With Again, Lopatin captures the numbing clutter and volatile emptiness of post-digital, post-humanistic life: the silence that chokes, the clamor that drowns. And while these aren’t original themes (numerous artists have explored these polarities), Lopatin’s response seems notably relevant and largely his own.

Sonically, Jenks and his crew opt for a simplicity that borders incidental music, a soundtrack to his existence as quotidian as the city streets. A familiar mixture of soulful jazz, jazzy soul, and beats that range from distorted snares to spartan R&B have one goal: stay out the way.

We Buy Diabetic Test Strips goes deeper, darker than any of Armand Hammer’s previous albums. It even eclipses woods and Kenny Segal’s stellar Maps as the best hip hop record this year, at least so far.

This newest effort is more interested in exploration than invention. Like following the development of a Miyazaki, there’s a sense of wonder to a fantastical realm, which harmonises in a dreamlike logic. Emotional archeology, for beginners and experts alike, it resides among the group’s five best efforts.

VOID is a twisting chimera of a record as it skips through post-metal on “I Cannot”, to post-rock on “Not Today, Old Friend”, to math rock on “We’re Small Enough”, while never once feeling like anything other than a KEN mode record.

Cousin carries just about the same level of uniqueness as any other Wilco release. Icy and poised, with support from Cate Le Bon on production, it’s their most emotional yet composed record in some time.

It is true you can very easily lose orientation amidst the billowing clouds and beatless productions (which makes the title Atlas seem ironic) but that only compels you to venture further, to learn the album’s unseeable contours.

Beer has opted for a generally more cohesive sound. While some tracks do run the risk of sounding samey in terms of production, the main strengths of this album lie in Beer’s powerful voice and transparent lyrics.

Their voice is more supple and sensual than we’ve heard before, even as they present themselves as anhedonic, numbed by “meaningless space”.

The King is full of voices, both his own and those of the ones he sings about and for, and that communion is one of the album’s biggest strengths. It does maintain some habits that threaten to curdle the gravity of his songs into preciousness or melodrama, like his quivering vibrato and theatrical mannerisms (at times, the songs almost sound like folky musical theatre numbers). But, overall, these nitpicked conflicts don’t negate the sheer power of what Anjimile has constructed here.

Berninger’s vocal delivery is largely muted; the mercurial and even passive-aggressive eruptions of the 00s are all but gone; rather, there’s a downcast directness here, which at times is compelling in the way that self-revelation and truth-telling can be; at other times, such singularity seems glaringly reductive, a listener wishing for the metaphors, tortuous narratives, and volatile phrasing of earlier work.

It’s a seamless and natural progression from when the band released squeaky-clean interpretations of their beloved 2020 album Brave Faces Everyone, just last year on Brave Faces Etc. But they’ve buckled down, tightened things up, and now observe sheen and a bit of grit with an impressive balance.

Their debut was filled with promise and, on their third album, Nation Of Language have kept that promise.

The album’s brevity only adds to the allure, as it is stripped of any excess, and devoid of a single misstep. It is a distinct departure, but ultimately unsurprising in its flawless execution.

These songs show that Rodrigo isn’t done after GUTS.

It’s not a perfect album – “Blue” feels slightly underdeveloped and I question whether the Robyn Hitchcock cover is completely necessary – but it doesn’t have to be. It’s mysterious, slightly messy at times, and filled with a gentle wonder that settles onto our skin like early morning sunlight. It’s a privilege to be in his company once again, even if it is just for 40 or so minutes.

The majority of Playing Robots Into Heaven is still very good, but the album is missing the skyscraping highs of past tracks like “The Wilhelm Scream” or “Retrograde”, and its cohesiveness is hampered by a few lesser songs that have slipped past the slackened quality control department.

Hard to categorise, and impossible to assess immediately, like all of Slowdive, everything is alive will ever blossom with time.

The dire gloom of the early years is gone, and the garbled mutations of Some Rap Songs and Feet of Clay have grown in clarity without losing any of their labyrinthine and gothic dynamics. Without calling a masterpiece just yet: this is a very special moment, both for Thebe and his fans. I leave the rest to Two-Face and the flip of his coin.

It’s outside the lines at times and consists of hues and shades you might not expect, but this is what makes Fragile Plane a fascinating listening experience.

Her vision of R&B is unfiltered and uncompromising. At her most modern, she is advancing her genre rather than watering it down for current tastes. Things her songwriting could only hint at in the work of others are here in full, and they make for a beautiful end product.

Everyone Else is a Stranger might hook in a few new fans, but they will find better work with further exploration into Lindstrøm’s discography. For everyone else, all you need to know is that it’s just Lindstrøm doing what he does best, which is no bad thing from space disco royalty.

A solidly realized full-length record, Radio Red is a welcome addition to an already outstanding catalog.

While Smiling spreaded itself thin at times, Owusu sounds more settled on Struggler and contorts his voice less.

There is plenty of fun and escapism of the sort that gave Jepsen her well-earned reputation in the popsphere, but in terms of her progression as an artist, its most striking tracks prove to be the ones that are more self-focused.

It’s Noname’s most convincing album yet – as a whole, it defies any attempt to be embraced as “mainstream” or “digestible”.

Brazen and charming, it’s the album of this summer.

This is very, very good – better than the rest. Analysis seems to make no sense when the art is so enormously enjoyable.