A sobering state of the world address spoken with street eloquence and education, W.A.R. resumes Pharoahe's talismanic dictation above a packed battalion of guests as a failsafe spectacle.

Unapologetic, progressive and complex, it's adventurous, indulgent post jazz, brimming with spirit. Absolutely exhilarating.

A short, sharp burst of intensity, it’s like a 40-minute session on the massage table with kneading thumbs being pushed into your brain.

McMorrow loyalists may bemoan the polished sheen that characterises the tracks on We Move, but there is some genuine pop-soul mastery at display here, McMorrow’s sound more wholesome without renouncing the spectral quality that characterised his earlier material.

There are a couple of tonal mis-steps, we’re looking at your ‘Esportes Casual’, and perhaps the running time could be shaved down, but overall this stands as a sweet reminder to take a step back from the madness and breathe.

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

A surprisingly effective 21st century take on the Seventies singer-songwriter album, with tight band performances from the likes of the Dap-Kings and sympathetic production from the king of the trumpets.

The sound is typically dense but never overwrought with a wide sweep of styles and textures, The Orb being past masters at moulding a huge pool of raw material into a cohesive, listenable whole.

Less one-eyed compared to, say ‘Omega: Alive’, far less experimental than the last ‘Nighttime World’, ‘Victorious’ still leaves open the interchangeable nature of where Robert Hood starts and Floorplan ends.

While never quite holding together as a set, NIN continues to admirably cover new ground while doing what they do best, namely reflecting humanity’s worst impulses.

The fact that I’m listening to this album on a gloriously balmy afternoon and am getting in the festive mood is testament to Legend’s conviction and the arrangements. However after 14 tracks, it does start to lose its way a bit.

Pearson's mournful growl, and the brutal honesty in raking over his personal failings, makes for a majestic, in-the-dead-of-the-night confessional.

There's enough promise and originality within the current scene to merit considerable credibility.

Like most King Gizzard records, it runs out of steam in the second half, but when ‘Infest’ rips it rips as hard as some bands who have been making this music for decades. Like the modern thrash revivalists, King Gizzard combine youthful energy with enough of their own inimitable style to make this excursion into the cobwebbed world of thrash fresh and interesting.

Undeniably formulaic but just as captivatingly beautiful, solemn closer Let Me Back In is the track-stopping highlight, painstakingly building to a crescendo before the ghost voices drift out. Glorious.

Whilst the album could do without a cover of Billy Joel's ‘Just The Way You Are’, it doesn't detract from the overall feeling of warmth threading through this project.

Dominated by Satomi Matsuzaki's cute vocals, this is might be a laid-back record, but it's still one that's wonderfully challenging.

Some of the tracks cry out for a bar or two to be spat over, but when you hear that hollow synth on Teeza’s ‘Rum And Coke’, you’ll be sold on the grime renaissance.

Power drifting through the gears and with cutting-edge in hand, this is a shoe-in contender for house album of the year--clear and distinct, all the way through.

‘April’ might not be as strong as 2016’s ‘Second Love’. The songs are solid but not quite as pristine as its predecessor. However, it’s understated melodies and melancholy laced lyrics still have the power to stop you in your tracks. This feels like third love.

Duchampian yet danceable and nothing short of essential.

A peculiar but pitch perfect partnership.

Live, Little Dragon are weapons-grade ace. Now they’ve finally got an album to match.

Zaba is blessed with musical facets that will blind you with their splendour.

Much like Villagers’ previous releases, the overriding feeling is of well-crafted, thoughtfully structured songs. The intimacy created by O’Brien’s delicate voice is as ever enhanced by beautifully chosen tonal colours.

Listening to ‘No Gods No Masters’ feels like listening to Garbage again for the very first time, which is a terrifically thrilling prospect.

Everything feels so much more alive, everything so much more stark; Longstreth seems to have emerged from a year-long slumber, and there is no more sleeping in sight.

A peerless left-field masterpiece.