It’s cleverly written and produced too, with motifs (both sonic and lyrical) seeping from one track to the other. In all, this makes ‘Raven’ completely alluring, and offers a soundtrack for melancholic late-night drives through buzzing cities.

‘Breaking…’ offers up a feast of exuberance, standout track ‘Riots and Jokes’ musically epitomising the album’s forward-charging freedoms, and neatly sums up Quasi’s modus operandi there in its very title.

A curious collection of contrasts. Most notably, that between the protagonists’ own voices. ... That said, the duo know when to complement each other, too.

With the emotionally charged beats of ‘Black Mascara’, the candour of ‘Body Dysmorphia’ and the unfiltered soul of ‘Buss It Down’, it would be impossible for anyone to sleep on RAYE anymore.

Unique, raw and totally joyous.

Sam’s latest finds them exploring self-acceptance and self-growth across their now-classic style of soul-tinged pop. ... While ’Unholy’’s catchy melodies may be elsewhere untouchable, it breaks down the boundaries of topics to explore throughout the rest of ‘Gloria’.

A bright and inviting pop album that brilliantly captures the emotional snapshots of life.

There are whispers of similarity to her queer contemporaries, too, from Shura (’Pandora’s Box’) to Years & Years (’Nightingale’), that make this break-up record much more exciting than its conveyor belt competition.

‘Lifetime’ remains one of the album’s strongest pursuits; lovestruck and introspective, each beat keenly felt. The album revels in this on a whole; a lovelorn sheen which dances between interludes. It’s less dancefloor filler, more earnest confessions and professions of absolute adoration.

This one does find itself running out of steam a little towards its conclusion without enough robust new ideas. For the most part, though, this bold experiment pays off, and Fucked Up can be admired for their ambition as much as they can for their enviable productivity.

Energetic, furious and deeply lamentful, perhaps the main achievement here is how Italia 90 so forwardly address a near fifty-year old cultural heritage which so many depend on yet take for granted.

The mixtape allows space for this experimentation, jumping from one emotion to the next, yet finds consistency in Biig Piig’s inability to stand still.

Dave’s voice holds up well throughout, showing vulnerability. It makes for an exciting, experimental, laid back 11 tracks, and we can only hope this isn’t the last solo work from him.

While some might mourn the loss of their one-time raucousness, ‘Gigi’s Recovery’ shows that their momentum swings only forwards.

While the album may find itself guilty of treading the line of pretty-but-unassuming at times - the sheer beauty of every detail is impressive, if not a little tiring - ‘Time’s Arrow’ remains a sumptuous listen.

‘Mercy’ provides another delicious example of an esteemed old-timer triumphantly pushing his creative frontiers into a much-shifted modern age.

There is a surety to ‘Permanent Damage’, however, in the sheer force of lyricism at play. With soulful, silk-like vocals, Joesef weaves this narrative, deftly dealing the blows of this world in absolute destruction, before showing that ultimately, some marks never fade and that’s OK.

While the off-kilter rhythms and cowbells of ‘This Love’ give way to a central chorus line that’s almost Bowie-esque. They’re big reference points but ‘Turn The Car Around’ uses them masterfully to drive down its own sonic motorway.

There’s still that personable rawness to her production – the synthetic drums and often sparse arrangement mirroring her frequently despondent lyrical themes (“The death of everything real has happened…” begins ‘apathy is wild’). But her vocal offers warmth.

By embracing all sides of his 50 years in the game, ‘Every Loser’ is Iggy throwing out the late-career rulebook and having a whole bunch of fun. Which is, of course, what made him so brilliant in the first place.

The drought may be over, but SZA left no crumbs.

While the album is certainly softer in sound, it never plays it safe - experimental pay-offs are peppered throughout.

On the album’s most transcendental moments, its slow pace tires like the midsection of a dissertation, but nonetheless its beauty and melancholia is infectious.

A record that plays like an unwieldy and unravelling ode to all the twists and turns of Brockhampton’s journey.

The music is the same gorgeous blend of folk-rock in the vein of Joni Mitchell and Stevie Nicks as on previous albums, and indeed, many of the song titles, such as ‘Children of the Empire’, feel lifted from the dusty cover of a forgotten LP of ballads.

The resultant ‘Tropical Gothclub’ is so polished and pristine that the only pity is that it didn’t come sooner. Given the pantheon of rock stars he’s bolstered over the years, Dean has finally earned a little slice of time in his own limelight.

Synths bloom like the early morning rays of the sun, reaching out to a lover lost in the darkness. ‘Tu sais ce qu’il me faut’ celebrates seduction as he lusts over a beau; the way they walk, the way they dance, their body is celebrated in all its glory.

‘Loud Without Noise’ is flawless. Wildly ambitious, it works to showcase perfectly why the Merseysiders have garnered such a fervent fanbase to date – and just how far they could go.