Wicked City proves that Jockstrap have no shortage of creativity, as these five tracks have more than enough ideas to fill a whole album. So, it’ll be fascinating to see how they do approach a full-length, which hopefully isn’t too far away.

As fleeting an experience as this is, it’s still emotionally moving and deeply affecting. Within its ambition, and for those who are open to its fainting beauty, it contains entire worlds.

This kind of remaster campaign is normally reserved for albums that have had decades to sink into the national consciousness as is, introducing a shock-of-the-new, hearing-it-again-for-the-first-time element, and while the oldest of the Trilogy material has only been around for a year and a half or so, the differences in the new mixes can still be jarring.

Not only has her singing been pushed more to the front, revealing a clear and pleasing voice that had been tucked away all along, but her songwriting trades in clever metaphors in favor of blunt confessions that purposely work in contrast with the otherwise uplifting music.

Iglooghost surveys beyond the sensory, straining to activate neurons in unexplored areas of the brain. As a result, elements that shouldn’t work somehow end up sounding cohesive, vibrant and new.

If you take one thing away from this debut, take away the fact that it's thoroughly deserved.

Mordechai is still very much a psychedelic vista of an album, but the difference is all with the vocals. The bassist of the group, Laura Lee Ochoa, takes command, with her long, stretched-out phrases adding massively to their overall kaleidoscopic groove. The interesting thing here is that the vocals never take a front line, instead they’re always carefully mixed to merely assist the guitar or percussion, creating a fuller sonic experience for the listener.

Exister succeeds at painting a portrait of his despair in charcoal. Unfortunately, as a piece of music to consume it’s just too choppy and incoherent to elicit a feeling. In the end it’s a risky exploitation of his frail psyche, a destination already travelled to and not worth revisiting all that often.

What can I say? It's just a really f*cking good rock album.

Space Heavy is ultimately King Krule’s most challenging work. It acts like a stream-of-consciousness but with minor guardrails to keep Marshall from spiraling out into truly wicked realms. The moments he does let go, like in the end, never feel completely satisfying.

Lady Gaga could probably do well with paring down a bit, perhaps finding some weird way to meld the ethos of Joanne with the sleek electronics of Chromatica. She is a very talented pop songwriter and a strong vocalist, but sometimes her ideas sometimes get the best of her, and Chromatica is emblematic of that, in all its highs and lows.

As is, I Am Very Far is far from a lot of things, the biggest among these is the high bar that Okkervil River has never had a problem exceeding, until now.

Where Shall We Begin is as strong a debut album as we could have hoped for. It sounds incredibly considered and carefully put together, from each song choice to the instrumental arrangements.

House of Woo suggests an artist who’s still coming into his own without being afraid to play chameleon at the DJ booth.

On the canyoning, Weyes Blood-sounding brooder “Not A Love Song”, she seems to find peace within her place in a corrupted world, realising the illusion that its violence inherent can be captured or neutered. Squeeze opts to bathe and contort in it with visceral theatricality.

Biophilia is Björk, the sum total, and this album is her continued claim to the throne as the monarch of avant-pop.

The balance between these sounds is what makes it such a three-dimensional listen, as the percussion never overwhelms; despite building up torrential speed and power, this force is made beautiful by the spare-but-carefully-adorned melodic elements. ... The only moments on Contact that don’t open up a world of sensory exploration are the three title-track-come-interludes; “Contact (sukha & somanassa)”, “Contact (dukkha & domanassa)”, and the closing “Contact (upekkhā)”.

They’re still just about playing the game the same way, but with Hologram the trio sounds a bit more chipper than usual, which adds some flair that was noticeably absent for most of their 2010s output.

This is undoubtedly going to be a divisive one for long-term fans, with some holding it up as just as vital as anything else, while others will simply overlook it or just take a couple of highlights to add to their ‘Best of PG’ playlists. Whichever the case, whether you devour it or dismiss it, there’s no denying that it expands the mythos and majesty of Perfume Genius.

93696 is neither for the faint of heart, nor is it for those without the time to fully immerse themselves in the work as a whole. This is rapturous, though undoubtedly challenging, music from a band constantly moving into territory that few others could even imagine, let alone realise.

You'll find records this year of greater agency, but you'd be hard-pressed to find one that renders pleasure with such poignant lightness, control, and willful attention to difference.

In contrast to the self-aware grandeur and show of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, Quik's done much the same thing he did in '91: put out a great rap record, plain and simple.

What’s impressive here is how Cunningham manages to borrow from the thumping liveliness of bass music, the hyperactive repetition of glitch, and the uneasy industrial murk of something from the Modern Love label without sacrificing any of these styles’ appeal.

The end result is a quieted, more suppressed record that steps delicately from one note to the next and shines even more of a spotlight on the twin vocal sentiments of longing and crumbled romance.

Pressure Machine proves a successful concept album for The Killers. ... The primary weakness of this album, however, relates to its uniform sound, where tracks bleed into each other. Regardless, this is a new evolution for the band who, this far into their career, have taken something of a left turn to create something that is lyrically and thematically captivating.

Benny and the rest of Griselda are a force so reliable and prolific that they should be boring by now. But The Plugs I Met 2 suggests that we’re just getting to know them.

Mandy, Indiana never lose sight of their aesthetic and existential north star, despite how convincingly they navigate despair.

2R0I2P0 is a fitting summative soundtrack to the end of the year that defined us all. Familiar in so many ways, yet unexpected and challenging in others, it’s the sound of the light at the end of the tunnel, of the enchantment within all of the mess.

Remember, Girls are only on their second full-length album and certain missteps should be expected. What we do know is that an album that misses the mark for Girls is far better than the majority of music we come across on a daily basis, and that Father, Son, Holy Ghost is, above all, a fascinating listen.

Change seems more concerned with how the music impacts on a subliminal level than how it actually ends up sounding. Without those inner blemishes out on full display, that magnanimous intent could only go so far.

Despite the varying shifts of the album, nothing feels bloated or outstays its welcome and that in itself is quite an achievement on a record like this. Direct when it needs to be, ethereal and gorgeously distant at other times, May You Be Held is not for the casual listener seeking instant gratification.

Most of Cooler Returns is an extension of what their last album was – that’s intentional. These aren’t meant to be revelations, or even to be taken as on-point analysis of a time or place. This is music for the soul, if your soul is literally craving a beer and a nap.

Sheer breath of freshness and youth.

This is a record that begs patience and understanding of its listener, but for those that put in the time required, it offers the most bountiful emotional rewards of Nandi Rose’s career yet. This is an album for being lost, as well as healing. Much like its title, it is what you need it to be.

I remember how the Fiery Furnaces are always willing to take chances with their music; I wish Eleanor Friedberger had done the same on Last Summer. Instead, she plays it safe, weaving interesting tales to the tune of surprisingly average music. That's fine, but playing it safe rarely makes for a good story.

White Denim's attention to detail is superb, but everything just fits together. It must be said though, that they aren't breaking any new ground at all, but sometimes that doesn't matter if the music is good enough to hold its own.

Where There Existed an Addiction to Blood seemed to take the listener down a spiral of harsh violence and vaguely interconnected moments of supernatural terror, Visions of Bodies Being Burned just feels lost.

Friends That Break Your Heart is Blake at his most pared-back and unflinching lyrically and could also be considered his most accessible album yet. For some, this dismal balladry might feel a bit too far removed from the experimentally-textured electronics of his first two albums, yet Blake has found a brilliant way to still be unconventional and accessible at the same time.

Shame is another great record from Uniform. Slightly more mature, perhaps even more confident, than some of the visceral slabs of pure adrenaline that marked their earlier releases, it’s a record that plays with extremes but with a command over the noise created. The overarching thematic intent of the record gets lost, truth be told, as the rush of sounds overwhelm the lyrics but this just gives you more reason to go back to it to pick those narrative elements apart.

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

Punk Authority sounds too accomplished to be the product of mere caprice.

There are a couple of lesser tracks on Nostalchic and it’s up for debate as to how well Howard sticks the landing on the LP format, but Lapalux is a singular talent and his debut is evidence of that even if the pieces don’t all quite click neatly into place.

We can chalk these relatively minor missteps up to inexperience or over-excitement at finally releasing an album, and when you consider the heights that Sorry reach at points on 925 then it’s entirely forgivable. Overall, it would be hard to call 925 anything other than a great success, and one that should see Sorry’s star rise even higher – that’s if the public can get on board with their slightly unhinged view of things.

Scoff at them for being a bit too obvious with their name but Fuzz and Fuzz deliver the garage rock roar we’ve come to expect from Segall and Co.

Mindlessly hummable and pure of vision, Howlin’ sounds just as good coming from your headphones as it does from Marshall stacks.

Be Strong is a rather exhaustive album when consumed in one sitting, but if you've got the fortitude to reach the closing track "The Church" during that listen, it can be a very euphoric climax.

Although he's using sounds and influences from many of the musical hubs on the Earth, from Africa to America and plenty in between, with them he has created aural scenery that is so serene and heavenly that it couldn't possibly exist on our busy and frantic planet.

Unfortunately, after years of anticipation, the reveal is an overtly tedious shell of everything Parker has ever charmed into existence. In fact, tedious may be an understatement.

They’ve built up enough good will at this point that they’re able to maintain a massive fanbase by coasting through comfortable records – and they could probably continue to do that for a few more years at least. But, if Berninger and co really want to rediscover purpose in their lives and work, perhaps it’s time to push themselves somewhere a little riskier.

Deep States does feel a bit all over the place, but what works for it (as it does for everything Liddiard has been involved with) is the overpowering confidence with which it is performed.

Breathy vocals, immensely hooky songwriting and a brilliantly defined technicolor aesthetic established from the very beginning. Such description could have been thrown at Stereolab in the early '90s and at Broadcast in the early 2000s.

Algiers are unpredictable yet methodical, driving with eyes closed and reacting to the wheel’s vibrations instead of making it shake.

Don’t be surprised if you find your body moving to the pummelling aural assault you’re experiencing. You don’t have a choice in the matter now, so just enjoy your body’s movements. You see, the pain is in the struggle itself, so just let go and feel it. This music shows you that there is such freedom in letting go of control.

Norm plays with our emotions more than Wilds or The Neon Skyline did because Shauf’s writing from perspective of what could be considered a villain, and his impeccable storytelling takes liberties where others dare not.

Head of Roses, also Wasner’s Sub Pop debut, is her most direct record yet, full of what is definitely her clearest, most emotionally stirring work to date.

Plum is a warm hug of a record. The kind you get from those types of friends you know you don’t need to keep in touch with all that regularly, but when you do it feels as though they’ve never been away and time goes all too quickly.

Slap as many abstract adjectives and kitschy references you want on it, you’re not going to pin The Turning Wheel down. Its ineffability can be its greatest strength.

It's definitely a taxing listen. But it's also one of the most cohesive and powerful records to come around in a long time, and it doesn't tire after multiple spins.

There may only be 26 minutes of material in Book of Curses, but the amount of unsettling ideas and reflections of modern disenfranchisement are more than enough for it to leave its impact.

Those who weren't sold on Gillis' act before aren't going to change their minds, but his records are consistently great, and All Day is no exception.

Dedication is not an easily accessible album, but I cannot think of any other experimental album that is. These types of albums become increasingly rewarding with every listen, and this is one that should be heard.

Spiral is an album to experience as a whole, to be swallowed in and transported by.

It’s when Claud pushes past these stylistic tropes that their potential shines.

Throughout Showtunes, Wagner demonstrates that theatricality and showmanship can manifest in many different and sometimes subtle forms. He may not draw in many new fans from this one-act performance, but it’s still one of the band’s most intriguing and well-executed productions nonetheless.

The Dream doesn’t feel like a failed attempt at reaching new heights of popularity. It feels like a lot at once, but in a way that makes one want to give it another shot.

Songs like “Smile” and “Let You Back In” might offer encouragement to her original fans, but as the softer edges of softCORE they very clearly represent the past. In the four years since The Voice, Fousheé has a new one and her breakout is complete.

It's an intermittently engaging set of ephemeral longevity, ultimately a little too nonspecific and slipshod to be considered alongside the rest of his full-length catalogue.

There are so many acts both past and present who sound exactly like this; there are moments scattered throughout Somewhere that feel a little derivative of some 90s alternative acts. So, while Somewhere is a good start, there’s a lot more to accomplish for Gum Country before they can really set themselves apart from The Courtneys – or other bands.

Despite its minor detours, Crash is one of Charli’s better albums even if it will likely garner a polarizing reaction. She’s fully dedicated though, and it’s a testament to her commitment to crafting the big ‘sellout’ pop album, which she mostly nails.

They’re churning away in a place that sounds comfortable to them, and not outdoing themselves or any expectations of them at this point in their career. In other words, no big changes – but you would never expect that of them.

It’s at a crossroads between being many things: a moving resurrection; an impressive display of a talent we didn’t think we’d hear again; a slightly shambolic jam sesh; and more. Its coconspirator too often wears her sincere giddy passion for Mitchell on her sleeve (she may as well say “it came true” at some point), but it’s surely at least in good faith.

It may not be enough to convert those already opposed to Ashworth's minimalist sound, but for the uninitiated, A Shut-In's Prayer should provide a suitable introduction to one of the more interesting songwriters of our time.

Philadelphia brings grace and elegance to an era removed from spiritual insight. In that, it is deeply philosophical and absolutely necessary.

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.

The recycling of sounds from past eras of music has become a huge trend over the past few years, but when those sounds are successfully appropriated in new ways, like they are here, the result proves to be very worthwhile.

Like Earth as a whole, "The Children" doesn't make for the most pleasant of listening experiences, but it does represent another evolution in Richter's artistic progression.

The duo retain a stripped down approach and it helps make each production choice and songwriting turn feel pondered and noteworthy, each track carving out its own identity and mood within a larger thematically consistent body.

The production by Hollow Comet is bright and clean, and the instrumentation is tasteful — almost too tasteful, sometimes verging on a lighters-in-the-air radio pop sensibility. ... Regardless, Shamir has delivered arguably his finest album yet, by engaging with his pain and his curiosities about life, and giving us the privilege of bearing witness to it.

While B FLAT A is unflinching in depicting stark realism, it also proves to be decisively light-hearted and generous in its unburdening from the absolute strife it inspired. What a thrilling, refreshing band.

With the triumvirate of googly-eyed rhythms, sinfully catchy melodies and a breeziness that seems only fitting, they’ve served up one of the most auspicious debuts of the year.

Tricolore is enjoyable, but it’s a sum of two different parts; together it comes off as strangely disjointed, like shifting from speaking German to speaking Japanese.

Three Mile Ditch is living proof that lightning does indeed strike the same place twice — and sometimes with a vengeance. Rumours of their death have been highly exaggerated, as The Wytches have never felt so alive.

It helps make clear that Endless Arcade is a quiet record that helps reaffirm Teenage Fanclub’s enduring appeal: their songs can help dull the pain. And pain there is.

Yeah, that’s a decent album. Flags towards the end, sure. Some rippers on there, though. Glad I stuck with it.

Her work is pure naturality with all its contrasts and quirks, but also all of its beauty and intimacy. Her melodies, even at her most unusual, are inviting and engaging, making for a body of work with a disproportionally low entry barrier for how much it rewards attentive listening.

Joy’All feels so light that, despite some of its heavier themes and perfectly-enjoyable atmosphere, it sounds like it’s a couple seconds from simply evaporating, effervescent, like the bubbles from your Jack & Coke.

Though the nature of Covers makes it slightly scattershot, and nothing quite hits the heights of some of her past covers, it is decidedly more engaging and diverse than her last album, the lowkey-to-the-point-of-disappearing Wanderer.

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.

Gloss Drop may be a less solid and coherent album than Mirrored, but it is still a remarkably promising follow-up. As always, the music is cerebral, engaging, technically stupefying, and utterly original.

The album shows Danilova making a conscious and admirable effort to try take another step in the right direction and for the most part it's hard to fault her.

The lack of "slower" numbers doesn't really feel like a valid criticism, though, especially when the band really are at their best when they're riding a burst energy.

In Our Heads is, at the end of the day, a signal that Hot Chip's masterpiece is still forthcoming.

Nepenthe isn’t The Magic Place, but it certainly sounds like she’s found another special site of inspiration. Thankfully for us it’s just as prodigious and marvellous as anything else Barwick has put out before.

He remains an original, talented musician with his influences worn firmly on his sleeves; a contemporary proving that the past is still very much relevant.

The album dissolves as it progresses, transitioning from upbeat fare to a visceral dream sequence of disoriented meditation set atop a versatile soundtrack.

There’s nothing on this third round that shocks or surprises, it’s all standard formula Barnett except for her witticisms being down-played slightly, and maybe her watered-down mope-rock influences are a little brighter on her sleeve.

While A Foul Form honors the history of hardcore, it also occurs as smartly topical, the band’s turbid rage and anti-aesthetic stance conjuring a post-capitalistic malaise and the decay of global culture. And though this set marks a pivot from previous work, spotlighting the band as they navigate a fresh battery of sonics, it’s unmistakably them.

The Marriage of True Minds is something of a record built for everyone, a fusion of sounds and ideas built from the thoughts and minds of lots of different people; there will be different moments that deter and attract different people, but there are more than enough of the better ones to keep you hooked for the album’s runtime.