It feels just as estranged of pop’s traditional structures and strictures as they’ve always been. It feels exhilarating; it feels like freedom.

She remains a real original.

In Colour is no mere sepia-tinted nostalgia trip.... it is also about the pleasure of being alone, enveloped in bass, in a sea of many; of refracting what can often be a superficial experience--London clubbing--into something more existential, more nuanced, more unified.

Shore takes all the complexity of The Crack-Up, Fleet Foxes’ 2017 outing, and unites it with the immediacy of the band’s classic self-titled 2008 debut.

Beautifully packaged, it’s a world fan’s dream present.

This second outing presents a richer, more percussive sound, albeit one still shot through with the zinging pyrotechnics of tin-can guitar.

McMahon follows up Love with Freedom, tackling troubled masculinity through a series of character studies and a mesmerising, still psych-indebted sound that has fleshed out even further.

Like Michael Kiwanuka, Carner’s first two albums were occasionally terrific but his third is a masterpiece.

A crafted, lustrous meditation.

It makes for their most cohesive album yet.

A brace of great tunes make the case: Rhododendron nods at Jonathan Richman’s Roadrunner, somehow making wildflowers sound gloriously disreputable. Saga, meanwhile, is a traumatised ballad that channels David Bowie, but with acoustic guitars and horns.

Oblique lyrics provide few hand-holds; while his distress is palpable, it remains frustratingly nondescript.

The playing is, predictably, classy, but mostly it’s an album of surprises; it’s Dave’s porch and he’ll play what he chooses.

Located somewhere between a TED talk, an episode of VH1’s Storytellers and a confessional, it’s a hugely nourishing listen – not least because Springsteen, the boss of righteous stadium bluster, unveils a self-deprecating sense of humour.

A deft, warming album that grounds the listener while coaxing them to think bigger.

Over 10 tracks, Heavy Heavy retains the band’s urgent energy – the yelps and driving drums of I Saw and sub-bass breakbeats of Shoot Me Down – but that vitality works in service to an overall, infectious optimism.

Musically, meanwhile, Where’s My Utopia? marks a huge leap forward, with co-producer Remi Kabaka Jr of Gorillaz helping to realise soaring ambitions.

Sophie’s defining hyper-minimalism has given way to a new lushness. While enduringly “other”, tracks like Infatuation and Pretending lack focus, and this wafty iteration isn’t as original as Sophie’s other modes.

Piano, the Jupiter 4 synthesiser and some elegant, spacious production courtesy of John Congleton replace Van Etten’s previous surging indie rock guitars. And yet Van Etten remains resolutely herself: possessed of a slow-burning seethe that builds to swirling crescendos, she is a consummate surgeon of relationships, keen on Bruce Springsteen

The result is magnificent: “dance” music that bursts out of the grid with retro textures, prelapsarian oscillations, birdsong and bells.

[7 Rings] is a hit, but isn’t actually all that great, using Rodgers and Hammerstein’s My Favourite Things as its sing-song musical base. The rest of the album remains of interest for its evolutions in sound, delivery and attitude.

The thrush-like Natalie Prass, 28, has written a heartbreak album that reminds you why such albums are so wonderful and necessary in the first place.

Not all of it gels, but as a treatise on male absence, Sturgill’s Guide is heartfelt.

Those happy to go with Van Etten will be rewarded by swooping pop noir, groaning organs and a sax solo, plus considerable hard-won wisdom.

You Still Get Me High and Story are full-on 80s pop, expertly executed with hooks, vocal performances and a widescreen feel. Even better are breezy retro cuts such as Hands, a frisky disco/R&B outing with rapped sections. One More Time, meanwhile, packs in handclaps, housey disco and more party-for-two promises.

It’s made all the more thrilling by the fact that while Moctar is busy conjuring extraordinary sounds from his guitar, the rest of his band keep upping the song’s tempo. Pleasingly, he is no less affecting on his more gentle, acoustic material, as on stripped-back recent single Tala Tannam.

A squally electric guitar solo lets you know Love & Hate isn’t just another slice of vintage soul, but something a little more intriguing than that.

From the Sea comprises new versions of old songs, most of which sound just as powerful without Woolcock's arresting images.