Trap Lord’s such a tightly bound listen, however, that it jars when it misses the mark.

Minor issues like that [decision to release Stranger Than Fiction as a hybrid album/mixtape led to some questionable choices] make Stranger Than Fiction very good rather than great, but Gates hasn’t sacrificed any of the characteristics that garnered all this recent attention.

Holter may write stunning pop-tinged songs, but she’s an experimental artist through and through.

Nepenthe is more ambitious than its predecessors, more varied in style and execution and sonically richer.

Blue Gardens something a bit more sonically vivid is touched upon in ‘At Sea’, when acoustic percussion samples and a less stable synth harmonium shiver and waver in a manner that subtly detaches the track from everything that preceded it.

While the new forms forged from the genre manipulation here begets novelty and, yeah, interesting music, ultimately you’re left feeling unfulfilled.... In the end, though, it’s hard to begrudge adventurousness, especially when the end product is this pleasing.

Though the songs on Swisher are occasionally a little too long--even the shortest is more than five minutes, and ‘Andrew’ nearly 10--they’re mostly dynamic and varied enough that boredom never really has the chance to set in.

Body Music lacks both the pace and range required to sustain repeated listens, and rests too heavily on one--and even two-year old singles to bolster its overall quality.

There’s definitely an ancient, unformed quality here, and it results in some of Lustmord’s most inspiring work to date.

It’s an impressive achievement--and, what’s more, one that’s likely to piss of his fans a treat.

It’s really, really beautiful--beauty as it should be in music: something precious, elusive and exotic, or indeterminate, a little sad and more than a little elegant.

Rather than a portrait of Fuck Buttons’ time in the studio, Slow Focus is a hovering meditation on a distant, eerie landscape; a panorama with a sustained, totalising gaze that figures an expanse in perpetual decay and dis-ease.

With a few more such thoughtfully crafted moments The Big Dream might have been an entirely adequate sidenote in Lynch’s ever-growing oeuvre. As it stands, it is barely that.

Witchhouse appears unable to develop far beyond its basic origins, but Dexter instead hones, and in the process has produced something of a genre zenith--making slow-moving, essentially eventless music persistently compelling. No mean feat.

[Ciara sounds] blissfully triumphant and uncomplicated on a record from start to finish.

Magna Carta’s a mess, and not even an entertaining one--it’s simply a dull record by someone who’s in deep danger of going down as a dull human being.

Run the Jewels is savage and witty, rich in gritty truths and genuinely affecting wisdom. It may not be the best thing either artist has done, but fans of both will still find plenty to love.

For Years is very well made, especially for a debut, and has a lot of emotion--but it also feels applied to an existing context, and one that has dated quickly.

Considering her career so far, this is super cool, contemporary grown-up R&B that shows just how far Rowland has come.

If someone compiles their favourite 12 tracks from it, they may well have their album of the year, but in its current state With Love is pretty far from a classic.

If anything, they illuminate an increasingly formulaic approach that, in its attempt to express extremes of human emotion, ends up saying not very much at all.

This is Kanye’s record: a cornucopia of concepts and collaborators reduced to a singular vision. That vision is what makes Yeezus stand out as one of Kanye’s finest moments.

For all this record’s gesturing towards pop directness, it is sorely lacking in impact and in memorability.

A tedious album from an otherwise great talent.

It’s fair to say that Modern Worship is the fullest yet realisation of its creator’s distinctive vision, and it’s a rewarding album--but not quite a stunning one.

Sandison and Eoin have produced an album that, in spite of its considerable runtime, is genuinely absorbing and convincing in its narrative sweep.

As a portrait of a city, and a person, Acid Rap is about as good--and as honest--as they come.

It’s a shame that their debut album is so short on variety and surprises, and doesn’t capture the imagination past a couple of listens.

So, while ...Like Clockwork doesn’t have that many feel good hits of the summer, there are plenty of lullabies to paralyze.

It’s bleak and bittersweet, and it’s very well done.

By blending the conceptual drive of Post-Foetus and the organic songwriting of Baths, Wiesenfeld has delivered on the promise of Cerulean and found his place among contemporaneous pop experimenters like Grimes and Autre Ne Veut.

[IV Play revisits] Nash’s usual tropes through a more varied sound palette that demonstrates a willingness to experiment and, at rare and glorious points, a raw sense of urgency fuelled by his bitterness.

Lip Lock is exactly the kind of pop album that rappers set on crossover success should be making.

A creative leap forward doesn’t always have to mean changing your entire identity, and few albums show that as lucidly as The Weighing of the Heart.

Legacy’s most obviously rewarding moments, then, are when Space pushes this alien thrill to its limit.

Their obvious musical talent and distinctive voice make Silence Yourself an uncompromising and very enjoyable paean to individual agency.

This album is as life-affirming a piece of music as anything else you’ll hear this year: there’s nothing more uplifting than a good band getting better.

The result is unexpected; thick, major label-backed, acoustically driven independent pop songs with a folkish tinge, laced with soft electronics and David Bryne-like vocals. BBC Radio 2 beckons.

As long as you’re prepared to accept that it’s a Hollywood production inspired more by Steely Dan and California highways than Cajmere and French basements, then Random Access Memories is a treat.

Faced with trying to communicate a feeling as raw as lost love, he too has reached for the cliches. They may be banal and apparently devoid of sincerity, but for Blunt, they capture our inability to say what we mean or mean what we say in these strange, post-ideological times.

Instead of updating his sound and style for a contemporary audience, Prisoner of Conscious comes off as a series of half measures.

Although Gordian, as an album, doesn’t quite stun, the producer’s sensitivity to the form makes it a far more convincing prospect than most.

Tiffany’s voice at its most confident-sounding, it becomes clear that Rainbow Arabia have come on leaps and bounds from their debut, releasing an evocative, vivid album beyond the expectations of most.

Vernon guest-spots aside, though, To See More Light matches its predecessor in terms of quality.

Raw Solutions is spirited, fiercely effective club music with nothing to hide.

Instrumentally, the record has all the hallmarks of Super Furry Animals meeting Boom Bip--Rhodes and Wurlitzer, squelchy analogue synths, guitars and keyboards, metronomically tight live drums, Rhys’ brilliantly Welsh-accented American falsetto. Musically and lyrically it also possesses all of the keen humour of the former, modest and understated to a tee.

Though Younge’s production may be the star here, Twelve Reasons To Die is the work of a rap game veteran who in the autumn of his career still has plenty to offer.

Love, lust and longing are chronicled and dissected in True Romance through online relationships being gradually given tangible, tactile form, setting Charli up as a young pop star to be reckoned with.

Ultimately, the album’s electro-house elements feel like comparative cheap thrills placed amongst the wealth of knowledge and craftsmanship elsewhere on the EP.

A fair and fine experiment in folk that sees a more mature and worldly Lynch gently come to the fore.

At Shaking the Habitual’s core are the processes of deconstruction and reconstruction, so rare in the tradition of mostly reiterative pop music that the album feels transgressive, even though its underlying ideologies are reasonable rather than radical.

Whilst The North Borders is hardly a stylistic leap of faith into the unknown there’s definitely a more confident and varied use of textures and instrumentation than on Black Sands, and it marks a new, very much worthwhile chapter in Bonobo’s continuing story.

Overgrown is a heartening step in the right direction, and reassurance that Blake’s talents are far from on the wane.

With Wolf, Tyler, the Creator is exciting again: maybe not as the ringleader of the Odd Future empire, but as a producer who just turned 22.

Seabed is the worst of all worlds, all fluff without substance and repetition without meaning.

Whilst Nostalchic is Lapalux’s most full-bodied work to date, it’s also one of the finer examples of how the recent house-meets-r’n'b explosion can be executed with subtlety and finesse.

It’s not a huge stride in a new direction, but its incorporation of new sounds into the established blueprint sounds like a band both mature and renewed.

As an independently made pop album, the debut of a new project and, essentially, an experiment, Love and Devotion may have weaker moments, but is very well accomplished overall.

Fernow takes a more sprawling, less finely textured approach, so that Through the Window strikes a fine balance between morbid gloom and its faintly cheesy reference points.

It’s so clean, stylish and pleasant that few will rubbish it, so the spotlight is instead shone on select tracks whose impact is then over-stretched as they try to inject some gravitas into how fluffy it can be.

Punk Authority confirms Swanson as no longer just a man with potential, but an institution in his own right.

Varying in density, direction and style, albeit with some less consistent territory, it’s a modest but powerful score, even when independent from its original setting.

It all comes across as fairly overwrought, working very hard to sound effortless and losing its sense of self in the process.

Untogether is a well executed record, but not a stunning one.

Welcome To Mikrosector-50 is that rare thing--an electronic full-length that demands to be consumed as album, and reveals more with each return visit.

While indebted to the music that came before it, No World is very much of the here and now.

Booth and Brown are old hands these days, their territory firmly staked out. It’s gratifying to see, if only briefly, that they haven’t lost the element of surprise.

It might be their fifteenth album in a 30-year career, but Push The Sky Away proves beyond all doubt--even mine--that the group is still at the top of their game.

AMOK isn’t quite dazzling, but it’s a clear improvement on its predecessor, and more than enough to win over old fans--and perhaps a few new ones, too.

Overall, Jamie Lidell errs on the side of caution with its inherent love affair with Prince but remains playful and original in almost every other respect, which is what makes it such a cohesive and enjoyable listen.

While a demonstrable knack for narrative composition gives the album much of its immersive power, Kuopio isnʼt a huge departure from the blueprint.

House Of Woo is one of the sparkier dance albums of the year so far, and a gem amidst all the buncombe.

Silver Cloud may be unfocused at times, but itʼs also a terrific feat of conflicting textures and moods, marrying crackly scuzziness and poetic timbres with ease.

News From Nowhere marks a far more dramatic turn for them than North did in 2010.

Overall, Homosapien doesn’t possess quite the same spirit as Church With No Magic but is certainly a surefooted step somewhere.

It’s as if they’ve recaptured innocence. It’s the only way to describe what you feel had to have happened in order for the band to preserve the very essence of what was the music of their youth, in such a way that goes beyond replication.

Produced by arena rock specialists Flood and Alan Moulder, Holy Fire sounds pop sound insofar as it’s smoothed off, big and accessible.

The Man Who Died In His Boat is, to put it simply, more of the same--and whether that’s a worthy thing for an album to be is largely down to your view on this period of Grouper’s output. For what it’s worth, it’s absolutely fine by me.

Bundick never quite detaches from the sound here, and if he languishes there any longer he’s liable to go down with the ship.

The Flower Lane is arguably not as essential, nor quite as oddly memorable as previous collected Ducktails instalments, but it does appear to be a new phase of the band.

The lion's share of this album is sprawling, confused, and almost grotesquely misshapen--a grand experiment with disappointing results.

Thomson's manifesto is articulate, incisive and practically book-length.

It's an interesting change of direction, and arguably a good one too.

While certainly not the most sincere album around, nevertheless there is ingrained in its tireless activity a genuine passion to fight the loneliness of intelligence, of neurotic shyness--to fight an inability to connect with people, that condition exacerbated in the era of social media.

Berberian Sound Studios is a wonderful, intense and darkly beautiful legacy to Keenan's unique character, and testament to the band's continuing ability as their world changes.

At its core, Long.Live.A$AP succeeds because it lets Rocky be Rocky: a rapper with a unique voice and an ear for captivating beats whose lyrical shortcomings can be glossed over with healthy servings of charisma and panache.

So safely, solidly familiar is Hawk's third album that it's enough to make you nostalgic for the sound as it splutters on its deathbed.

The Narcissist II is so compelling because it is conceptually so much more rigorous and consistent, so much richer with internal resonances than its duo-created cousins.

It's really working out for him.

Only when they tip the 'dumb' into an absurdism, in bouts of monotony or mindlessly devolved weirdness, do Metz sound anything like punk, or indeed art. Herein lies the retardation.

While a large portion of the LP sounds like a continuation of his earlier work this year, these tracks point optimistically towards something a little different once again, while still managing to fit under that increasingly hard-to-define Bambounou umbrella.

Nobody's denying Herndon's ambition and technical chops, but the goals of this album--however successfully they might be achieved--are often unappealing; the sonic outcomes, regrettably, a little dull.

There's stacks to enjoy, but, for the most part, Release bares its bones and hides its heart.

Alicia Keys is a singer-songwriter in the purest sense, and Girl On Fire is at its best when Keys (and her collaborators) remember that.

Her delivery--nasal, slightly nagging--inevitably begins to grate long before the album's running time is up. But there are points of interest that take Kreayshawn beyond empty attempts at swag.

Instrumental Tourist is unlikely to be viewed as anything more than an unimposing footnote between solo records.

Even at its most oppressive (in particular the songs from Thursday), every haunted note of Trilogy seems blissful.

Even when Unapologetic fails, it often does so in interesting ways.