Constant Bop has an air of effortless accomplishment and fresh brilliance, which can only come from hard work and a fastidious attention to detail.

Under all its punk ferocity, however, lies a grander message of mindfulness and mental strength. That’s an immeasurably powerful theme from two musicians both known for bringing vulnerable accounts of severe anxiety and depression to hip hop.

Stanger Today is the sound of a band doing what they want, knowing how to do it and, most importantly, having a blast doing it.

For now though, as an album, as a piece of art, it’s beautifully painted but the colour palette needs to expand substantially.

Stage Four is quite possibly Touché Amoré’s best album yet. They have once again one–upped themselves into crafting a fierce record which would do all their families proud.

On Let them Eat Chaos Tempest has cemented herself as a poet/rapper of the highest order, who isn’t happy just make the masses smile, but to challenge and make them think and love too.

It’s a frighteningly powerful album that will be adored by open-minded newcomers and "Miss Machine" converts alike.

Laurel Halo’s most ecstatically esoteric effort to date, which, in the case of this artist at least, is another way of saying that is both her best and her most joyously listenable.

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have made a soundtrack that is haunting, mechanical and beautiful.

With such a range of musical stylings on one record, No Shape occasionally sounds more like a collection of songs than a unified album, at times this can be a bit stifling to the listener. ... But these are minor flaws in a record with many a moment of gorgeousness.

As the Richard Harris exhibition showed, by enabling us to momentarily confront our own mortality, morbid artistic meditations on death can be oddly and overwhelmingly uplifting.

If Fall Be Kind is noticeably less hooky than "Merriweather Post Pavilion," it sounds just as ravishing, and offers an equally cohesive whole.

You know a good sound when you want to take out a second mortgage to buy headphones good enough to appreciate it.

Stark but lush, these are pop songs for moonlit lakes, soft throbs to bob in while no one else is looking.

Animal Collective have made the album I hoped they’d make, and even that it’s autumn and summer’s over.

All together, Alpha Mike Foxtrotis a lot to take in at once--over five hours of material, and Wilco enthusiasts will have heard much of the contents already.

Under closer scrutiny, a three song lull holds it back from being as powerful as it might have been, but I’m happier listening to this flawed, fumbled and underdeveloped Kanye record than I am a thousand other records that came out this year and didn’t even try to change the world.

This is not a flirtation but the sound of the Necks entering genuine rock territory... and it’s brilliant.

Ten is just Ten, and I guess for all their reservations, the band have come to accept that: there’s no mystery to the new cover, just Pearl Jam in plain view, big shorts and all.

What’s really on display here is a well honed, experienced band flexing their muscles and creating tightly controlled, good old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll music (of a rather cerebral variety) on their own terms, free from the weighty plague of fashion.

There is something to be said about a record like Quiet Signs, which finds its maker willingly dwindle and fade within the corporeal world’s fog and decay. It may be an old fashioned idea, sure, but it’s one that will undoubtedly age well.

A spectacular triumph.

Copia is the sound of Cooper surpassing himself, combining his patented minimalist drones with beautifully rendered piano.

As an experimental project, it's clever and varied, and a vital chapter in the history of electronic music and sampling. As a pop record, it's tantalising, sensitive and essential; if you don't already own My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts, the reissue's extra tracks make now as good a time as any.

In spite of its gloomier mood, it’s a record every bit as spirited as Half Way Home, and possibly even more affecting.

Yet another satisfying record from the London-based producer, who, while loses marks for his perhaps too similar creation, remains an important figure in the UK electronic scene and for good reason. Ultimately, Singularity will shape your summer of 2018 the same way Immunity did of 2013, and all power to it.

Halo cements itself into yr ears. This is logic in motion, and it’s dead beautiful to watch every piece of these puzzles fall into place.

Bang & Works Vol. 2 also captures a genre in transition, as both the old guard and the young producers increasingly look to other genres for a way to progress the sound, or at least re-flavour it.

When this album is good it’s superb--probably the Jicks’ finest yet; and when it’s less so--less focused, more haphazard and wilfully out-there--it’s still pretty damn great as well.

As its title suggests All Nerve is never a passive listen, it shifts you, touches a nerve, and leaves a timely mark.

True Widow have laid down an album so strong that I can't see anything usurping it as album of the year for me (or anyone else who gives it a few listens). And at the end of April, that's a mighty bold claim. But the glove is on the floor now, and everyone else will simply have to step up or cower away and hide.

It’s hard to overstate the extent to which the excellence of this record is sealed by Timony’s bullish approach to sonic economy; there are no flourishes, no accentuations on Rips, only precisely what needs to be there; noodling guitar parts and an unyielding punk aesthetic.

If it’s their lighter side that appeals, they’ve never made such a consistent pop album, and I use the term with not the slightest hint of cynicism.

The Earlies are like a stripped-down take on the [Flaming] Lips: psychedelic, lo-fi and indie in the purest sense of the word.

Tarot Sport doesn’t pause to bang or whimper. Tarot Sport accelerates.

Over twenty years later their music continues to connect.

Our Love lacks the element of surprise that Swim had, but still holds in abundance all the hallmarks of a master: so rich, so textured and despite being predominantly electronic, so human--speaking with painful honesty to a condition that ranks just below death and taxes in uniting us all.

This is a record that demands your reflection and immersion, rather than just mindlessly wigging out.

She’s created an album that’s worth more time than a quick fling on the rebound, another engaging entry in her ever-expanding catalogue.

As a whole, Heavy Ghost is considerably subtler even than "The Crying Light."

Basinski brings to his craft an understanding that music structures time just as much as time structures music. Among his most entrancing work.

The whole affair is deeply involving, full of odd punctuations and wonderful non-linear compositional structures.

What really stands out is how …Dog literally hits the ground running from its opener, 'Pagan Angel And A Borrowed Car,' cutting a clear slice from the organic and distinctive junkyard percussion and deep-fried blues stomps of Tom Waits.

Grand without ever being bloated, humane without settling into pessimism, the best indie band in North America remind us why sometimes, the rewards do not equal the output.

Rather than sound like two guys in their fifties messing around with some expensive equipment to recapture their past glories, it’s strikingly modern.

Frost has ditched much of the subtlety and minimalism that echoed within his previous work and birthed a surging, hard charging, straight to the rim, go-hard-in-the-paint beast of an album.

Where this EP lacks in progression, it makes up for in the strength of the songwriting.

The new record by Vampire Weekend is the best alternative pop album you will hear this year. Unselfconscious, technically brilliant in a way that crucially you will never actually notice, shimmering with beautiful, strange melodies and just a small smidge of actual bonkers.

Asunder, Sweet is Godspeed at their most conciliatory, most bloody-minded and most untouchable.

It's mostly a stately, minimal affair.

Steeped in the postpunk aesthetic, a well-established rock style that nonetheless remains richer and deeper than any other in formal possibilities, this is a deceptively complex record that conflates doubt and optimism while at surface remaining aggressively articulate.

If it hasn't already been made clear, there is a pretty constant, not to mention obvious, Eighties aesthetic permeating these eleven tracks. But it's been put together well enough that its never really overbearing or worse, a contrived mess.

The few extra tracks that follow ["Slow Fade"] don’t really do much apart from bloat the run time, which is my only gripe with the record, really. That aside though (and what it lacks in depth, it more than makes up for in atmosphere) it’s an intriguing look at a talented producer carving his own path, and making dancefloors a little bit weirder.

At 75 minutes and 19 tracks, it is comfortably his longest record to date, but also his most listenable.

Defeatist it may be, but such genius is very rarely recognised in a band’s lifetime. So be it – because there genuinely is no verbal persuasion that could exceed a single listen to America’s most underrated.

There’s something horrific about this record; it’s possessed by an indefinable evil that permeates every song.

The heart of the album lies in the unparalleled excellence of Oldham’s songwriting – simple yet complex, understated and profound at the same time.

Route One or Die is a heavy, sometimes dizzyingly diverse listen. Despite this, the band's emphasis on melody means these songs hook you in from the very first listen, while still having more wonders to reveal to you on repeated listens.

Shapeless moments aside, Sleep Games emerges as a strong enough entry point in either Pye Corner Audio's discography or the murky world of Ghost Box.

There may be nothing here that pricks emotion like ‘When An Old Cricketer Leaves The Crease’ and this may not be the truly brazen, bold Harper of the Seventies but it’s a record of reflection, of experimentation, sometimes of egotism, often of near-mystical sadness.

The Infinity Machines strain occurs in eight stages, each with varying intensities of drone.

Even as these pieces are tightly composed, improvisation, solos, a loss of control, are never far away. This can only be a good thing.

This is a beautifully composed album and one which frequently feels like a blessing that we even get to hear it at all.

It’s one of the most thrilling and confident debut records of the year.

Whichever way they decide to pursue such diversions on future releases, one hopes that they remain as fixated on fusing together the dance traditions of their two homes. On that territory, Ibibio Sound Machine remain world leaders.

Where British guitar bands like the Arctic Monkeys have failed in enabling their audiences to dance in any way more stylised than an up-down jump, this guitar band play songs you could very nearly jive to, partner in hand.

It’s a confident, naive, sensitive journey that plays to all of the strengths of the artist without sounding ostentatious. It’s an emotional listen, but a necessary one.

Picking out highlights from a treasure chest overflowing with golden nuggets is a tough call, but Inspiral Carpets' 'Theme From Cow' off their unsurpassed and impossible to find Plane Crash EP, *8Kitchens Of Distinction's shoegaze prototype 'Prize', Thrilled Skinny's introduction to fraggle 'So Happy To Be Alive' and Mancunian oddballs King Of The Slums**' 'The Pennine Spitter' are just four of many reasons why this compilation should be high on every music completist's shopping list.

Engaging and fulfilling, it stands out as one of the most unique and confident records of Weaver’s career so far, with the nagging and thrilling feeling that so much more is waiting to emerge given the scope of her talents.

This album has a scale to it that occasionally transcends the intimacy one may associate with much of Youngs’ back catalogue.

If this truly is the end, Sauna Youth should be more than proud of the work they've created. It is an oeuvre many would be lucky to have, and this album detailing the struggles of balancing your art with every day working life is at once frustrating but relatable and rewarding.

The versatility shown here adds yet another notch to Drug Church’s (and Kinlon’s) bedpost as one of the most exciting bands around in a genre that doesn’t often do much experimentation or progression.

Of course, we already knew that SGD could dish out more than most amateur punks. But this time around, the duo flaunt even more of their hard rock swagger. Ursula finesses the kit like the legends, while Delilah can command her voice with more expression and scathing attitude than ever before.

Two Dancers, then, doesn't so much follow up their debut as announce Wild Beasts as one of our genuinely special bands, one that can compete--in terms of both musical and lyrical ingenuity as well as sheer pop nous--with any US act you've seen talked up in the music press this year.

Past, present, and future rest patiently before Hoop, and she’s weaved them all into her most endearing album yet.

A swift punch of an album which inevitably hits some artistic limitations, but succinctly delivers all the timeless qualities of in-yer-face riffage from a snotty garage band.

This album is anything but a fad. It hangs around long after you listen, subdued but resolute in its capabilities. It is very much here to stay.

Thou’s consistency makes their records somewhat overwhelming. Magus’ arrival via Sacred Bones makes it likely to become many listeners’ first Thou album. Whether it is suitable for such a position, given the more concise appeal of the band’s first three full-lengths, is questionable. Nonetheless, much like the question of whether this is the band’s finest work to date, such doubts should not distract from the fact that Magus is a successful affirmation of Thou’s place as being amongst the greatest heavy bands on the planet.

It is a beautiful result that, through the austere and effortlessly enchanting tunes, leaves you feeling the emotion infinitely more than any self-professed ‘emo’ might.

It’s great that Electric Wizard are still around and are still pushing the limits of heavy music--not just for metal itself, but for British metal in particular.

Although it still occasionally feels like there is something distant about Ekstasis, something yet to thaw (chalk this up to its chilly aesthetic and Holter's wilfully eclectic approach to her art), it is a genuinely enthralling listen.

Despite the dualistic structure of Angels & Devils, the album’s two halves are never in opposition to one another; its vocalists all equally damned, equally resilient to their fate.

The sheer energy pouring from this record is breathtaking: not until the very final song ('Continuous Thunder') does Celebration Rock's sense of acceleration cease.

This is wonderful stuff.

Erykah might have mellowed out, but the lessons from last time round have been learnt, rethought and reapplied. This is a record that confidently stands alone as brilliant, yet remains an equally perfect companion to a modern classic.

It's not a monumental leap forward from the band's previous work, but Harmonicraft displays the signs of consistent refinement and revels in that fact.

The mayhem, the confusion, the hysteria, Holter has learned to embrace all of it, and by reflecting it honestly in her music, she has shown the rest of us that whilst we live in alarming times, empathy and love continue to stand strong. Aviary will be a challenging listen for many, but its message needs to be heard.

Live At The Cellar Door is a treasure chest that holds the glowing embers of a brilliant, already burgeoning career.

Patch the Sky is undoubtedly the record of someone not only haunted by their past but also the continuing difficulties faced in the present, but it is also a stunning example of Bob Mould’s resolve and ability to channel life, death, love and failure into two sides of meaningful and melodic music.

Turn Out the Lights is far from a happy album, but my word, it is riddled with joy.

July is a grown up album--but it’s not a cleaned up one: Marissa Nadler may flirt with the sun now, but still articulates the dark like no one else.

This is music that the listener can plunge into and summon up her own images and sense from.

This really does come very close to the top of the pile. An essential opus from a truly essential artist.

My Father Will Guide Me Up A Rope To The Sky sounds more like the essence of Michael Gira than the Angels Of Light ever did, and ought to also serve as another broadside to the idea of reformations being inherently grubby and uncreative ventures.

While Campbell's music hasn't done a complete U-turn and embraced sonic maximalism, the nine tracks on Hinterland benefit from greater depth, evident on even the sparsest cuts.

This is Willner's finest record yet, a composition of effortlessly gorgeous, technically fantastic, genuinely awe-inspiring music.

A record this willing to go the absolute distance to challenge expectations yet entertain and move so consistently should equally be heralded in such high regard [as Screamadelica], which in time, this will.

Superchunk have made a record that ties experience to the present, instinct to wisdom, youthful vigor to aged knowledge, everything in the world to a passion for music.