Even more impressive are the melodies that stand out above all of the intricacy, making for an album that’s not only fun, but acutely detailed and instantly memorable. Exactly As It Seems is a beautifully peculiar, joy-inducing triumph.

From the John Barry-esque orchestration of Reaching Out, to Talk Talk’s Lee Harris’s febrile percussion on Rewind, the album is full of richly detailed arrangements that allow Gibbons to free herself from the pull of Portishead’s past.

The trio of discs add up to a surprisingly tight record, a superb summary of Cook’s work to date, and a thrilling pointer to where the future may lead.

You Won't Go Before You're Supposed To exhibits a group confidently at their zenith with no signs of slowing down. Many predicted this could be the heavy release of the year – and it’s bloody hard to argue with that.

It’s at times a frustrating listen – just as a flow appears, dark, ominous vignettes (Joyrider, Predator) shatter the illusion. Eventually, reward arrives. Carrying you through the epic collage of Round the World is McMahon’s anchor of a voice, proving there’s beauty to be found in the disquiet.

What follows is a 14-track reintroduction to everything that makes Les Savy Fav so unique: tightly-knit duelling guitars, an impactful rhythm section and frontman Tim Harrington's vociferous delivery and wordplay. Legendary Tippers is full of the ironic swagger we've come to expect, while Don't Mind Me finds room for rare vulnerability

Chinouriri siphons every good idea from her previous EPs and evolves them into great ones; hits we saw in the prophecy fulfilled in the present. It also contains what should be referred to as ‘good-ole-fashioned-pacing’: front-load with hits, dip for a few ballads, repeat with an uproarious middle section, and coast off with acoustics.

Name Your Sorrow sees band-wide experimentation, instrument swapping, and post-production revision, resulting in a colourful, varied record.

On this latest opus, Washington and company are a tightened-drum of an ensemble that effortlessly flit between an intense focus and a playful freedom, and the results are stunning.

It’s testament to Clark’s self-assured and enigmatic oeuvre: indeed, she still holds surprises for us yet.

Justice may have struggled to reach the dizzying heights of their 2007 debut Cross, but Hyperdrama is a convincing, exciting venture in its own right.

These nine tracks prioritise serenity and beauty in their evocation of some unknowable beyond. Their sparkle can become almost too perfect, which makes the dark abruptness of the last two pieces feel like release, even if they throw its general hopefulness into uncertainty.

Every track on sentiment feels like a late-night phone call from a close friend; when the album stops, you find yourself missing the voice on the other end.

If I don't make it, I love u is magnificent, the peak of their recorded output to date, the sound of a band solidifying and pushing forward into something genuinely their own. A truly brilliant piece of work.

Unfortunately, it seems like the record's runtime was set before material was allotted to the space, unleashing a high-octane sugar rush in a space fit to dilute it into the unbearableness of being palatable. There are worse things.

This debut comes from immense, fruitful collaboration. A collaboration between beings, instruments, melodies and spaces that offer room to listen, reflect and become.

It's a sage document precisely because it embraces that which can’t be figured out: what life has next in store.

This debut LP sees English Teacher beginning to consolidate and take the already-delicious sounds introduced on their Polyawkward EP to even greater heights.

Sunshine in music form, A LA SALA is another stellar addition to Khruangbin’s blissful repertoire.

Hope is the longest VW song ever at eight minutes, but it never meanders despite its repetition. Instead it points toward the restless creativity that the band have never lacked, and that Only God Was Above Us demonstrates all too clearly.

A timely and exciting collection of songs.

Throughout, Jlin's command over rhythm and texture make what could be too impenetrable a blast to hear.

It’s an album that worms its way into you, slowly revealing more and more of itself with each listen, layers of intricacies shifting beneath its drifting beauty.

Real Power is a lot of fun, though at points it seems to sacrifice bite in favour of a certain kind of generic polish.

Rodriquez’s most cohesive and ambitious work to date.

She can’t do any wrong at the minute; this is timeless songwriting, and Tigers Blood is a worthy successor to Saint Cloud.

Bright Future provides exactly that: a run of songs that captivates in plentiful colour.

Perhaps this new album doesn’t match the immediate wow factor of Whack World – few albums ever could – but regardless, we should be thankful Tierra Whack is out there doing her thing; making mainstream hip-hop interesting.

The Great Bailout, while resting handily within her trademark virulent atmospheres and spoken word, is among her most impenetrable and least entertaining from a practical sense. This is not a fault of the record, but a necessary and expected byproduct of its existence, as each track runs up to ten minutes in a dirge of menacing poetry with instrumentals more evocative of a sinister mood-piece than a traditional song

Gordon manages to hit that sweet spot, creating an album that is adventurous, charmingly deadpan and visceral at every turn.

While Glasgow Eyes is no Psychocandy, it is without doubt a true-to-form The Jesus and Mary Chain album and, for that reason alone, worth the listen.

Down By the Stream discusses bullying and abuse, while Blackpool Illuminations is a seven-minute track about Smith’s childhood at the iconic event. It’s structures like Where’s My Utopia? that make an album stand out, as does its sense of hope and perseverance, with the overall message that one’s struggles and emotions are valid.

The band’s excellent 2019 record Patience was full of self-flagellation, guttural outpouring and railing against abuse and injustice, but it ended on the hopeful budding of new love, a journey of breakdown and renewal. They continue on this record to wrap up extreme emotion in sonic confection.

The back half loses steam a little, but even mediocre RE is well-written and easy to enjoy. Victoria is an Alex Bleeker-led song with a bit of pedal steel twang, Airdrop throws in some synth and Freeze Brain has bongos for some reason. But these little affectations rarely distract from the uniformly gorgeous arrangements.

There's an ever-growing sense that Segarra is in a class above in terms of poignant lyricism and emotive performance – The Past Is Still Alive reaffirms this in spades.

It’s varied, it’s vibrant, it’s wacky, it’s experiential. Loss of Life, contrary to its title, is brimming with the stuff and serves as unmistakable evidence of MGMT’s continued renaissance.

It’s a record that sees Doyle take chances, not all of which pay off by any means, but it is one that never truly coalesces into a great album in the way his last two records have. That said, he remains a figure who is always interesting and developing.

In the main, Blu Wav is Grandaddy’s most grounded album yet, a triumph of reinvention.

One More Thing is the product of an accomplished band noodling around in the studio. There's a playfulness and creativity here that promises bigger and better things from the Brighton four-piece in the future. As far as debut albums go, this is a promising one.

A raucous expression of love, TANGK is raw, vulnerable and inimitably IDLES.

Resigning itself to well-trodden paths, Venus seems curiously content charting no new territory.

The cumulative effect is sublime and will leave even the most agnostic listener in a state of transcendental bliss.

It's yet another successful reinvention from the Californian artist who continues to be an impenetrable force, laying herself bare and rebuilding for all to see and hear.

PHASOR is a rich and absorbing record that truly transports; placing the listener in a languid, half-lit morning where you’re never quite asleep and never fully awake.

These writers are resurrecting a long lost art in popular music – using big sounds, with indulgent lyrics, crafting a listening experience so rich it borders on hedonism. Some records are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and few to be chewed and digested. We’re still digesting Prelude to Ecstasy.

While this is an exciting new style for the band, the album could have benefited from more of the stripped-back moments that we hear in the likes of America. In the opening and closing songs of the album, we’re reminded why Courting are such a captivating band but New Last Name, while fun and energetic, sadly fails to match the impact and charm of their debut.

For a band at this stage in their career, Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs is a surprisingly solid return. Die-hard fans will love it regardless, but if you haven’t checked in with AK3 for a while – now's the time. They still have their spark.

He can still shred with the best of them (Wait, Hi Dee Dee, Watcher), but across this hour-plus album he revels in upending expectations, whether through abrupt tonal shifts (To You's new age synth excursions, Void's trippy synth hits), fried-metal no-wave (The Bell), or even a regular rocker that could pass for early Radiohead (Reflections).

A hint of musical theatre elsewhere sees the record lose some of its bite, but in general it’s a robust rejoinder to some of the more depthless musicality of soul-baring, 'authentic', indie-rock. Kirby is instead funny, scathing and full of clarity about her personal epiphanies.

Throughout, the group's tried-and-true, gleaming synth-pop palette is flecked with fresh sonic ambition, particularly on slow-burning epics Corner of My Eye and The Sickness. At the centre of it all remains Herring’s fabulously expressive voice, tailor-made to spin tales of heartache.

Wall of Eyes is a kaleidoscopic, mind-altering pronouncement: The Smile are not a band of their component parts, not echoes of their previous ventures. They are something exciting, ambitious, and genuinely brilliant; a sentiment delivered so resoundingly by their work here that it will leave your ears ringing.

The resulting album, Saviors, is a hugely entertaining return to form, with some of the seminal American rockers' best music in decades.

Sleater-Kinney’s decade-spanning songwriting style feels the same. Give us the electrifying assault and brutal guitar tones to fill those tiny cracks now present in our hearts. Give us a little more rope.

There is an attractive simplicity to this record, perhaps the band’s most straightforward since their debut. These are catchy feelings-forward songs with football chant-worthy choruses. It is, quite simply, an album full of singles.

Orquídeas is a display of bravura. Between Kali Uchis’ plurality of sound, empowered directives, and dance-inducing hypnosis – this is an entire album of sweet spots.

Big Sigh's strength is in not holding back from confronting darker feelings, and revelling in the raw honesty of experiencing them.

There is a timeless and timely feel to these tunes and it sounds as if something stately is stirring in West Kirby. Good health, indeed.

Cheerfully melodic, you’d be forgiven for not noticing the dark biblical story it retells – of assault, abandonment, fear and faith. These themes persist across this sparse diaristic record, coming to the fore on the grungy, vulnerable Don’t Kiss Me. Surprises, too, sees Zeitsch reckon with how mundanely a life can be altered.

The queen of Dollywood has more than earned her place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with this stupidly fun and over-the-top love letter to the genre.

Ultimately, it's a collection of well-written and well-presented songs, though at this point the familiarity with the Condon style feels expected, and the few new tweaks aren't quite enough to raise Hadsel above a middling Beirut album.

Packed with irresistible hooks and confessional lyrics, you'll find her best songs to date here; it's clear that Baby Queen understands the cinema of pop music.

At times, these eccentric – and often downright baffling – transitions in style and tone can be disorienting, but they also speak to Cunningham’s dexterity as an electronic auteur, and his refusal to play by the rules.

A triumph for Anderson, it's a more than worthy addition to his extensive and revered body of work; after over a hundred albums, his reign as king is as secure as ever.

Various guest features add further depth and despite many of the mixes being made in a day, this beautifully weird mish-mash of sounds succeeds in inviting listeners further into the depths of Jockstrap’s experimental world.

This is probably one for Veirs purists, but such is the standard of her songwriting that even among these sketches, there’s some real gems to be found.

There are times when this commitment to innovation and experiment costs Los Angeles its ability to hold the listener’s attention. .... Even so, Los Angeles proves that each artist on the record is a visionary in their own right, as they push the boundaries of the past whilst looking to the future.

The album works in short bursts of adrenaline. That can leave midtempo ballads like Shoo feeling aimless.

While it lacks the truly avant-garde attention of her previous record, trip9love…??? still contributes to her tripped-out, sensual surrealism with the intent of an artist willing to unfurl. In a carefully improvised moment of surprise, a definitive auteur of the modern feel decided to waltz into the centre of the dancefloor and yearn through that great release.

Nothing here feels inauthentic.

God Games provides glimpses of what makes The Kills so compelling, but is unlikely to convert many new listeners to the cause.

Overall, Santhosam has the fresh vibrancy of a mixtape, but with the smooth cohesiveness of an album – it’s the self-assured debut of an artist who has fully arrived and is ready to carve out a distinctive space of her own.

All That Was East Is West of Me Now, begins as a noisy yet meditative record with crunching guitars and snapping snares, before settling into a more reflective pattern to suit the resigned sighs and stuttering sounds his tunes twist taut upon.

Goodnight, God Bless, I Love U, Delete. is overlong and perhaps too diffuse for its own good, but to hear Moreno wholeheartedly indulge his melodic instincts makes the whole exercise a worthwhile one.

Goodnight Summerland is musically, lyrically and thematically enrapturing. It is a record of pure beauty and elegance, brimming with beguiling melodies and dazzling progressions.

Jonny arrives after a decade as the same well-paced and tender exercise in running in place, exactly where they always leave off.

Sanguivore is a love letter to the 80s, whether it’s punk, pop, hard-rock or heavy metal, and it’s bursting with great songs that are sure to please long-term and new fans alike.

The record makes time for sharp skit humour and ends with a dazzling dance-pop groove. Where Cheek smooths down her effervescent ability to discard genre for more conventional psych-rock numbers, it’s not as exciting. But she can even do that better than anyone else.

Although all of the tracks on the record blend seamlessly together, many sadly sound similar to the last, with only a few stand-outs such as Superbloodmoon, a collaboration with American singer-songwriter d4vd.

It’s funnier, weirder, and plays with a more colourful blend of Americana. It also reveals more depth and ambition.

On Want You to Know she assures us that 'beneath the layers there is simplicity'. Despite this, there's always an emotional distance created by screens and technology, with tongue-in-cheek lyrics.

Gracefully distilling a profusion of self-loathing, Javelin is a heartsick high. No one yearns like Sufjan Stevens.

The pieces as a whole feel fuller, and more ambitious than anything Roberts has done to date. It marks another stunning development in a series that remains essential listening.

Her most honest and reflective work to date.

This album could easily have been wrapped up in misery and the trope of the tortured artist, but instead it’s a pleasure to hear Tamko stepping bravely into a happy place.

The album is truly extraordinary – it is a once-in-a-career masterpiece that synthesises difference through abstracted self-observation. It is a vehicle for making meaning, an invitation to try again.

Bird Machine is a worthwhile coda to Linkous’s legacy.

Mid Air is a must-listen for anyone looking for a sentimental electronic dance anthem or for a song to say the words we are sometimes afraid to say.

Blake’s sonic ecosystem thrives in fusing seemingly discordant sounds. In striking electronic karate chops and pouring into careening chords, he makes the man-made appear organic.

As a standalone record, End of the Day does not always justify its existence. Some tracks are simply too empty, leaving a noticeable divide between audience and artist. It takes a concerted effort to listen to the album as a single track, and it perhaps would be best enjoyed alongside the film it was first written to accompany.

When it works, it’s thrilling, especially on the moody Moi and the mercurial, atmospheric Sons and Daughters. Elsewhere, Palms of Hands and Dusty are perhaps a little grindcore-by-numbers. Still, Neil and Vennart have presented their vision in uncompromising fashion, and those who yearn for Blackened Sky-era Biffy will unquestionably find something to love.

Slowdive are scene vets that have seemingly perfected their sound, but still have enough drive to keep nudging it forward, one shimmering soundscape at a time.

The Window is indicative of a newfound assuredness for a band which itself has stretched from a two-piece to a full foursome.

Meek’s vocals have always been quality, but on this release he has truly reached another level. The soft breathiness is used to the greatest emotive evocation yet, and the controlled manner in which his voice breaks cleanly into the following note in a way inimitable to few others than teenagers (certainly with less class than Meek) is impressive to the point of awe.

It's perhaps not the finest Hiss Golden Messenger album, but it's certainly one of the most joyful, and in the current climate, maybe that's just what we need.

Snow Angel is a well-calibrated blend of ballads and upbeat pop; self-contained but not unambitious. Not dealing in grand epiphanic or showstopping moments but rather steadier, more subdued honesty, Rapp jettisons the debut pop album rule book.

Overall, Learning How to Live and Let Go fluctuates in tone. But this doesn’t negate the clear effort the band have put into making this record a lot more experimental than any of their previous releases, and it’s still chock full of heart and vulnerability in its lyrical content.

Hozier’s far-reaching vocal range is on full display on Unreal Unearth – as an artist, he possesses that enviable fearlessness when it comes to being earnest. At times, the gospel overtones in the album reach cinematic scope. In places, this orchestral breadth comes off as over-produced, in a departure from the intimate honesty we've come to expect of Hozier.

The lengthy tracks here lose their momentum and oeuvre, dragging wearily toward the end. But when it's good, it’s great – similarly lengthy tracks in the first half, Wandering Through and Our Song feel varied and forceful enough to keep us on our toes.