Enter Shikari have made their mark with a hybrid theory of conflicting ideas but, unsure where they sit between Rage Against The Machine and Radiohead, it lacks real conviction.

As every track twists and turns, building upon their previous musical accomplishments, this feels like a band who have finally truly found their stride.

It’s not so much a Meat Wave as it as an all-consuming fleshy tsunami. Although this breed of cut-the-brakes punk is obtrusive and in-your-face in all the right places, it offers little else in terms of versatility or gear changes.

The message of US Girls hides under an instrumental output which is far more intriguing than its lyrics--the music is a bit too good for its political musings to be wholeheartedly focused on.

It presents itself as an almost impossible follow-up, but Goodness more than holds its weight, and shows its beauty in time.

Despite the foreboding darkness within their offerings, there are still glimpses of light that shimmer within.

Definitely an album of two halves, by the time you hit ‘Ferris Wheel’ and ‘Destroyer’ the record drifts off into Dylan-isms that while are nice enough, don’t carry the same idiosyncratic weight of ‘Singing Saw’ or ‘Drunk and On A Star’ that will some day carve out a classic from this hugely promising talent.

If there’s anything to criticise Hope Downs for, it’s its risk-averse approach, and tendency to become a one-dimensional listen, but as a debut record, it presents a band that know exactly what they’re doing, and proceed to do it very well indeed.

While it may flag a bit in its latter moments though, All Nerve still has moments where the magic of this particular, iconic incarnation of The Breeders feels recaptured.

An album, according to Dev, about “black depression, black existence and the ongoing anxieties of queer / people of colour”, Negro Swan is a record that radiates these tensions; subtle and amorphous, it’s not the most immediate listen, but it’s undoubtedly one with real weight.

On the likes of ‘Enough,’ the layers of electronica and muffled beats become oddly oppressive, competing against her--and winning the battle. It’s in moments like this where Take Me Apart proves to be frustrating. When it’s at its best though, it’s an album that invites the listener to do just what its title invites.

With its high concepts and bold instrumentals the album feels a little heavy at times, but you really can’t fault its ambition.

While Freedom’s Goblin doesn’t exactly blow the doors off of his usual sound, it’s a solid addition to the canon that rattles between all corners of this self-made niche.

Unusual yet distinctive, Aviary may alienate some but you can’t fault the depth of Julia’s grand vision for her work.

Despite the album’s beginning in confusion, Saturn sounds genuinely uplifting throughout with her impressive vocal range being the focal point.

Hopelessness is an exercise in provocation. It’s anti-apathy, determined to stir thought, even if that’s total disgust and dejection.

Black Country, New Road’s seriousness and determined intellectualism is sometimes to their detriment.

It takes no prisoners musically or lyrically. And, despite the exasperation which the album channels, the tracks never feel too dark and this is largely, in part to the warmth which hides below the rage in Mac McCaughan’s delivery, along with the guitars which remain defiantly loud.

Not one for anyone who’s not already won over by the pair’s particular charms.

Sure, FOTL's protagonist is as pissed off with 'The Industry' as ever, but throughout much of the 14-track beast that is How To Stop Your Brain In An Accident, there doesn't feel to be quite enough venom seeping through.

With more focus, this could have felt quite vital.

Part folk, part neo-classical, part metal; The Miraculous could easily be pigeonholed as a gothic record--and sure, there are definitely elements of that.

‘Drop Cherries’ may be a soothing depiction of a relationship’s simple moments, but this simplicity does leave the listener wanting more, and its poignancy often lacks any punch.

There are times, however, when the mix doesn’t quite lend Björk’s message enough power. ... For the most part, Utopia sounds like an album where she’s followed her own advice. It demonstrates how the Icelandic alt-pop legend has pushed past her own emotional turmoil, taking yet another step in her ever-evolving saga, one that sets a path for future endeavours.

While it can be an emotionally turbulent listen that continually returns to the fracturing of the self and the breaking apart from others, this is also an album that is deeply arresting and vital, a reminder that these ruptures are a part of the rocky terrain of life.

It’s an undeniably strong album, in which existing fans will find much to love. It just isn’t quite ‘Heartland’.

At an hour in length, though, and spewing at the seams with new sounds and concepts, Freetown Sound is more a vessel for Dev Hynes’ production prowess than Blood Orange’s flag in the sand.

The Liverpudlian four-piece are gifted with penning peppy indie-pop, the melodies that lift the likes of ‘Be Your Drug’ and ‘Move To San Francisco’ are spiky and infectious but ultimately stick to a well-worn formula that produces middling results.

It feels ecclesiastical, like hymns for the digital age.

The Waiting Room is reserved and considered, yet you still come out of the other end feeling like you’ve run the emotional gamut; in that respect, at least, you have to recognise it as Staples’ strongest set of songs for a good long while.

Oh No doesn’t quite signal a reinvention for Lanza, but a move towards one end of her capabilities, one which consistently brings excitement, energy and openings for new paths for her to head down.

Tourist In This Town’s strengths are also its weaknesses though. The visceral, in-the-moment recording at times gives the record a life and character that feels charming and personal, but elsewhere feels a little too rushed, and being a little heavy-handed in the use of synths and backing results in sensory overload and slightly jarring instrumental clashes.

His perfectly serviceable croon is not quite strong enough to carry it across 16 long tracks. If only he’d given ‘Lightning People’ to Liam Gallagher, it might well have been the soundtrack of the summer. Moments of greatness are plentiful, but ‘Fever Dreams…’ shines brightest when Marr lets his guitar do the talking.

An swirling, abstract painting of an album, and an eclectic slow burner, Painted Ruins serves more as a fascinating indication of where Grizzly Bear could head next than anything else.

Overgrown demonstrates that for all Blake's myriad talents as a producer he still isn't able to carve a great song out of a simple idea.

Fans of ‘Complete Surrender’’s sonic diversity, too, might find ‘Now That I’m a River’ similarly one-note to ‘One Day All of This Won’t Matter Any More’. It’s a better record, though, primarily because Charles sounds genuinely refreshed.

A planned dalliance, Hot Thoughts reveals its irony: a well-thought rush of blood, a planned frisson. It’s a turn on with limits.

If Wolf Parade have spent six years wondering how they can sing about anything at all, it seems as though they’re still wondering. Just this time the quartet turned the mic on as they pondered.

With the few songs that feature the vocal backing of Condon the fullness that immediately hits the ear makes me realise that introducing another voice or even another medium to the mix would enhance the listening experience of this album by at least 75%.

The intricate layering of warped guitars and echoing vocals is all well and good for the background to summer fun, but for No Joy to be more than this More Faithful relies on these more intimate moments. Although these are sparsely scattered throughout they’re just enough to make More Faithful more than just a half-listened to soundtrack to road trips and festivals but an album with heart, confidence and intimacy.

When they strip things back and leave space for each element to breathe--as on the purely orchestral title track--Open Here can be a joy, a deeply astute pop album that’s also often brimming with fun. While pushing their boundaries as far as they can go though, it sometimes makes for a record that can feel frustratingly cluttered.

‘Blood, Hair and Eyeballs’ is a level, if somewhat uninteresting, addition to the Alkaline Trio lexicon. Fans will find pockets of the band they fell in love with, while less seasoned followers may be better served diving deeper into the back catalogue instead.

The songs are strong--varying from ‘I Just Don’t Understand’’s jazz bar mood-changer to closer ‘New York Kiss’’ emotional farewell--but Spoon can be better than that.

The whole record initially comes off like a collision of crackpot thoughts; abstract lyrics; abstract synthetics; all abstract everything. Eventually Lese Majesty exposes its rigid structure, giving hints of ‘Black Up’ but overall daring to go further and deeper than anything on the debut.

Collaborations here, there and everywhere, for the most part Kaytranada pulls the strings. But it is a work that threatens to find him in the shadows, leaving the spotlight to bigger names.

Aside from the brutal norm its twenty, overwhelming tracks follow, Mutant is also capable of digging up gold.

The material on offer ranges from the piano balladry of ‘The Cruise Room’ to the ‘80s synth pop of ‘Best In Me’ - in other words, every flavour John Grant has to offer. And that’s an exciting prospect on paper, so it’s a shame that the record frequently suffers from songs too long by half.

While the celestial sound-effects sometimes make Saturn’s Pattern sound like the soundtrack to Lost In Space or a retro computer game, generally what you can clearly hear is that Weller is creating music confidently again.

While so many albums today are front-loaded, this one saves many of its treasures for the final stretch, ending on a high with ‘Highland Grace’, an appropriately elegiac closer euphoric horns and vocals.

This is the sound of a songwriter in transition.

Individually the likes of ‘Time Will Be The Only Saviour’, with its creeping strings and weighty sorrow, or the Rizzo-quoting ‘There Are Worse Things I Could Do’, are tender, sad things, but as a whole piece, Yawn can wind up a claustrophobic listen.

As an album, it's quite a varied piece of work, despite never really emerging from its shell.

The majority of the album is not different or progressive enough to be exciting--and it's not enjoyable enough to make up for it.

The lyrics across the course of the record feel less politicised, the characters less personal, resulting in a record that feels both wholly more developed, and ultimately more accessible than the EP it follows.

It’s still immersive music for thinking and reflecting. It might lack it’s ‘Red Eyes’ but this record is filled with enough to satisfy any existing fans.

Although ‘Superstar’ certainly reaches for the stars in its slick production, her wit doesn’t sparkle as strongly, and its theme of an awkward outsider trying to chase success feels a little too close to home.

Although the lyrical themes aren’t necessarily treading new ground--and at times sound feel more 1970s than 2010s--New View is the most self-assured realisation of the Friedberger’s delicately eloquent and intelligent musical talent.

This debut feels far too uncoordinated, un-moderated and incoherent to do more than dazzle and confuse in equal proportions before leaving the listener to make sense of what just happened.

There are songs here that will stand with some of Ezra Furman’s best work (“I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend” and “Calm Down”) but sometimes its rapid-fire pace makes you wish for that little bit more space.

The Wilderness, though, is Explosions hitting autopilot when they enter uncharted airspace, rather than exploring the potentially limitless universe beyond.

Suede deserve some credit for being one of the few reunited bands to actually risk their reputation by recording a new album and whilst there is nothing on 'Bloodsports' as gloriously epic as 'Stay Together' or as bat-shit crazy as 'Introducing The Band', it should be viewed as a partial success.

His outlook on the world is no happier than it was before, but the lack of a bigger band brings out a fresher sound in the Destroyer canon. It loses some energy in that regard, especially compared to the magnificent ‘Kaputt’, but it does show that, with 13 albums under his belt, Bejar still has plenty to say and even more fantastical ways to say it.

That’s definitely not to say that the more languorous tracks don’t have their beautiful moments, with the likes of ‘Lonely Blue’ and ‘Sublunary’ providing an emotional apex to the album. As it draws on though, it gets easier to think that a bit of brutality on the cutting room floor might only have been of benefit to The Ooz.

Seven albums in, and with a formula that’s kept its core elements largely the same, it’s largely Beach House by-numbers, but the pair have a gravitational pull that looks like it will never run dry.

This is an album that sounds like it could've been recorded at any point in the last thirty-odd years.

Reasons To Believe is a worthy, if overtly reverent, addition to the steady stream of Hardin covers.... But some of these covers are overtly reverent because they fail to acknowledge this schism in the dark soul of the man.

The Incessant marks a turning point, as Meat Wave tackle their demons head on.

A lot of the time Warp & Weft is just very slow, and whilst there are a couple of earworms to be turned up here and there, it's mostly pretty stodgy.

They’re untouchable in one sense, but they don’t look to be building on more than solid foundations. Threading together moments of true beauty is a nagging sense that there’s so much of this parallel universe they’ve yet to explore.

If kept short and sweet, Temple would have made a charmingly laconic record that blossomed in unconventionality, yet sadly here is muddled in his expansive means.

While All My DemonS is a listen that’s at times varied, interesting and progressive, any connections made here are purely at surface level.

There’s enough for fans to enjoy across ‘Lifeforms’, but it is not as lofty as it perhaps thinks itself to be.

Corridor evidently have ambitious eyes set on the grand and cinematic. The beautifully eerie closing ambient moments to ‘Goldie’, or the theatrical prettiness of ‘Milan’ convey a band of sophisticated vision, but certain reaches for the epic, such as the stodgy closer, ‘Bang’, suffer for their principals, sounding like half-baked version of Grizzly Bear. Often, it’s hard not to think that there’s something missing.

It just falls short of completely engulfing your interest and really exposing itself as anything completely fresh and inspiring. It’s pretty in places, but you’re left wishing that it was truly beautiful.

Kirk's irresistible vocals lend the album all the quality it needs, and their lighter touches and some inspired choices really add depth to the monochromatic and claustrophobic formula.

Club Meds is precise, mature and brooding, and despite the tendency to layer noises and experiment--most notably on the largely forgettable ‘War Spoils’--is at its best when closer to Mangan’s folk-based home.

There’s little here that will convert Dinosaur Jr sceptics. But for those who enjoy their nostalgic licks, Give A Glimpse of What Yer Not is a pretty satisfying addition to their back-catalogue.

The beefing up of Girlpool’s sound on Powerplant works marvellously in parts, but at points serves to dilute the individuality the pair presented on their debut.

It’s not an immediate album, but give a little time for the scattershot approach to sink in and moments of genius gradually reveal themselves.

Gaz’s third solo offering continues to find him moving into his next phase with real class.

It’s not a bad record, but it’s not quite there.

The band balance loud and quiet better than ever on LP5, with the one-two of ‘The Maze’ and first single ‘The Gold’ that opens the record the perfect example. ‘The Alien’, meanwhile, is fiddly and intriguing, showing that A Black Mile To The Surface could transport the band to an entirely new world.

Teen Suicide’s final act is nigh-on impossible to categorise or fully digest, and its nature and length makes it at the same time a difficult listen, but one that brings rewards of all different kinds across its running length.

There’s still plenty to recommend here, but you can’t help but feel that Neon Indian have a top-drawer electro pop record in them, if only they can trim the fat accordingly.

Musically the album sees Eno experimenting with three-dimensional recording techniques, creating a sound that’s frequently panoramic and dislocating.

While Japandroids have always walked a tightrope between classic rock and straight-up punk, Near To The Wild Heart Of Life finds their footing wobbling for the first time.

While unpredictability is certainly part of Deerhoof’s charm, and the aim of The Magic was to take listeners out of their comfort zone, the erratics can feel contrived and its off-kilter aesthetics too disparate for it to ever really take hold.

This isn’t the best or the bravest music of her career, but Harvey continues to pave new ground. This time, she takes that responsibility very literally, exploring new places and inviting listeners into her strange universe.

It’s not a record that jumps out on the first listen, but The Unseen In Between works as an effective relaxant.

A considered evolution from first minute to last, with no real enforced show in between, it may not be immediately obvious but by the end one truth remains clearer than ever, across a whole album--Mogwai can really do scale.

The band have expanded their sound with mixed results.

M uch of ‘Stray’ could do with heeding its own advice; instead Bambara stay firmly on a strong but fairly predictable path.

It’s comfortable, casual and--as is Iggy--a little bit weird at times. It’s catchy and has some great stories nestling in there--Post Pop Depression gets its hooks into you gradually with each listen.

With Schmilco, Wilco are getting funnier, more surprising and more interesting, two decades after forming.

Their newest full-length isn’t by any means leaps and bounds from what they’ve done before, but when they’ve got their brand of metallic pop so well-honed, why would we hope for anything else?

Inji is the sound of Dust discovering his own identity. And to achieve this, he tries just about anything and everything that crosses his path.

The more you listen, the more you start to learn this is not an album of ‘Eleanor Rigby’s; it’s an album of ‘A Day in the Life’s.

Nothing on this record is secure, but its transitions are hauntingly beautiful. It will not be for those who crave immediacy. Some tracks are far from an easy listen, but it was never meant to be.