Turn Up That Dial won’t dethrone 2005’s career-defining The Warrior’s Code, but it’s a welcome hug from a collective who are, as ever, the best of men.

Truly, so confident and perfectly measured are Royal Blood here that, while definitely focused on the stars, they sound like they never noticed the gutter was there in the first place. It’s rock’n’roll lit up by a disco ball.

A composed and well-thought-out record, Life In Your Glass World doesn’t exactly shatter expectations, but what it does showcase is a talented band operating with a fully-fledged confidence and faith in their craft, and that’s more than fine by us.

This is an important album, not only because it extends Gojira’s palette and cements their place as one of metal’s most skilled and uncompromising bands. They’re also one of the most inspiring as they call for strength, for action and above all for fortitude.

There’s nothing on here quite as catchy as Tiny from Give A Glimpse Of What Yer Not, but that may well be because this is a more consistent effort, an album full of highlights that reminds us that being ​‘lovely’ and ​‘loud’ aren’t mutually exclusive qualities, while furthering one of the most consistent catalogues in rock.

Greta Van Fleet aren’t offering anything innovative or original, and much of their appeal surely comes from listeners’ appetite for simpler times of players plugging in and rocking out which will never truly be rekindled. Hand yourself over to a psychedelic song of praise like Trip The Light Fantastic, though, or fall into The Weight Of Dreams’ fathomless nine minutes, and this legitimately might be the next best thing.

Violence Unimagined sounds exactly as you imagine it will, but still surprises in just how much Cannibal Corpse have left in the tank.

That’s not say it’s unlistenable, far from it. In fact, it’s addictive to see where the record goes next. While most hardcore bands are adamant about getting heavier, The Armed are going poppier and, ultimately, weirder, often in the space of one verse. ... Sure, it’s not something you’re going to dip in and out of on a whim, but when you’re in, you won’t want to leave.

So far, so good then. It’s a takeaway reinforced by most of the album, in fact. ... Where Let The Bad Times Roll will likely divide opinion is in the mid-point, three-track swing of the aforementioned, ice-hockey-goal-music swagger of Coming For You, the bookending, rocked-up cover of evil orchestral classic In The Hall Of The Mountain King, and the embarrassing dad overshare of We Never Have Sex Anymore.

With Tony’s smooth voice the perfect accompaniment to all of this, Genghis Tron Version 2.0 makes for one of the most exciting returns to action in recent years, and with Dream Weapon they have only cemented their enviable legacy.

For all the existential dread contained therein, G_d’s Pee… also includes moments of elegiac beauty, as on shorter tracks Fire At Static Valley and the exquisite OUR SIDE HAS TO WIN (for D.H.).

This is an album that’s compelling and will leave you hanging onto your headphones to see what’s coming next.

There’s catharsis and darkness, but they are of the most forward-looking variety, fringed at times with something approaching hopeful joy. In a time where Evanescence’s usual emotional touch could easily speak to feelings of isolation, fear, confusion, hopelessness, loss and fragility, The Bitter Truth gets on that frequency and interrupts it.

While the first half of Is 4 Lovers takes a jackhammer to old, if still relatively fertile ground (hey, why have one song called NYC Power Elite when you can have two?), the second half dials down the pulverising and amps up the pulsating on less frenzied, more electronic songs such as Love Letter and Glass Homes.

Rarer still are those who can apply their personality to another’s songs and make them theirs simply by sitting down and playing them. Here, she has done so to nothing less than a triumphant degree.

There are no surprises here, it simply feels as though they’re picking up from where they left off from seven years ago; if you’ve ever listened to one of their albums before then this will feel instantly familiar.

The Lunar Injection… is too long and could easily be trimmed of material most diplomatically described as ​‘non-essential’, particularly the little instrumentals/sample-laden wig outs between tracks. The rub is, of course, that these short sonic mood boards are often the bits where Zombie tries something new.

At times it feels like the band could let loose a little more, but such observations are minor quibbles when faced with a record as enjoyable as I Won’t Care How You Remember Me. An album packed with heart, soul and – despite its title — memorable songs, LP six is another gem from a band who rarely let you down.

As far as sludgy, frenzied noise rock is concerned, there are few who do it better than Melvins, and Working With God is tangible proof.

Through all this existential and unremitting bleakness, the music is vital and vibrant, using a broader palette and brighter colours than they’ve ever used before.

Trauma Factory’s straight-up rap moments are more hit-and-miss, with the likes of exile and upside down feeling coherent enough but lacking in bite, demonstrating how nothing,nowhere. sounds best when the musical backdrop is thicker and leans more into the heavier side of Joe’s sound.

This mega reissue brings together just about all the Vol 4 one could ever need. ... The Steven Wilson remixes are superb, a collection of alternative versions of the songs that are worth it for the curiosity factor alone. ... As for the live stuff, the band are simply on fire, heavy as hell, and completely in the zone throughout.

Their most confident collection yet, full of persuasive rock songs in which Taylor, her voice punchily prominent in the mix, holds court on a variety of important topics.

While at some points their aversion to easy melody and obvious structure hoists them by their own petard, there’s more than enough strange stuff here to quicken the pulse and capture the heart.

FLOWERS for VASES / descansos continues what Petals For Armor started in showing just how much of Hayley Williams we still have to get to know as an artist. The Paramore question mark continues to hover, but here Hayley has once again shown that there’s more to her than one band.

It’s an exhibition of just what a simply, fundamentally good band Foo Fighters are, and how skilled with a tune and a melody Dave Grohl is. You couldn’t call it stripped back as such, but its less hectic nature throws things into slightly sharper focus.

To nobody’s surprise, the ten pieces premiered on this third instalment often pulse with the sort of ominous keyboard patterns that’ll have you checking over your shoulder for masked serial killers or vengeful sailor ghosts.

Mr Wilson has travelled all over the musical map, but appears to be more direct in wanting bigger results this time around. Is it better than what he’s done before as a result? Not always, but it’s the next blockbusting step from an artist who’s always done things on his own sonically strange terms.

it is a wonderful thing to hear Weezer still actually sounding like Weezer here. That they’ve achieved this while pushing their creative boundaries with an orchestra only underlines it. And the best part is, when the time is right and we go back to stadiums again, they’ve still got what promises to be the perfect album to celebrate with left in the chamber.

Finding solace in the fight, The Hope List is a resounding show of strength from Lonely The Brave – one which points towards a future rich with possibility.

The Helm Of Sorrow manages to sound like a different entity, while still riding that wave of existential horror.

It jabs with style, and demonstrates that, far from running out of ideas, this band remain intent on staying at the cutting edge of modern British rock.

Every note and drumbeat speaks of friends enjoying the freedom to do whatever they damn well want, in the company of musicians and composers whose talents bring out the best in each other. Even amongst such impressive back catalogues, Killer Be Killed have crafted a record which absolutely destroys in its own right.

After a while the hell-raising wears thin, though, and Luke’s jugular-bulging yells start to sound indistinguishable between songs. But when the Nil’s no-holds-barred approach comes good, it’s glorious.

Neither Boris nor Merzbow are particularly known for their music being concise, and of course this opus is no exception — clocking in at almost 90 minutes it takes its sweet time making its point. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as they unhurriedly pick apart their previous material it provides fresh perspective and an opportunity to rediscover.

As with the original, Black Stallion is an album of competing extremities held together in a state of perfect equilibrium. It is certainly true that White Pony needed no augmentation. In its original incarnation it sounds as breathtaking and innovative now as it did in June 2000. To weigh Black Stallion against it would not only be unfair, but also miss the point. What we have here is a whole new set of parallel hoof prints to marvel at.

Weird! is a collection of good moments disappointingly hidden under an avalanche of sugar.

Does it need to be quite as much of a lengthy binge as it is? Maybe not. But second helpings of something that’s fundamentally good are never a bad thing. And in the moment that Smashing Pumpkins currently find themselves – three-quarters reunioned, confident, dare one even say comfortable – there’s joy to be heard throughout, as they turn over rocks and see what they can find.

A selection of genuinely catchy songs built around cast-iron melodies.

Power Up is a reminder that this music has a power that belies its apparent simplicity (and here do not mistake this for being easy – go stand in a practice room and listen to how many drummers can’t do the ’DC beat properly). The context and tragic shadow from which it comes and the world into which it arrives makes its odes to freewheeling good times so very poignant.

There’s plenty to latch onto, whether it’s the neck-rending riffs, the snarling/soaring vocals or just wanting to vibe out and let the darkness envelope you; it’s a display of artistry.

Ghostemane knows who he is. That he expresses himself this articulately without giving too much of that away is in itself testament to his esoteric skills.

BMTH have long known how to play what cards when, and just when we need something cathartic, something heavy, something with an element of the familiar in amongst the creativity, they deliver richly here. Fourteen years on from their debut, much has changed, but in some other ways some things are exactly the same.

The beauty of Puscifer is that they can be taken any way you like depending on how you look at them. It is more than enough that the music on Existential Reckoning is superb. But should you attempt to get under the skin and solve the puzzles within, there are vast riches to be had.

NOTHING, a band noted for their none-more-dour demeanour using a black hole as inspiration might be a little too on-the-nose for some tastes. At a time when hope feels in scant supply, wade into the blackness of these waters at your own discretion.

Grown men revisiting their youthful hijinks should be a terrible idea or, to borrow an FNM title, a midlife crisis. Instead, this record is an absolute rager, testament to both the original material and the present-day dedication of its lunatic creators.

Razzmatazz comes at just the right time and it was well worth the wait. iDKHOW might not be changing the game exactly, but they’re packing the kind of addictive, dopamine-like qualities that’ll make you want to keep pumping coins into the slot for another hit, time and time again.

The main selling points of this album are a sleek production job and the technical performance of vocalist Conor Mason, who once again proves himself to be in possession of some serious lungs. The problem, however, is that despite the surface sheen, too many of Moral Panic’s songs fail to really go anywhere.

A reminder of how fun music can be. Sure, it’s not as joyous as Morbid Stuff, but for a stopgap to keep fans going in these bewildering times, it does the job nicely.

There’s nothing too out there on Forgotten Days – the ’80s synth of the closing Caledonia probably the biggest surprise, but a welcome one: a playful take on the pain of the past – and all the tracks are solid, with any experimentation woven tightly around Pallbearer’s doom roots. This is the sound of a genre being refreshed, and of a band making it entirely their own.

Throughout, DevilDriver are taut, tight and tenacious.

This is the band’s most engaging and expansive musical outing to date.

It’s a lot of fun. With all this in mind, will such an eccentric listen be for everyone? Probably (k)not. But, right now, you’d be silly to not let yourself get caught up in it.

Each of their previous three albums have proven invigorating examples of their punishing aesthetic, but Atlas Vending finds them pushing things forward, broadening their horizons to tremendous effect.

Each is very different, but they’re connected by a sense of the time and space they were crafted in. It’s a collection of postcards from the edge that we’ve all been walking and one that’s utterly engaging.

A superb dose of head-banging fun by way of The House That Heaven Built brings this record to a joyous conclusion, and caps off an experience courtesy of Japandroids that overflows with vitality.

Not only is Tickets To My Downfall a slick sideways hop from what you might be expecting from Machine Gun Kelly, it’s done excellently. It celebrates everything great about pop-punk without feeling cookie-cutter or third division. It also finds its energy from the knots Kells works through in the lyrics.

Some will inevitably hold every Public Enemy album up against their ironclad classics like Fear Of A Black Planet and It Takes A Nation Of Millions, but to compare What You Gonna Do… to these untoppable milestones is to miss the point. What matters is that PE are not only still going after all this time, but still making music that matters.

Always on the front foot, bloodied but unbowed, IDLES are a claustrophobic, relentless, airtight and pulverising machine of perpetual motion. That they are able to keep themselves airborne throughout Ultra Mono is testament to the art and skill that lies behind such an unstinting display of brazen contempt.

For Deftones, finding the sweet spots between compromise and balance, factoring in each member’s duties and creative inputs may be a more appropriate way of assessing the delicacy of the task at hand. It’s within that push and pull, that the aptly-named, tension-charged Ohms proves itself a fascinating entry into the band’s canon.

It’s not just the righteous fury of the music that makes it so great, either – these are songs built on a truly wide world of extreme sounds, welded together into a unique sonic bomb.

Shame is a weighty slab of industrial punk that is effectively the soundtrack to a tortured soul mentally coming apart. Reinventing a core element of themselves, Uniform present a side they have previously kept boiling angrily under a darkened surface.

There’s little to link the various tracks on this eclectic collection, nothing to make it a coherent whole, but it certainly underlines the band’s extraordinary ability to shape-shift. Mastodon have changed over the years, but Medium Rarities proves they have always operated in a dimension that isn’t entirely earthbound

It’s not pared back, but WE ARE CHAOS is a less immediately antagonistic and forward prospect than recent output. But that’s a good thing that’s been mastered to darkly brilliant effect here. Unexpected, bold and artistic, Manson remains an artist it is dangerous to underestimate.

It’s a fun, if not unusual listen, that ploughs deeper into the band’s flirtations with synth-pop and electronic experimentation. It’s lacking in the enormity expected of a celebration of 25 years of existence and this is not necessarily a bad thing, however, as it’s a further example of Ulver’s ability to push the envelope and keep their music fresh and exciting.

It’s an intelligent, thrilling and likeable record from one of the most exciting bands in British punk.

It’s never derivative, nostalgic, or trying to be anything that it’s not. It’s a PVRIS album, packing in every quality that she’s built that name upon, while powered by a subtle forward motion. That every idea and sound heard is hers and she can finally, proudly take sole credit for that is to be celebrated.

No mere nostalgia trip, S&M2 stands as a tribute both to Metallica’s growing confidence as players and composers, and an absolute vindication of their decision to revisit one of their most inspired creative outings. Within our world, they remain utterly fearless and inarguably peerless.

What Blues Pills serve up, like The White Stripes or Rival Sons before them, is a perfect transmission of warm rock’n’roll from a time gone by that effortlessly slinks along with natural swagger, without ever feeling studied.

Biffy Clyro have delivered an album of restless invention, substance and style that arrives like a spray of water on the arid expanse of this saddest of summers.

This project began as the soundtrack to an art show, and was inspired by vistas streaming past windows on interminably long drives, so none of this was meant to be easy to enjoy. It’s music to accompany contemplative walks, light skies and dark moods. It’s hard work, but it will work on you.

This is more than a revelatory, historical document. While it signals the beginning of the end of the original band, it also confirms that when rock’n’roll is at its best, it pushes forward into new territory and has the power to change how we think and how we feel. Live At Goose Lake is effectively a testament to sonic liberation.

NOFX’s take on Frank’s tracks turn them into turbo-charged So-Cal workouts without really having to do too much to them beyond playing them really fast. Frank’s contributions, meanwhile, see him doing a raucous version of Bob and Perfect Government in his own charming manner, while his take on reggae number Eat The Meek is smart and sharp.

Admirably aiming high when so many seem content to play it safe and follow the footsteps of their peers, this a wonderful rollercoaster of a record that puts Creeper way out on their own. It wears its palpable love of music and art with a glossy pride and it deserves an audience that’ll cherish and unpack its layers for a long time to come.

Ultimately, Bush devotees who lived through the alt.rock ‘90s will find much to love about The Kingdom. But it is also an album delivered with Rossdale’s customary style and panache, not to mention tunes that sit elegantly alongside the likes of Everything Zen and Swallowed.

For the most part though, this is The Ghost Inside getting back to the largely straightforward, undeniably powerful mix of metal and hardcore they have always done so well.

Amends is a portrait of the artist as a young man, offering fans the chance to time travel and spend time with an old friend. It’s also the origin of Chester Bennington as a musician and is therefore an essential, rewarding and emotional listening for anyone who is a fan of his work.

Lamb Of God are not the band they once were. Those were the sounds of then. This is the now.

A sensory overload that doesn't let up. [28 Mar 2020, p.51]

If one thing about The Used’s eighth LP stands out above all others, it’s how thrillingly modern it sounds.

At its best, Hvman:||:Natvre has the impressive magic that has made Nightwish one of Europe’s biggest bands. But there’s a feeling this time that for such a big concept, things haven’t gone quite far enough.

Across a stirring nine-song sprawl, they showcase enough pulsating purpose, and fresh folds of their rich Gothic influence, to prove there’s still plenty to be drawn from that deep well.

It’s wilder and unvarnished, adding up to a self-portrait that’s intensely candid and intimate.

Being so musically and thematically rich, GLUE will be a lot of things to a lot of people, and therefore act as an enduring monument to being young and looking ahead in a world that doesn’t always seem to have, or want, a future. This is an album that simultaneously makes you sad and glad to be alive. Treasure it. Use it.

Much of the album is minimalist in its approach, allowing Jonas Renkse’s vocals to guide the way against a kaleidoscopic soundscape of soft melodies that feel almost ethereal.

It’s not perfect (hello, Bending The Arc To Fear), but for a band previously hindered by wearing their influences so blatantly on their sleeve, they have made it to their final form.

Despite the band stretching their boundaries wider than ever before and employing a kitchen-sink approach to experimentation, this is the most Enter Shikari sounding record the band have made to date.

From its furious themes to the explosive energy and the livewire sound, you’d be hard pressed to find a band doing anything quite like this right now, and it’s genuinely exciting to think what Nova Twins can achieve with these 10 tracks of pure sonic power in their hands.

A strange, unruly offering. The momentous, squalling dissonance of the curtain-raising Reducer seems to signpost where they’re going, but then they spin off into a twisted, eight-track labyrinth.

Titans Of Creation – the quintet’s 13th studio album – is packed tight with the precision and power that they’ve made their own for more than 30 years. On tracks such as the hectic WWIII and Curse Of Osiris, Testament sound as forceful as they ever did.

If you’re looking for a short, fun thrill from a gang of likeable oiks with all the grace of a one-legged camel, talk to The Chats.

As well as being excellent, Local Honey is evidence that the man himself is able to adjust his songwriting to his circumstances without compromising in its quality. It all makes for a seriously sweet listen that reaffirms the Jersey boy as a storyteller and songwriter par excellence.

It’s Pearl Jam’s most incensed album since 2006. It’s their most musically inventive since 1998. And, by virtue of its themes, it is their most gravely needed of their entire career. It is, in short, a triumph.

Across 12 tracks, it does get a little samey, but then again, individual songs aren’t the entire point here. This is a record that creates an atmosphere around itself, a world of its own, without sounding twee or like something from a real ale festival. A curio, maybe, but a heartfelt and skilfully realised one from a genuinely unique artist.

It feels like tectonic plates have shifted for the band with The Ghost Of Orion, ushering in the dawn of a new era for My Dying Bride.

They deliver a raw brand of garage-punk that isn't exactly new but remain fresh in these hands. [14 Mar 2020, p.73]

This is an album that will still stand as a monument to just how scaldingly intense music can be.

For the most part, Ice plays with middle-age, cranking up the grumpy-old-man persona he established on 2014’s Institutionalized with tongue-in-cheek glee and riding it through the exploitation movie excess of Thee Critical Beatdown.