This album proves Lewis can master the mainstream, too, with earworms to soundtrack parties from Brooklyn to Brixton. So much more than “just a DJ”, one suspects that within a few short years, Lewis will be selling out stadiums.

Like Barrett and Wilson, Teleman indulge a whimsy that can tip into tweeness. But the melodic repetitions and slightly eerie echo around the guitar line give it a weird edge that works.

It is, I suppose, all very tasteful and yet it retains the original’s inherent oddness.

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

Automatic is a lovely thing, made with understated soul and humour.

All Bay has really done is exchange one set of generic production clichés for another.

Content is their best record since the late-Seventies, packed with savagely danceable riffs and rousingly incisive lyrics about consumerism, domestic fragmentation and political resistance.

[Willie Nelson] brings feeling and charm to these 11 covers.

With soulful vocals, delicate stories and vulnerable lyrics, Moss makes for a delightful listen.

Psychic Life is fully in touch with such early-Eighties weirdness, but is also fresh, approachable and thoroughly spellbinding.

Variably groovy and often catchy, Hyperdrama represents a marked improvement in Justice’s output. It’s easy to see why the band have had such a hard time topping Cross, however: Generator, the album’s strongest track, proves they’re still at their best when they stick to the sound that put them on the map 17 years ago.

That this is Manson’s most accessible and focused album in years counts for very little; there is simply no shock value when all you have to offer are cheap shocks.

There’s nothing wrong with these songs, exactly – innocuous fare that’s catchier than you want it to be – but they’re a far cry from Pink’s attitude-laden early hits: misfit anthems about depression and divorce that elbowed her a place in the mainstream.

Reputation is a big, brash, all-guns-blazing blast of weaponised pop that grapples with the vulnerability of the human heart as it is pummelled by 21st-century fame.

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.

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.

The quality wanes a little in the album’s second half, but there are four or five bangers, all told – ample firepower to win fresh converts while supporting both Harry Styles and Arctic Monkeys on the stadium circuit this summer.

The son of Richard Thompson is capable of writing his own striking lyrics but sometimes they are straining a little too hard.

A chamber piece that spills blood all over the hotel carpet, Room 29 is an understated triumph.

The playing is lovely, lilting and delicate.

It is all quite delightfully nuts.

From Out of Nowhere could be an ELO album from 40 years ago, albeit with a bit of added digital polish.

Cleverly, the arrangements draw attention to what richly layered songs Basement Jaxx have.

Easier to admire than to care deeply about, Youth should confirm his status as the go-to rapper for people who don’t really like rap music.

On the pulsing, electronic slither of Vendetta X, on which Astbury speaks menacingly of “sucking on a dirty blade”, it’s closer to his work with Unkle than stadium rock. In these moments, and on the glorious, closing title-track, Under The Midnight Sun is brilliant. For much of its second half, however, its magic doesn’t catch quite so well.

Muse's rather absurd spaceship may be welded together from bits of other acts--but it still flies.

It’s certainly delightful and delicious – as they croon on opening track De-Lovely – although also decidedly undemanding.

Inevitably, the singer’s less appealing views do invade the material.