Tilt is the music they are dragging you onto the dancefloor for, and with most of these songs playing over the speakers, you’ll happily join them.

Tilt is the music they are dragging you onto the dancefloor for, and with most of these songs playing over the speakers, you’ll happily join them.

While it may prove inconsistent to some, the experimentation and exploration ensures the album remains exciting, as you never know what’s arriving next. If the intention of this album was to show a rebirth, it succeeds, as Banks seems reinvigorated and ready to fearlessly conquer the demons that dare cross her path.

This is music for the mercurial bunch in need of a break from their own chaotic lives, who need to experience someone else’s even if it’s momentarily. It’s something the genre was intended for, and bands like Duster will continue to provide it for years to come.

We have heard many albums about the pandemic and life within it, but this is more about about life after it; how to pick up the pieces of the lives we had before it and transform them into this new life that just relentlessly goes on. Vile’s music is attuned to the unrelenting progression of life.

With Erickson’s arrangements augmenting his tales at every beat, they become immersive emotional explorations. Not every entry is gripping, and their mileage will depend on how much time you’re willing to settle in and let them wash over you, but overall it’s an impressively graceful skip into a new era for the songwriter.

His voice is consistently stroking it throughout the 16 tracks, ensuring it’s one of his most revealing bodies of work to date. A true and honest portrait of a complex human being.

All the arrangements feel organic and overflow from track to track. Rossen’s crafted a purposeful exploitation of his emotions as always, but this time it’s fully under his control.

There’s so much talent and story hidden behind the mask, but this album isn’t Orville Peck at his truest.

Its fragmented nature is tied to its accessibility; each track stands alone on its own merits, albeit at the expense of the record as a whole. The more oblique lyricism allows for the possibility of wider interpretations here, where previously they have felt out of reach.

In many ways, it’s Wet Leg’s small imperfections that make it the perfect debut – an impressive, tantalising exploration of their core talents that leaves just enough room for improvement.

It’s far from a miserable affair, it certainly passes the time, it’s just hard to imagine how so much talent in a room didn’t arrive with something that didn’t feel so staid.

Their punk spirit is still there, but has been buried a little under the weight of heartfelt emotion, bolstered instrumentation and sugary harmonies – all of which work beautifully for these songs. Camp Cope have made an album for themselves, to bring some unity through honesty and self-expression. They can certainly be proud of that.

Past Life Regression doesn’t craft any new formulas for Papercuts, but it’s still consistent with what people have come to expect from the band.

At its most transfixing, Recordings From the Åland Islands sounds like music that might naturally arise from the landscape itself. Tranquil, bleary, and languid; ambient and gorgeous, but full of detail that makes the experience feel personal to Chiu and Honer.

The fragmentation of characters, the dislocation and purposefully disruptive sense of a core musical identity on Warm Chris make this a collection of disparate songs rather than a body of work – for some this will be a boon, for others problematic.

Each track finds her motivation intact, with almost no trace of despair that isn’t equally met with perseverance. While it finds the singer consistently laid back, Gifted pushes forward constantly – displaying its creator’s unique resolve.

Labyrinthitis is Bejar’s best work since Kaputt. At this point, Bejar has several classics under his belt, so there’s no desperation here to create another one, but he manages to do it with ease.

Reborn often feels like traveling simultaneously to the past and the future in a larger-than-life overwhelmingness similar to watching a film in IMAX. It’s this complete immersion that wraps the record as a whole, rendering it as exciting as the newest sequel of your favourite superhero series.

This black abyss that Loop created is vast and infinite, and yes, even monotonous at times, but Hampson is shooting for the moon on Sonancy. He understands that it takes a rocket ship to get there – and those take time to build.

With this album, Curry wants to let the world know who he is and what he stands for, and the music is all the better for it.

An essential and enlivening record from start to finish.

As an experiment, the album hints at expansion but it feels restrained, afraid to really push hard. Even still, Present Tense has a little something for everyone and is a perfect launching pad for the next one.

The tracks are still unmistakably Sonic Youth, but in a period where each album had a particular feel and tone, these tracks feel too disjointed to sit together too well.

Even with guests and layers stripped away, she can still construct ambient moments that stick in your head.

Sink into Me is possibly superior song-wise to Home for Now and at least equally cogent in terms of vocal performances. Going forward, however, Babeheaven might consider combining the matured skills of their latest work with the less self-conscious and more rangy aesthetic inherent to Home for Now.

With a little help from an impressive array of collaborators and producers that include heavyweights like Pharrell Williams, El Guincho and Frank Dukes, Rosalía takes clear and complete control of her voice by getting her ideas across without being too caught up in them.

The album’s strength is in its sheer breadth, its teleological scope, its grandeur without pretence.