Only Love is the perfect synthesis of the two distinct elements of this album, and in turn its makers, a whispered build-up bursting into a gigantic beast, brimming with passion and 1970s Fleetwood Mac guitars.

An intensely personal record, the process of listening to the dozen tracks here is as intimate--and sometimes as uncomfortable--as reading pages ripped straight from Frank's diary.

It's impressive that singing about the careless abandon of life seems as natural as ever for him, even as he hurtles towards 70.

On Clarity she establishes a glamorously appealing pop persona that’s all her own: resilient, materialistic, ready and able to call the shots.

What solidifies ‘Mother’ as an excellent debut is Poulter’s openness to embrace a myriad of influences, from UK funky to disco and ’90s house. To produce good dance music means keeping the sensations alive on the dancefloor; ‘Mother’ highlights the multiple ways the club can be enjoyed.

No Time is a fine and strange album.

Neko Case’s sixth album is typically sumptuous and lusciously heart-rending.

There’s still no other British pop star quite as entertaining and unpredictable.

If the thought of tackling Young's longest ever studio album hasn't scared you off, you must be a fan. In which case, prepare yourself for a treat.

It's an unassumingly great record that exists solely to celebrate the pleasures of making a gigantic, melodious racket.

Morning Tide is a collection of songs that take the word ‘pop’ in ‘pop music’ literally, bursting with effervescence and joy.

Merriweather..., their psych-pop pinnacle, shares the simultaneous relentless complexity and instant simplicity of the best Of Montreal albums, but where Kevin Barnes’ last effort got lost in its clever-clever weirdness, shifting rhythms and textures in a way that felt like standing onboard a bus going down a mountain, Animal Collective’s is an easy, good-natured beast.

This record’s slower pace won’t be for everybody, just as unassuming previous album ‘This Old Dog’ wasn’t, but, should you let it, this record will transport you somewhere calm and reflective.

A deeply satisfying entry into their catalogue. It’s a homecoming of discreet intentions, not the pompous heroes return they’re likely used to – the modesty and subtlety suits them.

It almost goes without saying that this album is intense as hell and not exactly teeming with light relief. It’s also an intricate and an endlessly compelling artistic statement that only Halsey could have made.

It's as if Garbus is powered by primal, wrong-righting spirits that click like a force of nature.

Through sheer faith and tenacity, Tyla anoints herself as South Africa’s brightest new star, reinforcing that amapiano was never a ‘moment’ – and only ever a true movement.

This stunning second album... exudes brash, chaotic energy from every pore. [12 Jun 2004, p.48]

‘ii’ draws heavily on reggaetón, before warping its rhythms with menacing washes of synthesiser, and wonky vocal manipulation.

JBM’s electronically tempered woodsman folk is a blissfully eerie, emotional punch to the guts.

Bad Boy Chiller Crew clearly just want to keep make songs that purposefully and brilliantly celebrate the hedonistic corners of life – and that desire should be embraced. They locate their power not just in the recording booth, but on stage, the race track and the dancefloor, fully self-aware and seemingly unstoppable.

Awesome.

Rather than cowering from a tumultuous year full of set-backs, he’s taken the opportunity to deliver a long-awaited, cohesive project built on depth, clarity and nostalgia.

The suggestion the pair have somehow increased the emotional palette of their repertoire is a red-herring, but this is still a tremendous success.

Witty and sardonic, Lime Garden’s lyrics would feel at home on any great sprechgesang record: “Tried to get surgery to see her how you see,” they sing on the latter. Yet the band’s exuberant sound marks them as their own distinct entity; entirely within their own league.

They're the sentiments and sounds of West Coast rock becalmed and quietened, stripped of fretwanking excess, and invested with a warmth that transcends cliché. A fortunate, if belated release, and a tragedy averted.

‘…Ocean Blvd’ might deal with some major existential questions, but there’s still plenty of fun to be had and cements Del Rey’s status as one of modern music’s most intriguing songwriters.

The overall lack of lyrics--the most repeated line on the 10-track record is a simple, wistful “oooh”--is only a positive, letting the listener get fully, deeply lost in the band’s fertile psychedelic world.

Prisoner isn’t quite up to the career-best standards of its predecessors, but it’s a remarkably focused and effective successor nonetheless.

This, his third album and major-label debut, stretches this sea of sound even further, ebbing and flowing from ethereal opener "Never Be The Same," to the folky strum of "For Good."

It could easily be a self-pitying album, one ready to dwell in the wreckage of incidents, but instead keeps picking up and moving on; providing a guide to how to keep on keeping on even when it feels like whatever you do is going to end in devastation.

This is a creative period, one suspects, that both fans and White alike will look back on as one of his most complete and satisfying yet.

The result is a fourth album both back-to-basics in a Ramone-next-door sort of way, but with renewed purpose and attitude, and eyeing new paths of punk-rock progress.

In places it’s a bit samey, marred by a shortage of songs. But The New Life is, nonetheless, a must-listen.

Mainly a deep pool of blissful, sedentary festival listening.

Who Me?, then, is a weird, loveable record to file alongside Wauters’ labelmate and touring buddy Mac DeMarco.

It's a collection of ludicrously fresh-sounding, short and sharp material (the majority of tracks are under two-and a-half minutes) that confirms he's in the midst of a seriously impressive rebirth.

Eels’ most complete and self-contained record, arguably the epitome of their ouvre and a record that places E – in his own gruff, xylophone-toting way –alongside the great downtrodden romantics: Cohen; Rufus Wainwright; Stephin Merritt of Magnetic Fields; Nick Cave.

Full of distortion-drenched vocals and slacker guitar lines, Yucca is a brilliantly messy thing.

A record filled with such emotional scope and range that it's tailor-made to showcase Lanegan's world weary roar. [24 Jul 2004, p.47]

Often, cover records are dismissed as simply a bit of fun or as an indulgent aside to an artists’ original output, but when Cat Power does it, it’s nothing less than soul-nourishing.

Displaying an amazing musical ear, as he’s picked monstrously riveting instrumentals to rap confidently on, Earl Sweatshirt’s latest feat feels so effortlessly him. And there’s not much higher praise than that.

Unlike Shears’ 2018 heart-on-sleeve solo debut, it’s pure escapism and his most effortless-sounding set since bursting out of the traps nearly 20 years ago.

They do propulsive pop-rock better than anyone. [11 Nov 2006, p.43]

That same battle between tension and relaxation runs throughout, fueling this understated gem of an album.

These songs may well do that all on its own, and its certainly a marvellous cap on a two-year campaign that did just about everything right--but it’s also more than that. Sucker Punch is the story of a young adult whose tales of friendship, love and more aren’t just relatable because they’re supposed to be--they simply are.

The volume remains punishing, but this record triumphs in melodic subtlety, political nuance and conceptual clarity.

It demands that you listen to it in this moment, not that you give it an easy ride because this is the man who made ‘Heroes’; and its songs more than live up to the demand.

He sounds similarly out of it on the dreamy-as-hell pair ‘Drunk And On A Star’ (“I’ve gone dizzy, like a ship/ When that water comes into it”) and ‘Ferris Wheel’ (“Well I lose my mind, sometimes”). By the end of this sublime record, you’ll have lost yours too.

Ctrl’s strength is how it doesn’t strive to be one thing over the other. It effortlessly winds between narratives and genres like it’s child’s play. This isn’t a star in the making, it’s a fully-fledged talent who’s practically showing off.

It was a savvy decision to recruit The Blessed Madonna: the result is a collection exciting, genre-splicing remixes that you could genuinely imagine hearing in the club. It may not have been the album celebration Lipa was planning, but ‘Club Future Nostalgia’ feels like a party all the same.

His debut album ‘Hypersonic Missiles’ scratched gently at the surface of a songwriter of real detail and skill, but second time around he digs real deep for a wiser, weightier record stuffed with sax-soaked rock epics that touch on life and death, love and heartbreak, rage and regret.

Still, it remains a challenge to crack their ice-cool exterior, to really feel things as they feel - but does that matter? The Strokes are, and have always been, a band that looks great at arm's length - and consequently, 'First Impressions Of Earth' remains, in the best way, untouchable: the first - indeed, maybe the last - word in New York City cool.

Soulful but never morose, and thoughtful on the passing of time and the importance of cherishing these tiny moments, it’s a sophisticated return to form.

When Wainwright leaves us hanging at the end of 'Everything Wrong''s soft chimes with the frank, childlike, "I have been really really sad/Except for having you with your dad," each sentiment is a choker.

‘Feed The Beast’ is a tremendously entertaining showcase for a pop star who can go deep when she wants to, but is also smart enough to understand the visceral thrill of dumb escapism.

On this mini-album, Templeman’s far-flung influences are brought together more fluently than before. And more importantly, he appears in the throws of continual creative reinventions; he has every reason to be feeling pretty confident with himself.

He expertly delivers gang stories with such authenticity that no wonder he’s still loved in his hometown. With ‘Vince Staples’ Kenny Beats has helped Long Beach’s finest release another spectacular record – even if it’s a slow-burn.

Murphy’s music remains grounded in Hercules & Love Affair-style housey electronica but these songs unfurl slowly and unconventionally as they take detours into skulking Grace Jones funk ('Uninvited Guest’), opulent cosmic disco (‘Evil Eyes’) and lush country balladry ('Unputdownable').

She might be lacking an obvious crossover hit, but you get the sense that those will arrive sooner rather than later; in the meantime, Georgia has something far more valuable: bleeding-edge vitality.

Harcourt might err too far towards gentle whimsy for rock fundamentalists, but otherwise 'From Every Sphere' is a rich treasure trove of sun-kissed grace and summery magic.

Fifth time round, they're proving there's still plenty of value in their elegantly downtrodden aesthetic.

Shinier and poppier than anything Speedy Ortiz have done, Slugger is Dupuis’ attempt at putting politics into pop. The results are a thrilling and fizzing triumph.

‘Joy’All’ proves that she’s maturing into one of pop’s foremost storytellers.

Their most complete, most important album yet. Ferocious, thrilling and unrelentingly heavy, it’s an emphatic reminder of who Cancer Bats really are.

TSOOL have made a double album that isn’t a burden, but rather something which is genuinely fun to get lost inside and attempt to unravel.

Resplendent with Beam’s raw, whispered tones and snatched memories wrapped in the warmth and emotional calamity Iron And Wine are known for, it’s vintage stuff.

Something about them is essentially alien--yet, very probably, that is the source of their strange, uncanny power.

By giving a wide berth to the safety of the post-rock label they've long despised, Mogwai have recorded some of their finest songs since "Mr Beast."

Ultimately, ‘Kid Amnesiae’ not only offers a mood piece, but also a companion and secret history behind the making of two essential, landmark records – and the rebirth of a great band.

By the time ‘No Mercy’ arrives, there’s no escaping how catchy this record is.

A sparkly, concise art-rock delight. [10 Jul 2004, p.47]

It's a bit like The Slits at Notting Hill Carnival. Add in lush single "Why Have We To Wait" (a cover of a track by '60s pop group The Pussycats) and it's pretty perfect.

This is an album with much to love about it, but it falls just short of their real game-changer, West Ryder.

Dean may have not shed all of her growing pains, but ‘Messy’ ultimately does everything a debut should, uniting multiple stories with a clear, radiant voice.

We say: just give in, it'll be the best vomit of your life. [20 Jan 2007, p.29]

Castle is not just cohesive--it feels like it’s been made to be consumed as one whole body of work. Each song segues into the next, giving barely a second to pause or hit shuffle.

If ‘Dust’ was Halo’s sprawling, lush, wildly diverse ‘Life of Pablo’, then the sparse, introverted ‘Raw Silk Uncut Wood’ is her ‘ye’, the sound of an artist regrouping to test new boundaries before she forges ahead once again.

This, then, is the sound of living in the moment and it’s glorious.

As albums go, ‘ATUM’ is an ambitious body of work and does ask a lot of its audience. But there’s also plenty on here to please any diehard Pumpkins fan.

This follow-up to April’s excellent ‘More Than Any Other Day’ debut is a scattergun 24-minute journey, and its every destination is a delight.

This album encapsulates the nostalgic elements of ESG, ELO, Tom Tom Club, The Doors and Sly And The Family Stone, applies a gloss of New York cool and then re-packages it with the modern production of the LCD Soundsystem, CSS and Beck variety. Forget the handclap, they'll take a standing ovation.

This is UK bass music at its best.

The Wellington five-piece’s sixth album is a fabulous meld of power-pop, electronica and US West Coast harmony that swings through techno-country on 'Prawn', and even dabbles in soulful house on 'Celestial Bodies'.

It might not hold any firm answers or blazing rebuttals to the world burning up like a flaming, stinking trash can, but crucially it refuses to look away from the mess, and confronts it instead.

Doherty’s folky 2019 album with The Puta Madres was the sound of the former kid in the riot staring out to sea and looking for a little peace. Here with Lo, it feels like he’s truly found it. Now more than ever, this record is truly Arcadian.

'Begin To Hope' is the sound of [Spektor] blossoming into the most talented female artist around--and one with edge. [8 Jul 2006, p.43]

This compilation may only offer a limited snapshot of the Dunedin sound, but rarities like the unreleased ‘Christmas Chimes’ make it worth the trip.

At its best it’s like sifting through a treasure trove of half-remembered gems, the chief reference points all coming from the colourful side of the ’60s.

It’s not an easy listen, but a brave, beautiful and affecting album--an attempt to find order in chaos that, as she wishes for it, offers a “crutch” to the heartbroken.

‘Doggerel’, in its hospitably decanted way, is every bit as transportive and absorbing as the early records, and further proof that Pixies’ music remains the alt-rock gold standard. Swill it around and savour.

To immerse yourself in 'Violet Cries' is more akin to entering a Ye Olde English fairy tale than some trashy vampire fiction, like discovering a weighty, weathered tome that lies under several thick inches of dust and recounts a distant age.

The world he now paints seems bigger, brighter, more sensitive and compassionate. His songs have grown out of the warrens of his pain, and instead have bloomed into joyous epiphanies.

In the hands of someone less witty and schizoid, a near three-hour epic would be unforgivable, but Merritt at play is frequently magical.

Crutchfield’s vocals strain with emotion against the stripped-back instrumentation here often, the result feels like this is one of her most personal musical interpretations to date.

Back To The Woods is both a consolidation for Haze (they sound like themselves again and there’s clear sonic unity--all the tracks were produced by old friend/collaborator TK Kayembe) and something of a hangover of a record.

Creatures Of An Hour is a record that finds intimacy in minimalism, and lets the space in the music build to an atmosphere almost as crushing as the audible moments.

The shift from trap beats and hip-hop delivery to purer pop suites Malone well, proving that slowing down can be a creative advantage, especially when you’re heading in the right direction.