Like most break-up albums, ‘This Is Really Going To Hurt’ is self-indulgent. There are moments of relatability, but for the most part, Taylor’s fury steamrolls everything.

Ben Howard’s fourth record sees the artist move beyond his usual methods and proves, if anything, that he has too many good ideas to stay focused. Of all the problems to have, it’s a pretty good one.

The rapper’s attention to detail is undeniable – but serving up a pile of rhymes, rather than full-bodied songs with snappy hooks, can be boring no matter how skilful you are. Even the star-name features can’t really lift this skippable sequel and its samey songs, which is a shame, given Benny the Butcher’s proven penmanship.

Well-meaning and positive, ‘Zoom In’ is the aural equivalent of wishing somebody a ‘Happy Hump Day!’ over email, while wearing a daft grin. For all its flaws, this is a hard record to hate.

Breezy and club-ready standout ‘What’s Next’ isn’t too dissimilar to ‘Laugh Now, Cry Later’; the quietly simmering ‘Wants and Needs’, which features a glittering star turn from Lil Baby, evokes some of the more brooding parts of ‘Scorpion’; and ‘Lemon Pepper Freestyle’ is the kind of exuberant freestyle cut that we know Drake likes to close his projects with.

Soaring closer ‘The Room It Was’ reminds us that, even after 10 years in the game, there’s enough punch and gusto behind this band to swerve overall disappointment, despite a lack of inventiveness and some lacklustre songwriting. ‘The Shadow I Remember’ undoubtedly packs enough muscle to excite at Cloud Nothings’ return to chaotic live shows.

The highlights aren’t enough to make this album feel as vital as top-notch Sia efforts – namely, 2014’s ‘1000 Forms Of Fear’ or 2016’s ‘This Is Acting’. For the most part, these are reasonably catchy pop songs that become forgettable after their last chorus.

‘As The Love Continues’ is an album that opens impressively but falls short at times during its second half.

It’s a challenge to come away from ‘Death By Rock And Roll’ with much of a sense of who The Pretty Reckless really are. A pastiche of their epic rock ambitions? Something deeper? It’s that tension that frustrates and fascinates.

With so many influences laid bare, it does take until seven-minute-long crescendoing closer ‘Saintless’ to truly showcase what they can achieve musically.

Weezer have delivered an album that’s intimate, thoughtful and resolutely human.

While it’s far from a dramatic reinvention, there’s enough on display here to ensure that long-time fans will be more than happy, with a consistent array of the arena-ready riffs and post-rock choruses that cemented their name in the first place. This time, however, we’re given a welcome glimpse into the darkness that seemingly exists within.

It finds the band cruising along the middle of the road, with occasional interesting detours.

There’s a clarity here, a sense of maturity in the lyrics too – something that was often missing in his previous work. ‘Nobody is Listening’ has its flaws, but Zayn is clearly working out a few chinks in his armour, and this comes across as a step in a new and fresh direction for the enigmatic artist.

Initially, you might be disappointed to have waited two years for what at first sounds like an underworked collection of throwaways. In places, though, the record rewards repeat listens. ... But there’s no getting away from the fact that at 24 tracks long, there’s not a lot of variety on ‘Whole Lotta Red’, and the biggest take away here is perhaps that perennial rap fan favourite: less is most definitely more.

Backed up by producer 30 Roc, Big Papito and Boi-1da, this 15 -rack album is sometimes ‘big’ and sometimes ‘clever’, but occasionally goes awry.

‘Odin’s Raven Magic’s is built on incredibly specific foundations – the particulars of Norse Mythology and medieval Scandinavian poetry is certainly niche – so key aspects feel lost in translation without a hefty visual component or matching blurb. It feels less like conventional album, and more like a live piece immortalised on record.

There are some bangers that you’ll know, such as ‘Manic Monday’, which was written by Prince for The Bangles, whose singer Susanna Hoffs lends some warm guitar and vocals to match Armstrong’s silky sentimental side. It’s the perfect soundtrack to lazily whiling away the monotony of quarantine.

For the most part, the songs furrow a similar path throughout the 20 tracks and, unlike most double albums, which are either loaded with fillers or come in two bloated parts, ‘CYR’ feels like a single complete record crammed full of pop anthems. Pumpkin detractors may well hate this record’s simplicity, and they’d be right to criticise it for sounding same-y to a point. But there’s no denying Corgan’s ability to craft a tune.

No doubt many of these songs will go on to be fan favourites, but while it’s not a step backwards, it certainly is a step sideways for a band who until now have been in perpetual motion.

All of which is to say that ‘The Great Dismal’ sounds big, and far grander in scope than anything the four-piece have done before. ... There are points, however, where the record gets bogged down under its own weight, where a wave of noise subsides without doing any damage.

It’s a pleasant listen, but this feels strange juxtaposed with the lyrical content that flits between brazen vulnerability and all-out raunch-fest, demanding something more. As an introduction to the next era of Grande’s career, it’s solid, but you can’t help but feel it’s missing some of her trademark sparkle.

‘Love Goes’ does possess a handful of pop- and radio-friendly tracks, but at its core its Smith’s knack for sap and soul – and their singular, chilling vocals – that forms the base of the record. When it comes to songwriting, Smith oscillates towards what they know.

Given the somewhat disjointed making of this record – a journey that stretches from 2017 to mid-lockdown – it lacks the cohesiveness of recent material. The songs origins, however, have come from a completely different place for Morby, one more instinctive and reflective, as he jots down snapshots and musings eloquently into a handy piece of kit. Given that it kickstarted a new exploration in his songwriting, the resulting project is still worth savouring.

In standing mostly still, Travis have found contemporary eddies swirling around them.

It’s a solid enough debut that really comes to life when the band don’t play it safe. However, lacking the star power that’s expected from musicians like these (you’d never know who was in this band without being told) it’s little more than the soundtrack to a great Friday night down the local boozer.

The result: essential listening for members of the Lambily – Carey’s famously loyal fanbase – and an intriguing, sometimes fascinating artefact for everyone else.

There are some misfires here and there. ‘Escape’, which details trying to get away from the never-ending plod of everyday life, is so understated that it fails to make an impression. ‘Here I Am’, meanwhile, has the opposite problem – overcooking itself at points into OTT theatrics. Those missteps aside, ‘Melanie C’ is an invigorating, uplifting record.