its creator.

Keys and pianos prove especially important as seen on John Lennon-esque finale The Barely Blur making WHY?'s latest a dreamier affair, easy and pleasurable enough to get lost in.

Eno Williams and crew up the ante on all fronts for Uyai; the percussion races forward while the arrangements are busier and more ambitious, each tune twisting and turning through rhythm changes and back-to-back riffs like a living thing.

It’s sentimental, it’s oddball and it’s beautiful. In other words, it’s Grandaddy at their finest.

World Eater is ferocious and intense, but it's also thrilling and bristling with life--and it’s these contrasts that make it such a blast to listen to.

The results are certainly a departure for an artist who seems to relish the chance to collaborate and while each of these ten songs is a Roberts original, the lush song craft recalls the golden age of electric folksters like Fairport Convention and Trees, ensuring Roberts' ongoing connection with the past.

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.

The results are certainly a departure for an artist who seems to relish the chance to collaborate and while each of these ten songs is a Roberts original, the lush song craft recalls the golden age of electric folksters like Fairport Convention and Trees, ensuring Roberts' ongoing connection with the past.