Where the distinctly Strokes-y melancholy of ‘Dead Air’, or the darker stalk of the Matt Helders-featuring ‘Thoughtful Distress’ succeed, others (‘Home Again’, ‘Old Man’) are throwaway jangles that feel like AHJ-by-numbers.

The album suffers from a few rough patches, but Geese have freed themselves from all expectations, which is a rare feat for a second album, and worthy of praise.

A fresher and more enthralling take on the genre, ‘Life Under The Gun’ manages to evoke a sense of considered familiarity - nodding to punk classics such as Fugazi, Operation Ivy, and even, at times, Green Day and blink-182 - while still feeling fundamentally rooted in the present.

Its most immediate moment may come via the El-P featuring ‘Don’t Let The Devil’, with its musical bombast and Mike as most have heard him until now, but this is a sonically rich record that is likely to reveal yet more on each listen.

‘Social Lubrication’ sees the trio loosening up and letting go, resulting in a record that’s both a progression, and that shows off wonderfully just what made them so exciting to begin with.

Like one imagines a night out curated by the Scissor Sister himself, cues shift from pure pop disco to ‘80s maximalism (the almost-instrumental ‘8 Ball’ makes like an extended 12” remix).

‘Expired Candy’ is a whole lot more fun than its sour, stale name might suggest.

‘I Thought I Was Better Than You’ proves a valuable insight into who Baxter Dury is.

It’s all gorgeously rich in both sound and delivery.

A near-perfect album if there ever was one.

An album that will follow you for hours, if not days.

Ten years in, it’s unmistakably King Krule, yet somehow even broader, denser, and crucially more enticing than what has come before.

Everything here has been given room to expand, songs drifting from dreamy ascension to full-blown rock revelation and back again. An album of immense power and conviction.

A far way away from debut ‘Chaleur humaine’, yet just as unafraid, ’PARANOÏA, ANGELS, TRUE LOVE’ is like no other exploration of grief - a new magnum opus.

The band remain successful at finding lush nuances in their well-established formula and ‘Formal Growth in the Desert’ packs more hooks than any of their albums since 2015’s ‘The Agent Intellect’.

Each track conjures up dusty Nashville bars, from the spoken word sandwiched between a lament to love on album closer ‘Chain Of Tears’ to a knowing play on country cliches on Jenny’s exploration of happiness in her forties, ‘Puppy and a Truck’.

As a whole, this ambitious project can be an oblique listen but Acaster’s enthusiastic delight in experimental, underground music is on full display.

Like a hangover, ‘Roach’ lulls around in this contemplation in the dusky corners of a rough Sunday morning, yet it remains laced with a little intoxication: experimental production hides behind its corners, making ‘Roach’ a little more interesting. And elsewhere there exists moments where sunlight cracks through the drawn curtains.

Across its 11 tracks, ‘Raving Ghost’ finds impressive variety and fun: less a haunted relic of the past, and more a Halloweeny romp through it.

‘The Love Invention’ runs the gamut of immediate, dancefloor-ready electro-pop with style.

‘i’ve seen a way’ sees the band marching down their own path, and it’s one worth following.

The result is a fun collection of melodically versatile songs which celebrate the power that can be found in dwelling on the fringes.

Homely and familiar in its sound for the most part, ‘My Mind Wanders…’ is a smooth ride of buttery emotional grandiosity and infectious London pop that sits somewhere between Paloma, Adele and Jess Glynne, with enough attitude and bravery to modernise these prevailing and reliable British tropes within soul-pop.

‘Aperture’ stays true to its title, Hannah adjusting her lens with ease and darting nimbly between styles. The album bridges the gap between adolescence and adulthood; Hannah Jadagu jumps high between the two and lands firmly on her feet.

Arlo emerges with a newfound directness, finding a sound and voice that fully represents the multifaceted complexities of the world outside the bedroom.

There is a genuine timelessness to the thirteen tracks of ‘Everything Harmony.

Westerman may be less accessible than either artist, but his latest is just as notable in its ambition. ‘An Inbuilt Fault’ is an acquired taste, but well worth the effort.

There’s a warm domesticity to many of these tracks that’s smaller and softer than the apocalyptic balladry that first made his name; these are vignettes plucked from a Richard Curtis movie - romantic and relatable, with all the humorous foibles left in.