'A Billion Heartbeats' perhaps lacks the cutting perspective or lyricism of classic protest records, while managing to present the revolutionary spirit of old in a modern context.

It's a bold and stark opus worthy of attention, if your attention span is long enough.

Random Access Memories confuses, disappoints and grates.

Bleak as you like, but strangely cathartic in many places, it's absolutely the worst album to soundtrack your Christmas lottery win. For the rest of us dour wageslaves, it's perfect.

This album captures an occasionally combustible but largely uncomfortable sound of a previously fearless and pioneering band caught in a crisis of confidence, overriding their own musical instincts to pursue an idealised version of themselves they picture in their own heads.

Things are prone to occasional lulls with three tracks exceeding ten minutes. However, Johansson is capable of some beautifully stirring music, and when this album soars, it is a treat.

‘42.26’ - unmasked as the previously released ‘Feels Like Summer’ - and ‘47.48’ (which features his son Legend Glover) are the only other enjoyable tracks on the project. The other songs seem to fade and ultimately becomes background noise with no proper substance compared to Donald Glover’s other projects. Lacking the strong narrative thrust so apparent on his past albums, the project is incredibly disappointing.

A beautiful recording but an occasional listen.

As with the twin EPs that preceded it, however, the glimpses of originality strewn across ‘Lovegaze’ are too often sparse islands in a sea of pleasant but generic etherea.

Herring’s growling vocals prevent proceedings from becoming too gloopy or nostalgic, and make Singles a new-wave treasure.

While it does knock out some definite singalongs, sprinkling in some fun hooks and catchy structures, there is something missing beneath the veneer of theatricality. This is an album that hints at complexity, but it is inevitably overshadowed by Urie’s one-man-show.

Whilst each track delivers exactly what is to be expected from an IAK album it is a little disappointing that there seems to have been no development from the previous outing.

In her haste to tell her story, ‘My 21stCentury Blues’ suffers from a frenzied second half that cushions the gut-punch it could have been.

The only maturity in their sound is towards a more ambient quarter. Elevator music not quite, but rising out of the background might be an issue.

This album is, to be clear, an ambitious, stylish, coherent work of fine art. ‘Tranquility Base…’ grew on me, this may too. But I can’t help but feel that with ‘The Car’, Arctic Monkeys have taken a wrong turn.

There are some real moments of beauty on the record - 'In Blur' aches and sparkles, whilst singles 'Great Mass Of Colour' and 'The Gnashing' showcase a band adept at building beautiful soundscapes even with the guitars turned down - but at a certain point, the album suffers from the lack of depth in Clarke’s vocals, or range in his melodies.

The Dreaming Room is an enormously frustrating record, as Mvula clearly has it in her to be an incredible artist. But at this point in her career, she remains a orchestra in need of a conductor.

This album is a step in the right direction in terms of mood, but it’s an overstep in terms of the emotional burden Brown is offering. The choruses are repetitive and don’t fit, and the take away should be focusing more on balance. However, it’s not a question of if he can get that balance right, but when.

They’re worth the minor missteps along the way.

Like acid (which, again, he never touched) this record is illuminating, often inaccessible, often scary and most people would hate it. But it's still one hell of a trip.

More Waitrose advert than classic Wrigley’s; the Black Keys’ raw power’s been polished. Some things are meant to stay rough around the edges.

The real issue is that in a genre filled with imitators, many whom Deerhunter no doubt inspired, we need a bit more bang for our buck. When the oddities on this album ride so high they should have let complete weirdness take over.

As unconventional in approach as ever, the set extrapolates from their previous ventures and results in a confident and competent continuation of established qualities.

In spite of much of ‘CHARLIE’ missing complexity or a distinctive flair, the album remains punchy and bright and what Puth lacks in poetry, he makes up for with glimpses of pure pop excellence.

As it stands FM! is little more than a placeholder--an interesting but self-indulgent sketch from an artist who could be creating masterpieces.

Turner’s inconsistent seventh LP may not compare with the likes of ‘Love Ire & Song’ and ‘Poetry Of The Deed’ but a willingness to experiment paired with a deceptively simple message make it a decent, if unremarkable addition to his stellar back catalogue.

Loma is an interesting concoction, but one that doesn't always necessarily gel. It's undoubtedly a lovingly produced set of tracks, filled with an almost tangible level of texture, but the songs often don't match their treatment.

There’s a lack of precision, with a flabby middle section finding ‘Begin To Begin’, for example, looping aimlessly. Yet when it hits home, Reality Testing more than justifies Lone’s tag as one of the most flexible, dextrous producers in the game.

As a whole the LP’s similar tempos and approach cause the whole thing to float by like a long-lost memory, nice when you’ve clasped on to it but soon it’ll be running through your fingers and out of sight.

There is a defining (and high-definition) period where the mix becomes less interactive, a little noodlier, and more prey to a mass observing sway.

This won’t run as smoothly as her DJ-Kicks bow of 2015, and it’s not a mix you’re allowed to get comfortable with, the Siberian’s non-conformist stance playing fast and loose with the ideals of cohesion, and letting the faders lead punters astray.

However dreamy the music may be, mind, it's not all quite so heavenly. The main distraction is how overwrought it all is. This is especially prevalent in Granduciel's lyrics which he sings in whispered reverence.

Rainbow is a muddled hotch-potch that offers little beyond the fact it heralds her return. It's great to have Kesha back--it really is--but let's hope the quality improves in future.

Malkmus' third (or fourth depending on which folklore you believe) outing with The Jicks, is a disappointing collection of hits and misses--with the latter winning on points.

Serious though he may intend to be, through the combination of Williamson’s Mr. Angry rants and Andrew Fearn’s tinny keyboards, Sleaford Mods do have a tendency to sound like a bit of a novelty.

Little Fictions, in the end, though a welcome sign of elbow gently progressing with their formula, is a step forward feels too hesitant.

The Incessant has a wealth of great ideas baked into the sediment of a wholly unremarkable collection of songs but boasts enough personality to still be worth giving the benefit of your doubt.

It won't appeal to those who prefer his party anthems and vibrant disco, but for those who want to see yet another side to this most prolific of musical minds, it's a voyage worth taking.

As attempts at storming the mainstream go, this looks like a surefire winner, but musically it feels like a lesser take on Outkast's The Love Below.

You can't help but feel that the teasing at euphoria on Slow Knife would be a little less frustrating if the thing were allowed to crescendo further, and for some of that drumwork to be incorporated accordingly.

‘It’s Never Over’ is this band’s best TV On The Radio impression, and ‘Porno’ almost goes G-funk: a pleasant surprise. But undercooked electronics, impotent rhetoric, too-familiar crescendo-ing structures and an overall feeling that this needs further post-production attention render Reflektor an entirely substandard album.

Whilst sonically Fixed Ideals can vary in its impact, Lande Hekt’s lyrics tell a relatable story in a crafty way, carrying the record all the way through.

Whilst for the most part this jam-session approach results in captivating instrumentals and intriguing points of sonic experimentation, at times it can become rather muddled, confusing and drawn-out.

While by no means poor, this album does little to advance the reputation he has already secured, as one of the UK’s most reliable rap suppliers.

The Doom-helmed ‘Lil Mufukuz’ and Phat Kat’s ‘Bubble Up’ show the Dabrye-plus-MC chemistry at its best, but if there was ever a criticism of the previous entries in this trilogy, it was that Dabrye struggled when it came to trimming the tracklist. ... The same is unfortunately the case here too.

Production is loud and punchy and even the quiet bits aren't quiet, which makes all sixteen tracks in one sitting a bit like hard work.

Soundgarden moved admirably forward with a strong new L.P, and while the performances missed some of the vitality of their youth, they still were able to invoke a tone and vibe all of their own.

Enter Shikari have the tools and drive to create something potentially mind-blowing, it’s just that they fell well short of the mark on this occasion.

‘The Price Of Progress’ is a perfectly functional Hold Steady record, no more and no less.

This is electronic music both messy and menacing. Listen if you dare.

Lighting Matches isn’t a bad album, but sadly it doesn't excel either.

With Polar Bear being fully paid-up jazzers, there's more of an understanding and utilisation of dynamics, which add to the pervading mood, yet the overall feeling is one of ennui.

Considering the lucid, poignant albums to come to fruition from cabin writing retreats (Bon Iver’s ‘For Emma, Forever Ago’, Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Nebraska’ etc.)--Standards is an album that is almost completely devoid of such clarity and space.

A work of typically broad imagination, not everything on American Interior fully clicks into place. Yet when it does, there’s more than enough to suggest that Rhys need not cease his eternal voyaging.

This album is a black-belt in terms of song writing and instrumentation... but when McCombs’ lyrics can’t match up, Tip Of The Sphere sounds like it’s limping.

The music lacks the meditative quality of similar works like those by Philip Glass. In place of this, tracks like ‘Sunshimmers’ and ‘The Amazon: The Highlands’ produce a warmness that makes the album an agreeable experience, an experience that does not ensnare the listener’s attention.

The plethora of guest vocalists (J'Danna, BIXBY, Okmalumkoolkat, Heavy D. & the Boyz) means things stay relatively fresh, but more often than not, it's not enough.

Yes, the album title is an apt one; but despite its predictability, it proves to be surprisingly fulfilling as a run-of-the-mill house album.

Unfortunately their laudable desire to sound like the future rather than the past seems to have backfired, leaving ‘Paradise' a crop of good ideas that wear quickly on the ears. On the plus side this overly polished sound might help convert at least a few godforsaken You Me at Six fans onto real punk (that is, if real punk will have them).

With production by Richard Goettehrer, who has worked with Blondie, the Go-Gos and others, sees the Dum Dum Girls sound achieve an authentic, balanced sound, deliberately lo-fi and tinny yet listenable and intoxicating.

Clocking in at almost 72 minutes, Sukierae is a bloated, if lulling, listen.

At times you wish their sound was edgier, that they'd go in the direction of their zanier peers Hot Chip and BadBadNotGood. Despite that minor criticism, their unique, funky take on pop is rarely less than fascinating.

["Night and Day" and "Flutes"] are glimmers of liveliness on an otherwise decedent record.

I Used To Spend So Much Time Alone sees the Seattle group recede deeper into their comfort zone with a batch of tracks that are lukewarm at best.

The band’s approach to music-making has always been as eclectic as their references, but generally they’ve stuck to one approach per album. Unfortunately this is where Home Counties comes a bit unstuck. There’s quite a lot going on.

While a fun and energetic record, much of the songwriting falls into the somewhat forgettable. Everyone is bringing their A-game, and they're having a blast while doing so, but nothing entirely sticks to the ribs.

‘The Loneliest Time’ feels a far cry from the saccharine star that launched Jepsen’s career but proves her musical pliability.

Haines’ singular vocals have always been the band’s not-so-secret weapon, and it’s here [on ‘Enemies Of The Ocean’] where they shine greatest, jumping from hauntingly beautiful to full-on rock goddess mode. However, much of the rest of the album just goes to highlight how it’s a game of two halves. You could literally compile a list of the numbers that are over five minutes as the standouts and ones under as pedestrian.

Cerulean Salt isn’t boundary breaking, but it possesses qualities enough to leave one charmed, if not consistently captivated.

Despite the overarching quality of the album, its continual, dirge-like range of instrumentation can become a little stifling and songs risk blending into one another.

It’s an album that Beths fans will doubtless like very much, and it offers a strong mission statement to the future that this is a band hungry to expand and determined to explore the hitherto untrodden ground. It’s just a shame that, on this project alone, they’ve not delivered anything of career-defining merit.

This is cheap theatrics masquerading as inspired art.

Flawed but unbowed, it is a fascinating but frustrating listen.

It's All Real continues along the same lines: lush production, low-key bleeps and bloops, a hushed, lovelorn 2am ambience.

While every track on The Haunted Man is brimming with invention, there's little to keep you coming back for repeat listens.

An album that could be the soundtrack to the most fucked-up cowboy movie yet to be made.

Overall it's a robust, respectable detour but will leave some fans pining for the smoky chanteuse of old.

It’s a jarring listen from start to finish, but worth sifting.

Bloated at 16 tracks, it could have been a genuinely strong EP that formed a platform for Dizzee’s return to the sound he helped birth.

The undeniable influence of Krautrock in the drone, dirge and motorik beats interspersed with passages of ambiance make for a deliciously diffused, shimmering, summery psyche salad.

If Deenmamode tempers his idiosyncrasies just a little, allowing his music to breathe better, the results can be even more profound.

A band mentality may of allowed the material to work some new ground but as a solo project we’ve a dense collection all sticking to one vision. One to dip into when the storm clouds are approaching.

So long as you can tolerate the musical hopscotch that a Barry Adamson album always represents, Know Where To Run is probably as good an introduction to this peripatetic musician as you're ever likely to need. Just make sure to expect the unexpected.

THE S.L.P is safe. It’s the untainted evidence of a missed opportunity. Frankly, someone of Serge’s caliber could have plunged deeper into the void of sonic exploration. There’s always a next time.

The first half of the album is particularly monotonous, with the one-man band fervently spewing similar hooks that show very little dynamism and only serve a purpose to maintain a foot tapping rhythm.

On occasion, the record feels quite lazy in its lyrical direction and yet too direct, falling into moments of cringe rather than what could have been perceived as powerful and fun.

At times the lyrical component can leave you cold.

The album’s lacking that one standout moment to make it a truly transformative experience. Still, the scope and ambition are to be applauded, and it’s a treat to take a voyage around his mind and beyond.

All this does is reassert the effortless, enduring power of those original pieces; find the originals and save your pennies for the forthcoming Carpenter tour.

It’s a fairly middle-of-the-road indie record. It could do with a little more depth, a little more humanity.

All the usual suspects are in place as you would suspect from a band with, let's be honest, not that many hits of the great variety.

Multi-Love undoubtedly reveals Unknown Mortal Orchestra's willingness to reinvent and innovate, yet it's still beset by some of the difficulties that have featured in their previous work.

At times pretty, at others curiously appealing, ‘AIR’ is more-often-than-not simply boring, ca selection of mood music that fills up space without every truly saying anything.

While this might not be the most fun album to listen to, Neil Young and Crazy Horse deliver solid performances that elevate it from seven songs of despondency.

The result is a solid, if overly safe album that avoids some of the pitfalls of the past but fails to ignite the heart.

The pair still aren’t in that DFA1979 category of combatively brilliant, just yet.

In these trying times, it’d benefit from being a whole lot more confrontational.

The songs are a little more distinctive, and they’re crafted a little better.