Ultimately Beyond The Wizards sleeve sounds like what it is--a hobby. As an outsider, it simply doesn’t reap the same rewards as it might have for its creators.

Taken on their own, each track solidifies the group’s wild imagination, but IV is tough to stomach as the free-flowing, full-bodied juggernaut that it is.

Cosmic Wink is largely free from inhibition though, documenting the big changes in life over beautiful, sweeping folk. While the album doesn’t hold all the answers, it’s still sure enough in its message to connect and remind you of the important things.

‘Typhoons’ occasionally misses the mark: the space created by the pair’s more chilled sonic approach isn’t filled. The songs here may be more melodic, more complex even on paper, but in reality there’s little there to truly grab hold of.

Olympic Girls is Tiny Ruins diversifying their sound and, in the process, unlocking something new and palpable. Simply by moving further out, they start to let us in.

‘Defeat’ alone clocks up a gargantuan 22 minutes runtime. Similarly, ‘Magicians From Baltimore’ could have been a wonderfully tight piece but overstays its welcome at almost 10 minutes. Still, the blissed-out, spage age ‘Genie’s Open’ and the funky prog of ‘Gem & I’ provide at least a partial argument in favour.

Their third album feels singular, apart from its predecessors in spirit, for better and worse.

Unfortunately, none of the later tracks hit with the same urgency as the first few. The album is a fun listen, still, and one that encapsulates that Polaroid summer we’re all after.

There are occasional flickers of inspiration - see the maximalist rework of ‘Elite’ from Blanck Mass and the minimalist ‘Teenager’ that Robert Smith contributed - but otherwise, you have to hope that everybody involved enjoyed putting Black Stallion together, because it ain’t much fun to listen to.

Disjointed rather than bad; there's undoubtedly a cross-section for which the not-quite-post-punk, not-quite-shoegaze combination works. Let's hope they find it.

There’s a sense that nobody’s heart was quite in it which sometimes means proceedings drag on, refusing to invent, refusing to accept that Granddady can be a band who make it. It’s heart-breaking and at times powerfully so, but it also shuns the listener, forcing them to a place where Grandaddy risk drifting once more into obscurity.

Given that the various members of Hot Chip have various side-hustles and secondary creative outlets, it’s a little surprising how much of ‘Freakout / Release’ sounds quite this forced.

There’s a minimalism in places here that even ardent fans might find a touch disappointing given how predisposed she normally is to extrapolating on her ideas. In fairness, though, the whole point of Documents is to capture the sound of a band, still hot from the road, bringing that energy to the studio. In the Same Room delivers.

It fits within its own logic, but no others, resulting in a succinct record that should be anything but.

'Incorruptible Heart' is a frustrating listen. You are left with the sense that there is a brilliant pop group waiting to burst out but for the most part, they are sadly suffocated by the arrangements.

For better or for worse though, Moh Lhean mostly moves to the beat of its own, strangely laid-back drums. It just would have been nice to have a little more variation buried within those meditative vibes.

There's little doubt that Mudhoney intend this to be an obtuse, difficult listen--the lyrical allusions to GG Allin certainly suggest as much--but its lackadaisical approach leaves it feeling toothless rather than effortlessly cool.

The rich swells of optimism that characterised earlier cuts such as ‘Skipping Stones’ or ‘Lost Dreamers’ have been replaced with a yearning melancholy.

It can’t match the drive and power of his electric projects by its very nature, so it may well remain a release for the hardcore fans.

Shriek is certainly a considerable statement that opens up endless vistas of possibility for a reinvigorated band.

Chelsea Light Moving should feel like a tired hashing-over of sonic tropes, considering what a prolific career the front man's had. But it doesn't; it's a lively, noisy semi-resurrection.

Quiet River of Dust won’t be for everyone, but you can’t help but marvel at its ambition.

[The off-trend songs like Alaska, Sawzall and Hawaiian Mazes] feel freer, more exciting and more innovative. But III isn’t that. Instead, for the most part, it feels like Banks-by-numbers.

The strength of A.L.L.A is when Rocky dodges the conventional diss tracks and instead tells his story without any strings attached.

They’ve taken the strengths of ‘Teen Dream’ and ‘Bloom’--reaching pop highs with ease--before being deceptive like it’s some kind of game. It’s not unfamiliar in the good sense, and it’s an odd outlier in an otherwise brilliant back-catalogue.

There is certainly well crafted song writing, but the album suffers for having a rather one dimensional sound; the most interesting track ['Sweet Dee'] is, notably, the most different.

Through exhibiting effortlessly strong songwriting with infectious hooks and warm, albeit slightly corny lyricism, the other slacker from Canada has matured into an amorous connoisseur of alternative pop.

An album that’s sometimes a little too abstract to truly connect with.

Whilst they haven’t stumbled at the unshakeable hurdle of the difficult second album, the ‘Wow’ factor of their debut has since diminished. Thankfully, there’s enough youthful grit and promise on show here to suggest that that spectacular something is on the horizon.

Not only safe, Music Complete serves to dilute New Order’s output.

It's not a record that will convert anyone who had previously dismissed these two Canadians, but it preaches a sermon that the present congregation will enjoy to their heart's content.

As a record, it lacks a coherent identity.

Alexis Taylor’s discovery and consequent understanding of the importance of religion and its expansive scriptures are well captured in this reflective release.

As an experiment, No Grace could go further. But PAWS continue to have fuzz defining their every step.

Ultimately, though, it’s Pulido’s steady hand that brings an assured, if occasionally slight, album together where there was so much potential for these heavyweights to step on each other’s toes.

The reality though is that your ability to get on board with this record will depend more or less entirely on how you feel about its lyrical content.

In Roses is kind of a horrible record in a sense, praying on emotional weakness so aggressively--but, it's so achingly gorgeous, that it's hard not to dive in with a complete disregard for state of mind.

The album is a mismatch of styles, moods and tempos. There is little cohesion and each song feels like a thought or idea alone on the record--like a collection of B-sides or rarities.

The clear direction and production of the album means that while those who enjoyed The Staves’ debut will not be disappointed, there is arguably less of a initial folk sound that was more apparent on their first record.

An album that only even begins to click after about the tenth listen, Arctic Monkeys’ sixth is the kind of eyebrow-raising curveball that could still yet lead to brilliance.

Ruminations feels like a comedown as such. His first solo album since 2014 ‘Upside Down Mountain’ features only Oberst, a piano, an acoustic guitar and the occasional flash of harmonica. It’s possibly his most reflective, nostalgic work yet.

In an age where any era of music is within a second’s grasp, The Lemon Twigs’ reliance on nostalgia is at best dated; at worst, pure laziness.

There are a couple of sweet spots on ‘Ice Melt’ in the form of the shimmering ‘Balloon’ and the creamy ending title-track, but not enough to warrant a whole album’s worth of material from what could have easily been shaved down to an EP.

Nevertheless for all the mature restraint and consummate mastery it can be hard not to miss the sheer energy and fury of previous albums, the restless experimentation.

2019 has a pleasing feel no doubt, there are some gems nestled in the 7-track run that are well worth a look, but it feels like a release that is there to keep the wheels turning ahead of a new album.

Echo Lake have managed to take a slew of barely-original touch points and make something genuinely intriguing about them.

They don’t often get the time to build a song from nothingness to explosion quite as well as they mastered on their debut. It’s a powerplay that largely works, yet still takes enough rests to showcase a frantically beating heart and a definite intelligence underneath.

Basic rhythms, simple synth melodies and the occasional burst of fuzz guitar provide a primitive vehicle for Cameron’s idiosyncratic lyrics, where the record’s real pleasures reside.

It’s all washed over with a layer of fuzz, the distorted sound making it impossible to discern precisely what’s going on - which is, one would imagine, precisely the point.

Move in Spectrums is a deeply controlled sea of melancholic ambience, loaded front-heavy with infinitely more engaging moments than its murkier second half.

ISM have stepped away from the traditional Ibibio folk tales that formed the lyrics for much of their debut album, instead relying more on English lyrics and universal themes. Only ‘She Work Very Hard’ displays the kind of storytelling that made those songs so intriguing, and it’s here where the boundaries between tradition and future are most blurred.

It’s not the most cohesive album--it darts around from one idea to the next quicker than you can bat an eyelid--but it is without a doubt exciting and enthralling.

In Mind is classic laid-back Real Estate, and while there is comfort in the familiar, at times it can feel a little lax.

Her detached, precise narration leaves little to hold onto, and over 15 tracks, you begin to long for a little more emotion. Still, these productions are dark, atmospheric - she knows exactly how to conjure up a mood. It’s just that it’s slightly too forbidding to ever fully feel at home.

As such a unique style of music in their field, there is no reference point to compare Mariachi El Bronx to, but if you’ve enjoyed ‘I’ and ‘II’, or you want to hear something a bit different then Mariachi El Bronx III is well worth a listen.

It’s rough around the edges, but that’s part of its charm - a testament to the energy and ideas thrown about in such a short space of time, and the vibrancy of collaboration.

We Come From The Same Place, then, is a delightful record, catchy enough to keep the listener’s attention, and with enough substance for them to return to it time and time again.

Barry Johnson’s vocals remain huge, and riffs are still catchy, but in trying to expand their palate, their identity might just be starting to slip.

Theatrical, over-blown, and just a little contrived, any promise of real substance sadly seems to fade after the first four tracks, and never quite returns.

Till Midnight might not be the most groundbreaking album, largely treading a path that has been well worn over the years, but few people do impassioned, rustic folk rock as well as Chuck.

Atari Teenage Riot have made this their most accessible album yet.

A potent mix of influences, it manages to sound equally focused and effortless - the work of a true performer.

Despite coming from the same body that houses a personality so unbelievably erratic and off-the-wall in the best possible way, 25 is as straight-down-the-line ‘Adele album’ as it gets.

CocoRosie certainly revel in their unorthodoxy but this doesn’t always make for enjoyable listening; perhaps if their Tales Of A Grasswidow knew how to breathe, their macabre hymns might pack a little more pluck.

The in-demand singer-songwriter-producer primes himself for new heights here - tapping into the hedonistic spirit of Studio 54, while applying a gloss that is very much of today.

As coherent and arresting as everything is, it is true that some of the hooks are not particularly immediate. A few of the tracks seem to steam ahead but never really find an end destination, with any hooks getting lost in the mists of fuzz.

Pure Bathing Culture have created an ambient watercolour wash, but leave you fruitlessly longing for a brave splash of boldness across the canvas.

Any sense of experimentation and freedom is impossible to find. Are Dinosaur Jr trying too hard to be Dinosaur Jr? It's the way it seems.

The band has honourable aims with its vocal intent and concept, but fails to inspire with its content, nor deliver on its promises.

This more paired-back approach isn’t always successful, mind: certain parts of Sex & Food--a bit like inviting whipped cream into the bedroom--seem like a really good idea at the start, but turn into a bit of a sloppy mess along the way.

We’re not asking Whitney to soundtrack a raging rebellion, we just want them to make us feel things. Forever Turned Around only partly succeeds.

Although Upside Down Mountain could do with a little more lyrical variety and structural experimentation, it is strong.

The whole thing would have sufficed as a bonus disc rather than the standalone album it is.

[The album] is essentially a standard Mark Lanegan Band release.

While it might lack some of the emotional resonance that the absolute best of their peers can achieve SYB should be commended for getting the pain parts of the deceptively tricky pop-rock jigsaw together with some aplomb.

It’s dark, atmospheric and shoegazey--and as a sonic canvas it works well. But several of the songs struggle to say anything that’s not already been said elsewhere on the album.

The vocals are rather Thurston, too, like a chain-smoking Scrappy Doo, and structurally each song on The Best Day follows a specifically Thurstony pattern; all shimmery build-ups and thrashing bar chords, and deadpan vocals thudding solemnly along the top of it all.

If you’re partial to a bit of blue-collar punk, this is likely to be right up your street.

For all of the frontman's dynamism, he can't save a frustratingly slow, out-of-date computer.

Though there’s a clear outlook and lots to like, there’s a certain ‘leather trenchcoat on Camden High Street’ vibe to The Wants when you sense they were aiming for something a little more forward-thinking.

Notably, the record is without the pair’s usual darkness, but ‘Host’ feels organic and true, like the first day of spring after a winter full of rain.

Although accomplished in its tone, ‘I Won’t Care How You Remember Me’ longs for dynamic crescendos to differentiate the album’s eleven tracks, no matter how pleasant they may be.

Yes, ‘Club Romantech’ is fun, albeit superficially - supercharged by pulsating house that would perhaps be irresistible only under very specific, very inebriated conditions in 2012.

For all his wayfaring tendencies, it’s refreshing to hear an album from Mattson that feels as though he’s found solace in something or someone, and the richer instrumentation never compromises the album’s overall sense of intimacy.

It’s a largely hit-and-miss pop record.

It’s a perfectly pleasant ride to go along with him on, too, and given that ‘Turn Blue’ sounded a tired effort pretty much from the get go, this return to his roots will hopefully bode well for the band when they eventually reconvene.

Ultimately, it is very, very hard to dislike Hour Of The Dawn.

The Hold Steady are very much a band for their existing fans. There’s not anything here, whether the bar-room blues of ‘Blackout Sam’ or the jazz hands-aloft ’T-Shirt Tux’ that’s likely to win outsiders over.

It’s got moments of music that sound like life. And when the songwriting is interesting and the melodies evocative, what you need is something to keep up what they’ve built.

There’s a gorgeous familiarity to the record, but it’s also one peppered with adventure.

‘Social Cues’ is a study in US radio - or so it seems, each song a suitable soundtrack to faceless car journeys along nondescript roads: think Imagine Dragons in leather jackets and ripped jeans, if you will.

RY X is a talented guy with a singular vision, but Unfurl's title is misleading--it’s a little too tentative to have fully done so.

Trim the fat and you’d wind up with a special record, but with those bizarre moments gone, The 1975 would also lose some of their bombastic charm.

The positives are overshadowed by petulant observations to politics which is hard to take seriously when dire lyrics like "Yabba dabba do one, Son."

This latest effort is not without its merits but is fundamentally too long, whilst its interludes are a cheap, unnecessary annoyance.

Just when you're close to giving up [on A Wasteland Companion] we get to 'The First Time I Ran Away' and the album suddenly and brilliantly clicks, starts getting everything right.

‘Hyacinth’ shows Spinning Coin are OK with dipping their toes in the water of something new, but will leave you wishing they would just jump in.

While the studio’s energy is palpable on record, ‘Delta Kream’ is likely to appeal mostly to Dan and Patrick’s fellow blues nerds over anyone else.