This is ultimately an unremarkable--and frankly forgettable--third album from a notably gifted songwriter.

Rich and accomplished; beautifully played and immaculately conceptualised, Albarn’s latest trip from FitzRoy to Faeroes and back, via Dogger and Dover, is a drizzle-soaked deep-dive into a fractured land and fractured people. One of the quiet highlights of the year.

Half one is lovely folk, half two is slightly less even, slightly more idiosyncratic folk.

The Smashing Pumpkins in 2018 are an anachronism. Whether that’s an anachronism to relish, or render them irrelevant is up for debate, but Shiny and Oh So Bright sadly offers little to further their considerable legend.

The versatility shown here adds yet another notch to Drug Church’s (and Kinlon’s) bedpost as one of the most exciting bands around in a genre that doesn’t often do much experimentation or progression.

If you’re a Dinosaur Jr fan and you can live without a couple of Lou Barlow tracks per album then it would be well worth checking out Elastic Days and hearing J do what he does best in a slightly different setting.

A great starting place if you don’t know anything about library music as the album is chocked full of bangers. Wall-to-wall bangers! It gives you a launch pad to go and geek out over musicians and labels, each being a rabbit hole well worth going down. The abundance of heavy hitters is remarkable.

Simulation Theory largely sounds like the work of band who have the pressure off and are just going with it--definitely not a bad thing.

Davies’ solo output would increase in the Eighties, yet like his day job band, the quality began to vary markedly. Here we have a snapshot of a time when he was at the top of his game--but overshadowed in the public eye by his brother’s more easily digestible (and, let’s face it, available) work.

While the ten songs that follow aren’t quite as arresting, there are still plenty of earworms to be found.

‘Timebomb Zone’s ugly rave onslaught strikes first – you feel the stretch of a wince appear. ‘Champions of London’ and ‘Boom Boom Tap’ follow up with a one-two punch; you never saw it coming. Maybe ‘Give Me A Signal’ would be a late highlight, and it is, unless you’ve heard ‘Higher State Of Consciousness’ more than once, or ‘Poison’, for that matter. You never stood a chance. The only reasons to recommend this record over its predecessor is that it’s shorter and doesn’t have Sleaford Mods on it.

As a collection of well-trod leitmotifs, Fudge Sandwich functions more as further folklore in the Segall autobiography than a mere cursory look at the tracklist would suggest.

It’s cheeky, and should be gimmicky, but this is a record so sharply made in Kenney’s own non-conformist image, and she gets away with it. On this form, she’s destined for alt-pop greatness.

The mayhem, the confusion, the hysteria, Holter has learned to embrace all of it, and by reflecting it honestly in her music, she has shown the rest of us that whilst we live in alarming times, empathy and love continue to stand strong. Aviary will be a challenging listen for many, but its message needs to be heard.

Despite its supernatural setting and modern day political commentary, you get the sense that Yorke remains hopeful amongst the darkness. Perhaps this is down to age, perhaps it’s some sort of foolishness--but the optimism never completely fades from Suspiria and gives it a human quality that is not immediately obvious amidst the Seventies synths and modal incantations.

Honey is a fine record, a consistent record and a thoroughly enjoyable record. But it is not a great record, and in comparison with the standard she has set for herself previously, this is a mild (though fleeting) disappointment. That said, there is still a clear and beating heart here and the sheer humanity of Robyn’s musical soul remains one of the most beautiful things in contemporary music.

Last Building Burning feels like you’d hope it’d feel, as a 36-minute rush of blood to the head.

Live at the BBC is obviously preposterously big (I'm kind of relieved not to have been sent the accompanying DVD), but actually that’s kind of fine in the digital era – it’s not that old fashioned beast ‘the live album’, but a whole sprawling history to immerse yourself in, eras hurtling by.

The Distant Sky EP is what happens when a lone wolf suddenly needs to reach out and touch. It’s the chaotic scream around loosing a child. It’s a careful help me into the darkness. It’s an invitation to come closer, to hold hands--at last, be close to our St Nick. And it’s fucking glorious. It could have done with a better mix, though.

Ashcroft's vocal, which once soared and demanded your attention, sounds languid and forced to the point where one is left wondering if he can muster up any will power himself to sing what are by and large, trite soundbites that could have been written on any number of post-it notes.

Over these ten songs Lenker continues to carve out the little slices of magic that at this stage we now fully expect from her.

Sometimes an all-encompassing desire to satisfy the album’s eccentric premise causes musical havoc. Alt-J have always revelled in a penchant for vocal distortion, frenzied percussion, cinematic strings, and reverberating synths - attributes they largely abandon in lieu of offering more traditional hip-hop elements. And sometimes it just doesn't work.

Grant might just be taking the piss here, but his impish spirit reflects a writer with his fingers on the pulse of what’s really magic in this era: an understanding of humanity and all its feathery mess.

Overall, you’re left the impression of an artist genuinely expressing themselves. It may not be his Born In The USA--despite what Vile claims--but Bottle It In ultimately succeeds in its intentions and further escalates Vile’s reputation as part of a rare breed of authentic songwriters. And that’s alright for now.

Possible Dust Clouds finds Kristin Hersh as artistically curious and inventive as ever. Committed to avoiding easy choices musically and lyrically, she remains intent on exploring the murky complexities of the mind and continuing to make the best work of her career. She is an artist that’s always evolving, and yet again the results are often dazzling and always fantastically bewildering.

This is not the best Marissa Nadler record, but it kind of feels like her most perfect, potentially the resolution of a subtle identity crisis that’s run through her music over the years.

A record this willing to go the absolute distance to challenge expectations yet entertain and move so consistently should equally be heralded in such high regard [as Screamadelica], which in time, this will.

Marshall has created an album with a nuance and polish she didn’t have in her early days of just her and her guitar. Even if the territory is somewhat familiar, she’s never made an album quite like this before.