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.

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.

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.

What Wet Leg have done instead is nudge their formula – and their image – enough to maintain people’s interest yet not enough to alienate those drawn to their innate weirdness in the first place. It was the right move

Now, it has come full circle, Carner has matured and Hopefully! represents the poetry of a loving father.

Van the Man is back doing what he does best. Remembering Now, his 47th album, is 14 songs of beautiful and reflective music addressing aging, romance and a sense of yearning for the landscapes and landmarks that made us who we are.

There’s so much to enjoy here for long-standing fans – a mellow soundtrack perhaps for the four-wheel pilgrimage down to Glastonbury, with some fittingly thought-provoking messaging on automotive responsibility going forwards.

Lotus is an absorbing and powerfully honest album.

Delivers what most Sparks fans want from them most – a barrage of the kind of eccentric yet immediately connective synth-pop bangers, which only Chaplin-moustached keyboard maestro Ron Mael, now 79, seems capable of writing, and which Russell, 76, his sky-scraping high notes miraculously uneroded by passing time, delivers with characteristic theatrical gusto.

Whether Pot Of Gold’s lullaby or any of Felt Better Alive is exactly hit material by 2025 standards is hard to say, but it’s wonderful to hear this wayward hero sound so happy to be alive.

Like the best rap albums, Home? is infused with musicality, drawing on reggae, afrobeat, garage and R’n’B, punctuated by horns, guitars and a swimmy dubby sensuality. Wretch is a sharp wordsmith who also sings with a raw sweetness reminiscent of Bob Marley.

Pink Elephant doesn’t have quite the same swagger as earlier albums. It is almost too personal, like listening to a preacher begging for forgiveness from his flock. Yet the sheer power of Arcade Fire in full flight should be enough to restore any sinner’s faith in rock and roll.

Despite the album’s occasionally jolting stylistic shift from darkness to light, there’s something reassuringly well-crafted about Sable, Fable. In a world of fluff and mayhem, it feels solid, needed even.

This is a set of absolute bangers including a barrel-house Crocodile Rock romp through Little Richard’s Bible, the twisty Americana-flavoured fantasia of Riverman and a moving Elton solo finale on When This Old World Is Done Me. On such evidence, we’re not done with him yet, nor he with us.

Folky stand-outs like Monochrome cast a warm glow, and Carry On concludes with the expertly poignant wordplay and emotive refrain which will surely have Anglo-American audiences weeping. Five albums in, the Mumfords will, indeed, carry on.

On the strength of Tell Dem It’s Sunny’s liltingly exploratory grooves, a world-wide audience will surely start getting acquainted with this maverick icon-in-waiting.

For Melancholy Brunettes is an odd, subtle, suffocating album essaying a complexity and ambiguity you don’t often hear in modern pop.

The 11 songs here are another slice of juicy joy, and the final track implies that it won’t actually be the last we hear from him.

Mayhem is exciting but exhausting, a battering ram sonic assault. In such bland pop times, it’s good to see her parking her tanks back on the dance floor.