That this 'art collective,' incubated in south London's makeshift spaces--all sketchy car parks and vibrant experimentation--should turn out a debut as casually brilliant as Other People's Problems is not surprising in itself. But that it should sound so vital, kind of is.

At times joyful and at others surprisingly moving, Bad Contestant sets Maltese on the start of a path that marks him out as a true prodigious talent. This is the voice of a true original. The future, it seems, is schmaltz.

There are no dull moments, but if there’s even a brief drop in intensity, it should only be used to reflect on the energy you probably just felt.

A Fever Dream is by far the most focused, making good on frontman Jonathan Higgs’ recent claim to NME that the songs “need each other”.

Boisterous, full of sincerity and exciting enough to make you jump on a table in the middle of a board meeting, ‘Tickets To My Downfall’ is an album that not only proves MGK can do whatever the hell he likes, but that also maybe pop-punk still has something important to offer the world.

Hypersonic Missiles mostly hits the notes he longs to convey: it’s by turns euphoric and melancholy, self-deprecating and righteous, untethered and claustrophobic. There are no easy answers here, but Sam Fender’s asking the right questions.

It's like 'Pet Sounds' born and raised in the Bronx. [26 Mar 2005, p.51]

By turns anthemic, experimental and boldly poptastic, Forever Neverland hits multiple grooves, proving she’s a fascinating, multifaceted musician in her own right. As an artist, she’s much more than someone to lean on.

The newly reduced duo return with a fifth album that could be 2012's least likely coming-of-age.

Process might not be as bold or as inventive or as life-changing as some of the other records Sampha’s had a hand in during his career, but it does have a quiet, dignified impact that suits its maker. He hasn’t stepped out of his shadowy, background world; instead, he’s invited us to join him there.

It's honest, intense, funny, furious, and on 'Letter 2 Dizzee'--an olive branch to his estranged protege--tear-jerkingly poignant.

Arthur Beatrice running their race slow and steady has resulted in an album full of sophisticated pop.

A timelessly raw and real ride through this thing called life.

If he still sounds semi-conscious half the time, so be it. Three albums into his misleading career and Damon Gough, it seems, can still write strange, life-affirming pop music in his sleep.

Another long-awaited offering finally drops and it's wonderfully enchanting.

The result is a great album that simultaneously wears its bruised heart on its sleeve (the lovelorn should be warned: it’s a real tearjerker at times), and sugars its melancholy with opulent musical arrangements.

You’ll find Eels’ most revealing, autobiographical work-to-date to be the most beautiful break-up record since Beck’s ‘Sea Change’.

Perhaps Oberst finds it tough to bring his brilliant bile to bear upon a synth the way he attacks an acoustic; a shame, as The People's Key is otherwise synthetic perfection.

The clarity is chill-wave level rather than that of a tape that had been dropped in a bath, then dried with a hairdryer. And, more importantly, the songs sound better than ever.

All in all, ‘The Lockdown Sessions’’ all-bets-off stylistic game of spin-the-bottle feels attuned to 2021’s post-genre Spotify world, as Elton continues to further his musical universe. The Rocketman remains in orbit.

This record fuses the first album’s goofy sense of humour with ‘Joy…’’s brazen manifesto for a healthier society. Despite their imperfections and the often justified criticism, IDLES are ultimately a good thing. The band want to take you on a trip and for you to enjoy the ride, and for the destination to be serene. Hold on tight.

Even at his most self-referential, Bowie is still a zillion times more inventive, brave and rocket-to-Mars brilliant than anyone who's been prodded by the ubiquitous genius stick, like, ever.

Beneath those perverted pop bounces, though, are some sadder, softer moments, and a reminder that Levi doesn’t just need discordant noise to twist your insides.

Ladytron slide perfectly vacuum-moulded from the Kraftwerk production line, a brand new model of synthesised splendour, power songwriting, and industrial dance shudderings. 'He Took Her To A Movie', 'The Way That I Found You' and 'Jet Age' capture the exotic Teutonic soul of 'Don't You Want Me' or 'The Model' while sounding thrillingly modern.

It's heady stuff, that fans of Serge Gainsbourg, Nick Cave, Scott Walker and anyone else that's ever sung miserable songs in a rumpled suit will be at home with. [10 Jun 2006, p.43]

Forget all the baggage, this is just a band in a room, and the noise they make is thrilling.

Ignore the flippant title, there’s material on ‘The Rest’ that could have fought hard for space on their debut album.

This is a beautiful album, informed as much her bold experimental music as by her golden age pop forebears. The record ends where it began, but Natalie Mering continues to push tirelessly and boldly ahead.