Never has an album title been better chosen - the duo are at the centre of a brightly burning, ever-expanding sonic explosion, all of their own making, and just like a supernova, it is utterly stunning to witness. Bow down to the queens.

There aren’t any standalone tracks, with the arguable exception of ‘Pop Song’. In that sense this is an album in its truest form, a record to sit with and take in as one whole.

‘Life Is Yours’ is the sound of the band less emerging blinking into the post-pandemic light than bounding back into the saddle.

With Liam’s solo career on a high, it’ll be interesting to see where more experimentation leads him next - although somewhat of a mixed bag here, it’s thrilling to see him stray from the formula he knows too well.

It’s uncompromising yet nonetheless inventive, with eccentric flows and inspired production choices.

While ’40 oz. to Fresno’ is certainly a little less orthodox than we’ve come to expect, it doesn’t matter all that much: their rough-around-the-edges punk still strikes the right chords.

George Ezra knows his strengths, he knows his audience, and he’s sticking to it come hell or high water. The result is still yet another charming record that’s hard not to love.

It may not rock the boat stylistically, with her influences always ever-present, but ‘Time Bend And Break The Bower’ is an experience worth immersing yourself in by unravelling the meaning or just following Sinead’s lead down the rabbit hole.

Both ‘Fountain’ and ‘Sweet Memz’ are solemn, sobering pieces. This delicacy is a little muted at times, lacking the sharp, alluring production of the record’s opening, instead closing out in hushed tones. It feels a little uncertain, as if the group are speculating the next chapter in their artistic output.

‘Versions of Modern Performance’ is a gleaming window into a new generation of great American guitar bands.

Haunting, heartbreaking and life-affirming, Angel Olsen’s songwriting talents soar to great heights in the mostly restrained palette here, offering the much needed space to wrestle with the complexities life has thrown at her.

It’s clear from the album that Tate McRae’s arsenal of jagged pop weapons is extensive, and can be expertly wielded when she wants.

With his debut album, Alfie Templeman has found a means of discovering himself and a means to cope. It makes for something incredibly promising.

Swampy and tumultuous like a month’s worth of rain, the Dundalk five-piece have spared no expense in creating immersive, cavernous spaces of shoegazing, post-punk splendour.

At 71 captivating minutes, ‘Heavy Pendulum’ provides a touchstone, alongside new-wave, disruptive tracks that seek to tell tales of political turmoil, the ‘new reality’ of grief and posthumous brotherhood. A long-overdue homecoming.

The eight-track collection finds its voice through an ever more personal lens, one that dials down the familiar ignitable fare in favour of intricate ambient spread. In doing so, variation on past cues and themes are offered, sonically pared down yet expansive in concept – an effort that adds new facets and angles to Lykke Li’s art.

From this new personal phase, Flume’s latest techno-charged offering upscales the drops, fidgety distortion and replay value that has proved a constant in his playbook.

For anyone who’s long fallen for the Derry native’s charms, third time’s a winner - for anyone who finds comfort in revelling in stripped-back melancholy, it’s a dream.

Change, escape and identity are not easy things to navigate, and ‘Preacher’s Daughter’ is the dark, unsettling, sprawling beauty that comes out of it.

There’s something invigorating about how audibly Porridge Radio stare their demons head on, step up to the plate and turn them into something big and ambitious and beautiful.

His distinctive voice, ranging from guttural lows to a glittering falsetto, is the tool he uses to sculpt out his vast sonic vision.

For the most part ‘Dance Fever’ is an expert revamp from one of alternative music’s torch-bearing misfits, a welcome shot of fairy-tale hedonism ripe for post-pandemic dancefloor indulgence.

In ‘Harry’s House’ lives a songwriter confident enough in both to start playing with convention.

It all feels remarkably familiar, but given the record’s pedigree, that’s far from a bad thing.

Twenty years on from their debut, ‘The Big Come Up’, it’s a statement of how far they’ve come, as well as an indicator of where they might be heading next.

[Pa Salieu] The Ghanaian-British rapper is one of a handful of guests here, each of whom allow Ibeyi to reflect the past and present simultaneously.

Ultimately an exercise in Sunflower Bean showing off that they can do just about everything well.

While the classic Warpaint tropes - clever, heady interplay; four voices weaving as one - are present and correct, this time the more icy edges are rounded off in favour of softness and a nurturing sense of femininity.

This is very much the most mature Sharon Van Etten offering to date - and perhaps the most musically accomplished, too.

‘A Bit of Previous’ remains an enjoyably sunny listen, even if one frequently inflected with melancholy.

While ‘Endless Rooms’ chronicles a darker period in RBCF’s time as a band, it’s an album that paves a sonically brighter and broader future ahead.

It’s clear that these songs have a real and sincere heart, designed to both stir and soothe the soul in one fell swoop.

‘How To Let Go’ is an album of two halves, where at times she seamlessly slides back into the laid-back persona of old.

He combines whispering brush patterns and flecks of industrial glitch in the cerebral ‘Foreplay’ yet writes the perfect neo-soul pop song in ‘The Loop’, exemplifying his cross-disciplinary skill, and ability to marry fluid performance with tonal nuance.

“Like two ribbons, still woven although we are fraying,” they admit. By accepting this, Let’s Eat Grandma have found the sonic balance between friendship, unity, and individual identity.

‘Heart Tax’ is much more expansive, and has her spreading her wings in a number of different stylistic directions whilst maintaining her trademark hypnotic rhythms as a through-line with which to tie everything together.

This follow-up is more inquisitive and self-exploratory, and just a touch darker - while still building on her signature nostalgic sound.

‘SongBook’ is a debut that suggests The Lazy Eyes have the guile to forge their own roads in a genre not currently experiencing a dearth of talent.

Bobby is a jack of all trades when it comes to surmising his subject matter while balancing the line of fact, fun, and fierce emotion. It makes for one of the year’s most essential records yet.

There’s just enough on ‘Everything…’ to ingratiate fans both new and old.

For those who missed the rabble-rousing of ‘Dogrel’ but liked the darkness of ‘A Hero’s Death’, this record splits the perfect difference, sealing it along the middle with the superglue of a band who now know exactly where they’re going. Truth be told, they’ve never been more at home.

While these tracks are testament to how well the LA trio can build an astronomical sense of atmosphere, they can create icy harshness with equal brilliance.

For an album winding in length, it doesn’t outstay its welcome; if the jump to a major means more lovingly fashioned breeziness like this, then so much the better.

‘Second Nature’ hits the mark when it comes to dancing, although taking the time to embrace those quieter moments can often be some of the best, too.

These songs will inevitably end up stuck in their heads. In short, it’s bloody lovely.

Omar Apollo inspires, and his competence as a vocalist is unmistakable on ‘Ivory’. Conflating his electro-pop tendencies with the occasional stride of a campfire guitar, he turns everything he touches to glistening radio gold.

It’s vulnerable, it’s heartfelt, and above all it feels real.

It finds him at his most confident, if not most innovative, and maybe his most comfortable.

‘Bronco’ flits between theatricality and poignancy, almost every song sounding like it could score a Western’s pivotal moment with ease. Helmed by the singer’s powerhouse vocals, it’s impossible not to be drawn in throughout the album’s 15 country-rock-song run.

‘Growing Up’ they easily cement themselves as far more than a viral moment, pairing political and social charge with a suitably playful charm. Opener ‘Oh!’ delivers a powerhouse homage to the band’s foremothers, highlighting ‘Growing Up’’s clever balance between frivolity, passion and skill.

Definitely an acquired taste for those who Grizzly Bear’s less immediate side already ticks multiple boxes, but for those it’s surely a win.

Rife with feelings of ephemeral isolation and deep personal anxieties, they have realised a new wave of modern storytelling, forging ‘The Line Is A Curve’ as an answer to an open call for honesty.

On ‘Chloë and the Next 20th Century’, Father John Misty is transporting himself to a different world; it sounds pretty damn sweet over there.

‘Fear of The Dawn’ is very much like the kind of party where you’re hoping daylight stays away for some time yet.

It’s the slightly wonky worldview of the band themselves that really elevates ‘Wet Leg’ into the realms of the truly special.

The Los Angeles singer-songwriter spinning tales of dark, often questionable situations in a barely-there whisper atop folkish instrumentation that owes similar debts to the city’s famed ‘70s scene and Elliott Smith. With yes, witty lyrical asides that jar smartly with his seemingly timeless sound.

An enticing way to stay true to their roots, while approaching things in a fresh manner, their fourth record might still play to their self-deprecating strengths, but it also proves that they’re secretly ambitious too.

At the heart of ‘At the Hotspot’, though, is a reminder that for all of their eccentricities, Warmduscher remain a tight garage-rock outfit - just one that isn’t afraid to wander down some stylistic rabbit holes.

Awash with electric guitars equally as influenced by tradition as cathartic night drives, ‘Leave The Light On’ delves into the power of loneliness. Challenging the definition through both lyrics and sound, Pillow Queens deliberately play with light and heavy.

It captures a band confident in their own identity, holding it as a badge of honour instead of something to be hidden.

‘Tell Me That It’s Over’ is a superlative ode to vulnerability, permitting these indie wallflowers to flourish in technicolour.

Produced by acclaimed synthpoppers Hot Chip, the record creeps and sizzles with their circuit-board infusions to layer an added eeriness upon Ibibio’s Afrofuturist vision.

After years of reflection, this is a steady steep back towards the future.

Distinct, crooning and softly beautiful, ‘Running With The Hurricane’ captures a snapshot of intimacy, thriving friendships and a profound understanding of the human condition.

Where ‘Designer’ had shade, ‘Warm Chris’ offers light. It still feels bizarre, like stepping inside a doll’s house or a hall of mirrors, but it’s less garish, and ushers back in some of the vulnerability of ‘Party’.

Proffering intimate lyrics on private grief and personal growth (‘Erase’ finds inspiration in the lifecycle of a moth) with the most gorgeously purified vocal shimmer; it’s the cherry that tops this most satisfying of releases, destined to be set on repeat.

There’s still a little greenness here and there – the Royal Blood-esque ‘Summer Of The Shark’ lacks a little individuality, for example – but in the position that DITZ have put themselves in, there are a lot of places for them to push the boat.

The decision for Brown and collaborator Jonah Swiller to finally make a record together in the same room, after two remotely composed past releases, has largely paid dividends.

She once again explores new ventures, crafting a pop album that celebrates the old classics as well as the new, and cements her status as a true pop trailblazer.

A full project that transcends his current reach.

HO99O9 get it right far more frequently than not. This record remains incomparable to anything else being made right now.

Though not a flawless effort, musically speaking, this band’s baby teeth are not far off falling out.

It’s more confident, a little sexier. It also finds the outfit playing mostly the same old tricks as last time, for mixed results.

While missing the flecks of pop brilliance and cloying hooks that made 2017 Rex so endearing, the record’s release in the genesis of a twee renaissance is near-perfect timing.

Its steady pace and relatively tame nature (by his standards) means it might not be his most immediately striking release, but it’s still testament to his talent as an astute alt-pop songwriter.

‘Classic Objects’ walks the line between art and humanity, between nature and fabrication, between the real and the conceptual. It’s the audible equivalent of a painting affixed with human hair.

To call ‘Topical Dancer’ pure fun feels to diminish the real sentiment behind the lyrics; to pigeonhole it as wholly political does down the infectiousness that runs through its core.

Toeing the fading line between R&B and inner-city soul, ‘AFTER DINNER, WE TALK ABOUT DREAMS’ is flecked with hints of pop greatness.

Between his emotive vocal delivery and brutally honest lyricism, Bakar has produced an impressive and accomplished debut, well worth the wait.

It all works together, amping up the winking, cheeky side of country while also showing CMAT to be an artist enthralled by the genre but not beholden to it.

Beyond what has come before, ‘PAINLESS’ feels like a true representation of its creator; simultaneously delicate, fierce, vulnerable and fiery.

An extended gap since their last full-length outing has resulted in their sharpest raft of material since ‘Cease to Begin’.

Liverpool duo King Hannah fling themselves into sweltering dust-bowl deserts on startling debut ‘I’m Not Sorry, I Was Just Being Me’ - a narcotic, seductive adventure of squelchy Mazzy Star psych-blues, Portishead-ing trip hop and rainy-day folkishness.

A masterclass in reinventing ‘70s rock for a ‘20s audience, Buzzard Buzzard Buzzard are a captivating oddity.

His identity is in constant flux, making for a revealing and honest listen from one of the most-hyped artists of 2022 so far.

It’s easy to see why Sam Fender took the outfit out on his recent UK arena jaunt, possessed as they are with heartfelt songs based in place and time, with a few fist-to-the-chest moments.

‘As I Try Not to Fall Apart’ is a subtle evolution for White Lies - progress, after a while spent spinning their wheels.

‘The Kick’ doesn’t try to run or distract from feelings of loss and loneliness, instead it faces them head-on while celebrating the joy of being with others through it all.

He hasn’t lost his knack for a great pop hook, as demonstrated by the bubbling synths and snappy 808s on ‘It’s Good To Be Back’. It certainly is.

The impatient will find ‘Once Twice Melody’ a tad wishy-washy, but for those who persevere there’s still a lot going on beneath the waves.

‘PREY//IV’ does not shy away from Alice’s story; instead, its imagery is violent and visceral, with portraits of isolation (‘PINNED BENEATH LIMBS’) and self harm (‘BABY TEETH’) riddled throughout an album defined by a sort of constant itchiness, a wish to rid itself of trauma by occupying it so fully.

‘Dragon New…’ is largely an epic of intimate, stripped-back proportions. Put simply, it’s a masterpiece.

‘The Dream’’s strength is in packing not just alt-J’s usual futuristic twist, but a heavy side serving of nostalgia too. It’s a perfect, subtle, and unpretentious combo.

With resounding beauty, ‘Heterosexuality’ deconstructs social norms through a powerful freedom of self-expression, yet also acknowledges this pain and struggle.

Another truly original triumph.

It makes for a quiet reinvention in the face of adversity, with Le Bon as stylistically light on her feet as ever.

For some, this might be too tame. An album full of ‘Bluish’ rather than ‘Fireworks’. But for others, that means it’s the most accessible.

That ‘Laurel Hell’ exists only because it almost didn’t gives it its power. It provides the space for her mastery of songwriting, and Patrick Hyland’s understated yet orchestral production places Mitski in a realm all her own.