This is an album in desperate search of a hit.

Dandelion is a refreshingly feminine antidote to the scourge of beer-drinkin’, truck-drivin’ ‘bro country’ that has taken over the genre in recent years.

The band’s sound is a derivative take on the 1960s psychedelic sunshine pop of the Beach Boys, the Beatles, the Byrds and the Millennium. But, as on 2024’s A Dream Is All We Know, it’s done so unbelievably well that you can’t help falling in love with this album.

Far from sounding stuck in the past, Vile sounds enlivened by the vividness of such memories – perhaps explaining why this backward-looking album emerges as Vile’s most forward-thinking.

Be prepared. It’s a chaotic jumble. .... But it works. Elsewhere there are flickers of Fontaines D.C. (on No Fear) and Iggy Pop (Lifetime and Mother-of-Pearl). But this album stands alone. There’s life-affirming joy in its mayhem.

Packed with rootsy steel pedal guitars and sounds from traditional Mexican music, Middle of Nowhere is a rich tapestry of a record, reminding any of those doubters just what Musgraves is capable of.

An atmospheric, dense and often mesmerising album.

There are a couple of fizzy throwaway songs (My Way and Expectations) that don’t hit the same heights but, overall, in its scope and wit, this album feels like a coming of age for Rodrigo: it has a depth and purpose that indicates a young star in full command of her powers.

The Boys of Dungeon Lane is certainly as good as anything he has given us in the last 50 years.

There’s nothing challenging about this record. But it offers undemanding companionship, toe-tapping tunes and a timeless reminder that all you need is love.

Wuthering Heights consists of just 12 songs, clocking in under 35 minutes. But songs like Dying for You, Chains of Love and Always Everywhere pack such a punch that their conciseness never feels like a curse.

He’s released a peach of an album.

It’s a detail that in outlook and delivery brings to mind the offbeat confessionals of the late Dory Previn. Mitski’s a rare talent.

The Mountain is Gorillaz’s best album since 2010’s Plastic Beach. It’s ambitious, kaleidoscopic, thematically cohesive and packed with the kind of bruised melodies that cement the Blur frontman’s status as the bard of middle-aged melancholia.

These are great musicians and great songs, assembled for an even better cause.

Barnett’s fourth record Creature of Habit sees her replace rip-roaring rock with earnest self-reflection, all while leaning into a softer sonic palette.

Sexistential is a stunning search for self-acceptance after motherhood and a long-term relationship coming undone.

Problems arise with I know You’re Hurting and Life Boat, a combined 10 minutes the album could arguably do without. The same could be said for the five minutes of thank you credits in Fin. Where the hell is my editor? might have been a more apt battle cry. Still, given its emotional heft and likely cultural impact, it’s an album that could turn Raye into Britain’s Beyoncé. It’s a towering achievement.

Showing little signs of ring-rust, Arirang is a great comeback by an outfit that even hardcore fans may have felt had lost their way across a series of increasingly syrupy releases prior to their hiatus. They have returned to their hip-hop roots and are re-engaging with their Korean identity.

The most devoted of devotees will get a kick out of this album, but even they will struggle to ignore its flaws, or how genuinely fed up – rather than his usual showboating – Morrissey sounds at times.

The results are always interesting and fun, but often hard to get a hold of – a slippery confection of influences that never stay still for too long lest they reveal a lack of depth.

It is fantastic to hear these artists back on the barricades, performing with energy and passion.

The whole album is a lot of fun. .... Britpop may ultimately be too old-fashioned to put the 51-year-old Williams back on the pop throne, but if it had come out in 1995, it might be counted as a vintage Britpop classic by now.

A triumph of marketing, it’s hard to escape notions that this shiny “new” version of the Anthology series essentially comprises remasters of previously remastered rejects.

Probing the paradoxes of someone who feels powerful in her art but vulnerable in her life, Welch’s masterful album affirms that she really is one of the greats.

The power of West End Girl lies in the way it clearly presents itself as one side of the story: a woman trapped in her own head. Narrative tension builds because listeners can’t pull out for a wider perspective on the situation, allowing us to share in Allen’s claustrophobia and paranoia.

Built around pianos and acoustic guitars, with lots of strings and harmonious backing vocals, it feels sleek but self-contained, akin to a Carole King album glossed up for modern listeners.

The production feels sturdy and busy. But there are no instant hits other than Manchild, and though the songs are dense with hooks and melodies, none of them are particularly memorable.