Along with its album-ending coda, it helps to shroud the album in a rootsy, pastoral intimacy fitting for the times and akin to (although significantly meatier than) ‘McCartney’. In between, as you’d expect from a legend who’s been pushing his electronic boundaries on recent albums such as ‘2018’s ‘Egypt Station’, Sir Paul approaches the record with the same adventuring spirit as he did ‘McCartney II.’

It's astonishing how the band are unafraid to take on Serious Issues yet remain so much fun.

Newsom has managed to lessen the twee factor of her last record... in the process crafting an album as bewitching as it is odd.

One of the few certainties we can take from this restless, relentlessly intriguing album is that David Bowie is positively allergic to the idea of heritage rock.

Powerful, potent and bloody good for dancing to, In A Poem Unlimited might just be the soundtrack to the revolution.

The fourth album from Caribou is the sound of the summer we're only just getting round to enjoying.

It’s to Weller’s credit that these more plaintive and introspective tracks sit so smoothly aside ‘Fat Pop’’s more playful experiments. It means that for the second time in less than a year he’s released a record that can sit safely among the best of his long career.

People may have been wondering who Bain was when she first released music, but on her debut album she’s made damn sure you won’t forget her.

American Love Call is a timeless, optimistic listen in a time of peril one that now, and in the future, can confidently be referred to as a truly great American soul record.

It’s Dionysian disco: dynamic, decadent and utterly brilliant.

You know everything is going to be OK within seconds of the surging, tidal riffs of ‘Wraithlike’, and what follows is simply a fine-tuning of what the Park have done before.

If it’s mournful epics you want, then the album’s crammed full of them, from the strummed, outdoorsy sorrow of ‘Winter Dies’ to ‘Rulers, Ruling All Things’, which is peppered with cheeky Spanish guitar and weighty, fin-de-siècle lyrical flair.

When icy guitar turns ‘Pay My Debts’ into one of Van Etten’s darkest songs yet, Van Etten’s wounds feel incredibly raw.

To bypass Yuck would be imbecilic simply because their debut contains some of the most effortlessly hard-hitting, heart-hitting pop of 2011.

Only a few tracks come down with showtune-itis--‘All The Young Dudes’ and ‘Changes’, which morphs from a breathy, jazz-flecked ballad to an over-emotive Liza Minnelli cabaret piece in the hands of Cristin Milioti. Otherwise, invention reigns.

Dlamini’s taking no chances here and, now that the smoke’s lifted, it’s clear she’s a pop contender with the nous and drive to go as far as she wants.

Where all this fits in the mesh of the Prince pantheon is anyone's guess, but it's in the good part, and after nearly 40 albums that's an achievement.

This is nuanced, purposeful songwriting from an artist growing in power.

An engrossing, bleak and often warming set of exotica, vintage pop and childlike pizzazz.

It's got the charm and spark of the Weezer of old, and that's a quality you just can't fake.

Familiar but daring, ‘Heartwork’ is a dynamic, surprising and enjoyable adventure.

Filled with lively, stylised pop tunes, she’s once again proven that she’s not just that girl from ‘Call Me Maybe’.

Though there are less standout moments than on previous records, it is a wonderfully cohesive whole that renders brooding menace into graceful songcraft.

In aiming to examine the self rather than please others, Fontaines D.C. have exerted a knack for writing anthems that are at once self-excoriating and intimately relatable.

If the DJ's art is to unite unlikely musical party guests, The Automator is a fine and generous host.

It’s not as if Kano’s position as one of the Top Boys of an energised UK grime and rap scene needed any further cementing, though ‘Hoodies All Summer’ has done exactly that.

As the album’s title implies, this is transcendent stuff.

Thorny and tangled, this is dance music for drifting home from the club on deserted pavements; the moment of reflection after the euphoria fades.