The two make a fine vocal duo, but even more astonishing is their instrumental virtuosity.

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.

He knows how to fill a dance floor. But his music comes with the sharp awareness of how it feels to stand, alienated and feigning aloofness, on the sidelines.

In terms of emotional insight and sheer singer-songwriter genius, it is not in the league of such heartbreak classics as Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks and Joni Mitchell's Blue, but at least it reaches for such heights.

Without a feeling that it’s intentionally waiting for the rain in order to go out dancing in it, it draws on its authors’ memories of the good times – reflecting, according to Philippakis, right back to their earliest days – and projects them huge and bright.

Coexist may not sound as dramatically original as their debut but it is every bit as other-worldly, like eavesdropping on intimate conversations between forlorn lovers on a space station orbiting around a distant planet.

If I have a caveat, it is that it is all so single minded, it lacks the dizzying splendour of Monae’s earlier epics. But on its own down and dirty terms, The Age of Pleasure is sheer pleasure.

Ugly Season may seem just that to those who prefer Hadreas’s smoother side. Yet the most compelling elements of his work remain, and the album is a culmination of one of the most consistent and emotionally generous artists today. Without the focus of the dance performance, the onus is on the listener to concentrate – but the rewards are as rich as ever.

Spirituals is tonally consistent despite its range of distinctive influences and talents. Just when Santigold threatens to lean into the corny, as on the SBTRKT-produced Shake, she pulls back, adding a whimsical, purposefully on-the-nose rattle sound at the end of each wedding disco-like “shake, shake, shake it” hook. It’s a joy to hear her back in her creative swing.

The sexy android cover and star-studded collaborations (including alternative icons Lizzo, Haim and Christine and the Queens) on her third album, Charli, suggest an all-guns-blazing pitch for blockbuster status. But the contents are far weirder than that implies. ... Come the century's end, you can almost imagine future critics scratching their AI-augmented brains and still touting Charli XCX as the next big thing.

Taken alongside Brat’s first iteration, it’s a fun, crazed musical triumph; explored as its own entity, it can feel somewhat like a cynical marketing ploy dreamt up by suited bigwigs.

Indeed, for all the slick but formulaic pleasures of the album’s mainstream pop push, it is arguably that Cyrus is at her most compelling when she dances like no one is watching.

The album is full of such deft perspective shifts and twists, on sharply written songs composed mostly with her eldest son Teddy (a fine singer-songwriter in his own right).

Morrison’s joy in tackling this rich repertoire is palpable.

A guest spot for Little Dragon's Yukimi Nagano adds spice to this unexpected feast.

Their pairing might well be bananas, but it works. Buckley is certainly no luvvie on leave. This is, at times, a dazzling album.

Neither lets down an album that features songs by some of country music's finest lyricists.

Sometimes, Cage the Elephant’s lyrics can veer into a teen angst that jars against their middle-aged image: “I don’t want to play those games, will we ever be the same?”. But when they sound this good, they can just about get away with it.

Covering Black Tie, White Noise, The Buddha of Suburbia, 1.Outside, Earthling and ‘hours…’, this box set is a welcome opportunity to re-evaluate that period with a more forgiving spirit and historic context. Because (as they say in sport) form is temporary, class is permanent. And Toy is further proof that Bowie was always a class act.

The album is both consistently breezy and emotionally upfront, going to-and-fro between galvanising dance anthems and gentle, psychedelic country ballads à la Kacey Musgrave’s Golden Hour.

At 66 Raitt’s warm graze of a voice is better than ever, balancing the confidence of experienced with a more nuanced perspective. Inspirational.

This album won’t be for everyone, but it’s quite the trip.

Sometimes, Forever, though on the whole a rockier, more grown up record, still has its moments of teenage innocence: Shotgun and Feel It All The Time seem like continuations of the biggest singles from color theory, royal screw up and circle the drain, that became sad anthems for disenchanted youth.

What Volume 16 really demonstrates is that Dylan has a certain rock and folk comfort zone, and it was a mistake to ever push himself out of it. The most surprising treat is the sound of Dylan in fine voice warming up with cover versions of old favourites, including a soulful take of The Temptations’ I Wish It Would Rain, a steamy run through Elvis Presley’s Mystery Train with Ringo Starr on drums, and a slowed-down and heartfelt version of Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline.

As a direct follow up, Evermore may lack the impactful frisson of Folklore, but is nevertheless another treat of classy, emotional songcraft.

Amid all the delightful nostalgia comes one glaring disappointment. When Swift committed to the re-recordings, she promised they wouldn’t lose the heart of the original – and the lyrics would stay the same. But on Better Than Revenge, a bitter rebuke to a love rival, she’s done just that.

Wilson unpacks her heart with poetically intimate lyrics about relationship troubles in a blur of downtempo RnB grooves and hip-hop flow, showcasing Wilson’s sensational multi-octave soul singing and masterful instrumental playing, all filtered through atmospheric digital effects that lend her old-fashioned analogue skills a contemporary sheen.

Del Amitri’s bracing feel-bad pop-rock won’t be for everyone, but for those of us who appreciate sweet melodies set off with sour sentiments, it is perversely good to have the old curmudgeons back.

Power Up is as exultantly fierce, furious and – let’s be honest – belligerently dumb as anything in their catalogue. It is no-nonsense, headbanging, fist-waving, foot-stomping, raw-throated, hard-screaming, riff-ripping, pedal-to-the-metal maximum rock and roll all the way.

Arrangements are simple and sparse, everything lightly touched, with only swells of strings and brushes of horn, harmonium and other instrumental colours buoying up her guitar and clear voice.

Pacier than her self-titled 2018 debut, the new album is still too long. But lengthiness suits R&B’s slow-burn tendencies: lingering over syllables and songs, letting new albums simmer.

British rock desperately needs a big new act to capture the popular imagination. Though hyped in the music press and rising extra-fast, this London-based quartet lack the vision to fit that particular bill.

While they make no claims to be a wildly original band--they listen to Black Sabbath and they have been described as the all-female Joy Division--what makes them so compelling is their fierce focus.

An assured and imaginative album.

Paul Griffith (drums); Amanda Shires (violins/vocals and a gifted songwriter with her own album Lightning Strikes just out); Chad Staehly (keyboards); Jason Isbell (guitars) and Mick Utley (vocals) add the expertly jaunty sound to Snider's ironic and enjoyably dark lyrics.

There's a confident, bouncy feel to Give Me All You Got.

The excellent Sara Watkins joins on fiddle, guitar and vocals for an eclectic mix of songs.

It's an introspective work - family breakdowns, fractured romances and his own restless, addictive character pour forth in a variety of low-key yet lush arrangements featuring sombre brass accents.

A pleasant, enjoyable album from a multi-talented man.

The 13 songs, written between 1972 and 2001, show off the range and subtlety of Lowe's songwriting.

There are much more vibrant records and live songs in Los Lobos's back catalogue but this is a sweet reminder of their talent.

This CD won't replace the originals but it's a tribute with some memorable versions of great songs.

It's a cleverly constructed, well-written and cohesive piece of work - albeit possibly, at 13 tracks, two songs too long.

Andy Cutting (accordion), Jon Boden (Hields's partner and the Bellowhead frontman is on fiddle, guitar and double bass), Sam Sweeney (fiddle, viola, cello), Rob Harbron (English Concertina and fiddle) and Martin Simpson (guitar, banjo) provide the classy framework for Hield to interpret 11 traditional songs.

Mike Bub (bass) and Kenny Malone (percussion) make up the tight musical unit on 13 enjoyable songs, which were recorded in Nashville.

There is nothing particularly daring about the album but it's classy and enjoyable.

The music is an acquired taste but Tales From The Barrel House is certainly a modern musical artisan at work.

The 'Revue Boys'--Jonny Bridgwood (double bass & rhythm guitar), Robin Gillan (harmonica), Jason Steel (guitar), Dave Morgan (percussion), and the two Paleys --swing nicely across a range of styles and songs.

The album is full of great music, the sort of bluesy, R&B material master guitarist Cooder does so very well.

After The Ball, a classic waltz in 3/4 time and a song of heartbreak as powerful today as it was more than 120 year's ago, is just one highlight on this super musical history lesson.

The highlight [of Mystic Pinball] is an affecting ballad called No Wicked Grin. It's Hiatt at his tender best.

The 58-year-old, who is writing his memoirs, is as busy as ever, and he's still got what it takes.

ht Sun is a bold album, and much of it seems to be about casting off the comfortable. But when it works, it works very well.

The album has to be judged a late-period triumph, even if I am not entirely convinced The Voice's avuncular judge is quite as deep as the material demands.

Atlanta-based producer Ben H Allen (who has worked with Animal Collective and CeeLo Green) has beefed up their sound, although a taste for clean sonic lines and cheesy keyboards retains a power to grate.

Taylor aimed for “sing-along stadium tropes” on this new album, mainly achieved via a sizeable chorus who lend their lungs to many of its tracks, often to rousing effect. .... Despite the choral boost, Taylor’s music only really unleashes its full power on stage — it deserves to be experienced live.

There are many absolutely gorgeous moments, including a reconfiguring of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major as a ballad of gender fluid love, melancholy dance song Tears Are Soft, the lovely piano ballad Flowery Days and delicate electropop True Love (featuring 070 Shake). But the overwhelming mood is oppressive as it proceeds at a relentlessly mid tempo pace like a kind of stately march towards ecstatic sexual release.

Horan’s sound of choice is much more understated, typically revolving around folky, acoustic strings and soft vocals. The Show, his third solo offering, is more of the same.

City Planning certainly conjures the feeling of a commute into a sprawling metropolis, while Die Cuts is a supple collage of contrasting voices. But, sadly, neither will have you wishing you could listen to everything again.

This is the closest he has ever got to recreating the mesmeric intensity and emotional release of Urban Hymns. He has thankfully ditched the electronic effects that tried to lend 2016's These People a vestige of pop modernity.

It is arguably a better collection than the original Tension but lacks wow factor and a solid gold banger. It’s good enough to keep the Kylie show on the road, though. So release the tension, enjoy the ride.

It's frustrating, then, when Swift reverts back to type. Too many of the songs on this bloated 16-track album revisit the gently strummed verses and characterless choruses of her previous work.

Their bluesy approach doesn't draw anything truly rich and strange from their vintage Cambodian material.

The album is the second in the four-volume Nomad series and the Cowboy Junkies said they felt they owed Chesnutt something. They have paid their debt in handsome fashion.

There are lovely instrumental passages, lustrous strings, and it has all been crafted with love and care, but it doesn’t hit the heights we expect from a great Beatles ballad, ending up sounding like a poor imitation of genius, the kind of soft rock whimsy you’d find on thousands of second-rate Beatle influenced albums in the Seventies.

Agnetha: still as seductively normal, beautifully boring and enigmatically familiar as ever.

Although the 18 tracks (12 of which are co-credited to Wright) are short on catchy tunes, it’s still an effective 53-minute trip.

A hazy collection of groove-driven vocal tracks featuring singers and rappers.

It is edgy fun with pitch-black humour masking real emotional content, although the tension between the darkness of the lyrics and sweetness of the vocals wears thin over a whole album.

The lyrics cleverly incorporate words and ideas from each programme. But a soundtrack featuring all the oddball artists from the series would have been more interesting.

The fifth album by Great Lake Swimmers, called New Wild Everywhere, is melodic and graceful.

It is a lovely Valentine record, if you favour melancholic songs about missed chances. The set feels overfamiliar, though, drawing heavily on classic Seventies ballads by the Carpenters, Eagles, Elton John and 10CC.

It may be nothing more than an exercise in maintaining the brand of the 21st Century’s most vacant superstar but, in its perfectly distilled empty pleasures, Glory might just be Britney’s masterpiece.

It's a loose album, an indulgent album, and not all likeable but, unlike any other outfit of their tenure, they maintain a raw punch as if recording in a local bar for the sheer blast of it.

The result is a quirky and poignant little time capsule.

As it shifts from the McCartneyesque soft rock of Sweetheart Mercury to the psychedelic mantra of The Warhol Me and very Sparks-like piano chamber pop of Comme D’Habitude, everything tends to sound a bit like something you might have heard before being lovingly recontextualized.

Wilson has nothing wildly original to say about the state of modern Britain, but sounds authentically angry on behalf of people on minimum wage or zero-hours jobs.

The result is never maudlin, but big, bouncy and entertaining.

All 12 tracks are undeniably well-made and catchy songs, but it veers into all-too predictable territory in places.

[It's] orchestrally enhanced, romantic balladry of fair beauty.

At its best, the grooves have the funky plasticity of an electro-Prince, sprinkled with baffling but thought-provoking lyrics. At its laziest, it sounds like a mumble rapper warming up over a jam whilst doing throat exercises. It's got groove though, and enough mysterious depths to warrant further investigation if you should somehow find yourself stuck at home with nothing better to do.

A flat-out belter of the Adele/Florence school, surrounded variously by daft orchestral sturm-und-drang and flimsy ProTools disco/house. Better may come.

The New Yorker's music has become less urgent and original ... This album sounds the musical equivalent of being chauffeur driven around Jay-Z's kingdom in an air conditioned, bullet-proofed executive limo while the man himself reclines his plush leisure seat beside you, casually pointing out the scenes of his former glories.

She shows in Everything Changes that she can keep up with the times.

For Kings of Leon to remain interesting and relevant, they need to stop trying to be the band the music business seems to want them to be and start following Caleb Followill’s muse wherever it leads.

Sparsely arranged around piano, guitar and his gruff vocals, it's sombre, but affecting.

It is not unappealing, but such portmanteau pop really needs strong guiding principles to add up to more than the sum of its individual parts.

It may be nothing new but her punchy, uplifting set of pastiche Sixties and Seventies soul, r’n’b and disco is perfectly pitched with just an appealing hint of exaggeration.

It is either the sound of someone who has begun to believe her own publicity, or who has stopped caring what anyone else thinks and is determined to follow her muse wherever it wanders. There’s a fine album lurking amidst the indulgence but listeners have their work cut out trying to locate it.

Athough the two old giants of country music can't hit all the notes of youth their phrasing is neat and nuanced on their fourth album together.

Most of the songs here do somewhat merge into one, long, party soundtrack that is enjoyable to listen to and yet entirely forgettable.

Positions is not as immediate as the work Grande is known for, though it will find many fans. There are no tentpole hits, no obvious hooks and far too many words crammed into 14 relatively short and sometimes samey songs. But it explores new territory for the singer: new relationships, a new sound, a new sense of self.

It's all precisely mixed and impressively textured, but lacks Blake's more raw, emotional connection.

Recommended for the drive home from festivals.

When Fall Out Boy are in top gear, they’re timeless: if only this whole album had cut some of the filler, it could have been a stellar return to form.

Nine originals interspersed with the overfamiliar classics indicate a songwriter’s fascination with rock form, but only I Want You Back (sung with Steven Tyler) justifies its position nestled between so many inarguable classics.

It may not be his most cohesive collection but when it comes to concocting sad bangers artfully combining bittersweet emotion with mesmeric dance grooves, Moby is too good to dismiss.

Elusive and ethereal, it hints at the late night soulscapes of the Blue Nile but remains boldly, if at times frustratingly, out of focus.