Blending the raw energy of punk with the gritty realism of folk, the result being a potent double pint of catharsis and confrontation. There’s seemingly several albums worth of material on display, from industrial poetry to showmanship indie, held together by its narrative which howls to the struggles of the everyman, from the depths of addiction to the despair of a nation in decline.

Death Jokes is a complex chasm of fractured, intertwining ideas, songs that grasp for purpose, songs with drops of sorts.

After a string of EPs, Chinouriri arrives at her first full-length with confidence and ease. Devastation has never sounded so fun.

Vu didn’t invent tragi-pop (she wouldn’t deny her numerous progenitors, from Cat Power to Julien Baker); however, her airy melodicism and meme-friendly lyrics, coupled with her technically grounded yet mercurial voice, make for a signature presence.

Nobody needs to know the details of Lipa’s real life to lend her songs weight, but there should still be something in her performance, delivery, songwriting or production that sets them apart from platitudes, from background noise.

Calling this album consistently satisfying might come off like a dig. Quite the opposite, actually. It's the mark of a classic.

t's ultimately perhaps telling that the most compelling departures from set templates are more naturally aligned with the territory of Washington’s past triumphs.

If you’ve heard a previous Moctar record and pieced together the best bits, you’ll have an imitation of Funeral for Justice’s righteous glory, but if you haven’t, use this record as a roadmap in discovering the previous odd-decade of Moctar’s talent.

Pratt has long been a consummate texturalist; mining the pop playbook in resourceful ways, she’s now an exemplary tunesmith as well – the result is sublime.

On his third album, he continues crafting his inimitable blend of pop, R&B, and electronica, ferociously cementing his place amongst the very best at work today.

Porij’s confident and assured debut delves into their love for not settling for one genre. Taking you on an adventure through emotions and soundscapes, it’s a fluid record that never stands still. It will appease long-time fans with its infectious and catchy grooves, as well as welcoming new fans to the party with open arms.

While the record feels like a new iteration, it is also an evolution of a deeply familiar form. At the record’s core, it ultimately is more of Hovvdy and at their best, these songs envelop the listener in the same way Hovvdy songs always have.

Ultimately the album's uneven tempo and uncertainty at its heart make it unclear what Hyperdrama wants to be and to whom they still appeal.

Nonetheless feels airy and welcoming, qualities that have sometimes eluded its more recent predecessors, it resonates emotionally in ways that befit elder statesmen who can look to the future while comfortably acknowledging the past.

This is the sound of releasing a lifetime’s worth of strife and unease. That sounds, it turns out, is pretty damn excellent.

It changes its arm in a myriad of directions, with only a few really working, but they remain a band set apart from those around them, even if here they stumble.

Quirky yet profound, playful but often deeply moving, Light Verse is a record to savour in one sitting, its ten tracks comprising a seriously impressive whole that’s considerably more potent than the sum of its unfailingly impressive individual parts.

Amorphous and difficult to pin down, this undefinable hypnagogia is the lasting identity of Chanel Beads, and Your Day Will Come is the vessel from which it was formed.

It's less playful than before but feels like an evolution rather than an adjustment. There's a more textural feel than before, edging closer to the muted space of Phoebe Bridgers' Punisher, or Antonoff's work with Lana Del Rey, and it suits Swift well as this point in her career.

There are times throughout that Viscius appears at ease and elsewhere there are signs she’s simply exhausted and drained. All cried out. But as the album ebbs away with the hushed tones of her singing, “No one loves me anymore” on “No One” it’s as if a huge burden has lifted, finally.

We’re left reveling in an album that is grand in ambition and execution – a sweeping journey of highs and lows worth celebrating.

On Found Heaven, the wreckage of love overstays its welcome; sadly, profundity gives in to frustrating familiarity.

It’s always charming, but in its best moments, Don’t Forget Me is often phenomenally well-written, a solid show from an artist who’s likely to linger in your memory for a while.

The constant zigzag between tempos and moods is tiring. The album is a true testament to her strengths as a lyricist and melodic writer but should have been allowed to be as chaotic as it first seemed to promise.

On Abomination there’s a more cohesive sense of vulnerability even contemplation that the attention-seeking initial EP songs clamoured for so brazenly.

Wrapping the messiness of post-breakup emotions into rule-bending pop cuts, it once again proves that nobody does heartbreak anthems quite like FLETCHER.

Perceive Its Beauty, Acknowledge Its Grace isn’t an easy sell at a time thoroughly infested with quick thrills and instant gratification. Give it time to bloom, however, and these tracks are infused with plenty of the qualities referred to in the album’s title.

The album could be one of the finest debuts of the decade, with every band member shining in their ability and craftsmanship.

Ultimately these songs work their sly magic in subtle and nuanced ways and here may lie the risk for BODEGA. Their, at first seemingly modest, charms need re-evaluating when on the third or fourth listen it all clicks and you realise what appeared modest is in fact pretty sublime.

The album shoots its shot repeatedly to great effect, sometimes it’s better at hitting the mark than at other times but always seeks to embrace the euphoric and it’s obvious why Nia Archives has become a need-to-know name in dance music in a relatively short space of time.

On A La Sala, Khruangbin prove their talent for making intricate instrumental music that is capable of casting an evocative spell, whilst also hinting at the potential downfalls of becoming locked inside the band’s mid-tempo comfort zone: more of the steadily intensifying drama of gently soaring first single “A Love International” would be welcome.

Overall, that combination of conversational, vulnerable lyricism mixed with impeccable baroque pop arrangements makes Older as unique for the pop world as it is beautiful. All in all, it’s a deeply honest album, both in its exploration of aging and in its rejection of pop cliches.

Fabiana Palladino is a near-effortless reinvention of retro pop, soul, funk, and R&B tracks with a glossy modern sheen, setting the stage for more grandiose statements in the future.

If it doesn’t quite hit the consistent highs of 2017’s Love What Survives, The Sunset Violent is a clear next step for Mount Kimbie. With limited features and a cohesive throughline, they’ve never felt so much of a unit, embarking on a trip together.

It's this juxtaposition between strong experimental instincts and ability to weld them seamlessly to a keen interest in (and talent for) engaging and accessible songwriting that makes Love In Constant Spectacle (and Weaver’s previous run of solo albums) such an unmissable treat.

To this extent Only God Was Above Us defines itself by a heady mix of retrospection and relinquishment to the future – a coming-of-age awareness writ large in previous phases of their career lent further prescience with the passing of each entry in their canon.

Dense and immaculately detailed, nothing about Act II is accidental, and no one could begrudge Beyoncé her moment in the centre of the rodeo ring. There’s no question that Cowboy Carter is a landmark record. Arguably, an inevitable one. But once the dust of its audacity settles, it misses the mark of a classic.

Whether Crow is tucking into the midtempo rock bohemia of “You Can’t Change the Weather,” or getting lost in the groovy R&B psychedelia of “Love Life,” she demonstrates that she is a musical everywoman, able to move from knowing convention to wider experimentation.

It is easily El Perro del Mar's most impressive work to date. In lesser hands, such difficult topics might have been rendered in a cliché, one-sided way. But Assbring manages to deliver a heart rending, honest, multifaceted meditation on grief in a tightly-penned ten track album that demands nothing less than our full attention.

Bite Down, then, is a rare record. It excels both as a richly resonant, often deeply beautiful gem. It is singer-songwriter introspection and a high octane field recording from an unusually fertile and harmonious gathering of five likeminded musicians at the seam where hip country rock meets the wide-eyed extemporisations of contemporary cosmically inclined psych-rock.

She releases something new, or as new as old can be, and the sun has more of a reason to shine; it’s a thing of beauty.

TYLA is turned up to 11 – there is little emotional or energetic dynamism on the album, but every song is club-ready, danceable and infectious.

Girlfriend Material sees shimmer traded for increased complexity alongside a confident pop-punk presence – one that defines the album’s major strength alongside a sharply served side-eye view of society.

With Tigers Blood, Crutchfield continues to perfect her songcraft and elevate the Americana genre – asserting a panoramic vision, radiating wisdom.

Each time I play even a moment of this record back, my ears ring and hum and vibrate my head as if they’re rejecting another listen to its mad, sad glory.

Indeed for the most part, the sparser these tracks are, the more enjoyable. The album hits a real stride after the halfway mark with perhaps its three best songs, “Cura”, “Fácil”, and “Sucia”.

Each track will commit to Whack’s usual first minute, but suspiciously lingers on, sometimes embellishing an idea and other times letting the same moment marinate on repeat. This often does little to diminish the power of each particular song, but on the macro-level, the record is still a collection of fleeting snapshots, albeit with high resolution and long-term fidelity.

Despite the occasional lack of captivating subject matter, it signifies a grown woman embracing new beginnings. The grim clouds are already clearing towards the finale – a million little stars bursting, fluttering, ready for more grandeur.

There are a number of highlights on the record, but “supernatural” is the shining star. .... There’s also moments that don’t quite hit where they should, with “true story” and “i wish i hated you” being perfectly nice but lacklustre or simple in their writing.

Jones places a premium on tonal variance and equilibrium throughout Visions; it’s a wise chess move, ensuring an absorbing listen with every spin.

Her eye for her own artistic point of view has never been sharper. The rest of the record is an equally thrilling ride.

It’s a wonderfully strange, dense, and visceral album that finds solace in uncanny experimentalism.

Bleachers would have felt more complete if their signature goofiness prominent in the upbeat production had seeped into more tracks. Despite some occasionally affecting lines, songwriting isn’t their forte; instrumentation is.

Each sound is lovingly wound up and left to tick away in the groove, a feat accomplished few times this side of LCD Soundsystem. Most impressive, however, is that this is just a damn fine collection of material.

Mass appeal might be the only thing missing, perhaps not possible for a band that has to asterisk their name sometimes. It’s not stopped them from perfecting their place in vibrant scenes that have scaled to wider appreciation, and with I Got Heaven now in the back pocket, few groups deserve a share of the limelight more.

Where does Mountainhead stand in their canon? Only prolonged exposure will tell, but one thing is beyond doubt; it’s the best concept album you will hear all year about a subjugated society literally digging a hole that takes them further away from those at the top of the heap.

Amidst the unexpected twists in its production, Webster still retains a strong narrative voice throughout, her intentions unfolding with each new line.

The entire EP clocks in at just under 15 minutes. Despite this, this has ensured quality over quantity and makes up for the potential disappointment felt by listeners due to Club Shy’s speedy turnaround. The synths are fat, Shygirl’s voice steps into places she rarely visits, and it's absolutely everything you could want from a Shygirl club cut, soaring as it takes a victory lap around what has played prior.

Still is somewhat of a step forward for the alt-R&B star, but often loses its way with repetitive songwriting and a lack of shine; its stillness might be too lax an angle.

With Filthy Underneath, Shah doesn’t necessarily reinvent herself, though she certainly recommits to honesty, vulnerability, and stepping out of comfort zones, all the while documenting an important self-initiation.

The Past Is Still Alive is a remarkable album, one which achieves the impossible trick of capturing the mood of a nation and a vivid portrait of a single fascinating person – all within one gorgeous stew.

If Cape God felt like Hughes beginning to create her own universe, Girl with No Face marks her apotheosis as her deity. Still sleeping on Allie X? It’s time to wake up: her spaceship has truly landed.

Adult Contemporary is a whole lot of fun, and furthers Chromeo’s mission to take the seriousness out of modern day music. Chromeo’s trajectory remains in tact with this release, and shows that funk truly never goes out of style.

Weird Faith toys with the emotional cohesion of Diaz’s best work, resulting in an album whose sum is only the value of its parts.

Larsson knows her strengths, but she knows them too well. If she could only break down the facade further and reach beyond her comfort zone to meet the listener halfway, she would be unstoppable.

If the band are looking for a platform to build on, this could well be it.

Daniel shows potential for Real Estate to take their music to the next level and in a way, that’s both its biggest plus and greatest minus.

Structureless, vindicating and yet jarring in moments, Two Star & The Dream Police is the sound of Mk.gee taking ownership of the musical world he’s been building for years.

It’s a stylish swerve dipping into luxurious large-scale arrangements with woodwind flourishes, haunting lullabies and even “20% adult contemporary”, showcasing their breadth of influence and genre play across ten tracks with more scope than ever.

GRIP is stylish and moving, yet lacks a sense of provocation.

There's a lot to like here. "Bucky, Boris and Dent" aren't long for this world, but their memory lives on thanks to the song's chipper melody. It's just that a good chunk of the tracklist unfolds along a steady procession of waltzes. They're all gorgeous, too, smooth and shiny as a commemorative dinner plate. The spacey interludes will keep you on your toes, but anyone who's looking for a hoedown might get bored in a hurry.

TANGK adds something else to the conversation. A level of fragility that has not yet been displayed by IDLES, it is an album that swaps brash vocals with more tender notes. Love is the thing, and it seems like it is here to stay.

This stunningly ambitious yet surprisingly restrained album is a personal inspection of Declan’s current life, putting politics (mostly) aside and abandoning grandeur to think about himself for a minute, gifting listeners a vessel for empathy along the way.

When compared to the mixing and progression of the original, it presents the same odd feeling for the same old record: you can see one of the greatest records of the 70s held captive by a spare mistake here and there. Held together, the original and its remixes could be pieced into Band on the Run’s finest hour.

She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She is Wolfe’s best album for some time. The album’s music and vocals reflect its underlying theme well.

Some might find it a mixed bag due to its atypical diversity, but the songs aren’t too contrasting to be deemed incohesive. Her lyrics are still sharp and impactful, with a little sprinkle of playfulness to fit the dominant genres. The album’s a joyous journey outside the bounds of – and without alienating – the usual, a testament to her considerable, well-rounded talent.

Choruses are plentiful, tactile songwriting makes for a spectacularly fun listen.

Sola concludes Peacemaker much as she launches it, striking a sublime balance between pop know-how and theatrical flair.

The Last Dinner Party don’t leave one dramatic stone unturned. Pleasurably satisfying, you can’t help but come back for more.

It’s futile to pick highlights from an album that is so uniformly inspired that even the one far-out diversion from the heartfelt script (“…And The Sea…”, a woozy instrumental featuring Michael Head reciting from James Joyce’s Ulysses) works perfectly.

What Do We Do Now has some interesting moments on its first side, but quite a bit of it does feel leaden and lacking in energy.

There's a distinct and purposeful artifice surrounding New Last Name that lends it enough intrigue and depth while still being able to simply say, "See, we can do this too." And you know what? They can!

The praise and adoration of 2021’s album Thirstier perhaps acts like a precursor to this newfound confidence and it genuinely feels like now is TORRES time after a decade of musically searching for this exact point in time.

While the signature style they have debuted with is admirable, some time to experiment and push the boundaries just a little further will make NewDad a true force to be reckoned with.

More than any record in their discography, People Who Aren’t There Anymore is as newly accessible as it is relishing in prior experience.

Potently precise and exceedingly witty, Kirby’s lyrical prowess is written all over Blue Raspberry, showcasing its sheer range from the earnest theatrics of "Drop Dead" to the quiet craving on "Wait Listen".

At its high points, Saviors is a reminder of why you fell in love with Green Day, a triumphant outing that will surely silence the critics.

Although refreshing, the many influences of the second half are quite a hard contrast to the first ten tracks, whose productions are meditative and intuitively balanced. Although there are constantly new elements appearing, the crisp tracks never get overcrowded, giving the project a luxurious finish.

In the end, Sleater-Kinney’s ongoing evolution may divide opinion, but there’s no doubt that this is a band that still has important stories to tell.

Lovegaze treks further into the shadows to present a murkier, more mysterious sound, full of fog and strange potions, while still remaining rooted in substantial songwriting. The end results are often disarmingly beautiful.

The album fades out gently, a dissipation of tension and emotion that you don’t realise is cathartic until it’s over – for this reason, Big Sigh doesn’t just feel like Hackman’s best, but it feels like a distinct chapter marker in her catalogue. She closes the last decade stunningly, and nudges open the next.

Letter To Self feels like the kind of showpiece debut release that could put them over the edge. It’s a thumping statement that can challenge and charm in equal measure.

This album not only heralds the return of a singular talent in contemporary popular music, it’s the demonstration of art actioning change in real-time.

She’s infectious on stage, and her videos and performances are all planned and conceptualized. But THINK LATER is a little too hollow, a little too cohesive, to make any big statements right now.

Alongside a natural tendency to sustain tensions and avoid convenient certainties – what the poet Keats called negative capability – is a sophisticated pop flair. With I Get Into Trouble, Zietsch emerges as one of the more eloquent singer-songwriters of her generation.

All told, Accompany provides compelling testimonial for the case that Michael Nau is one of the most underrated singer-songwriters currently in circulation: an album you’re guaranteed to want to, er, accompany you for months to come.

In fully owning their anguish and collective past, present and future, HEALTH have yet another essential record to their name - one which fully and flawlessly embraces savagery and sincerity in equal measure.

The unreleased cuts provide many of the highlights. Two takes on obscure vintage rhythm & blues cuts hit a raw energy that the more heavily polished arrangements lack.