The results, on LUMP’s second album ‘Animal’, are simply thrilling.

‘Welcome 2 America’ is an album that speaks to today’s problems and demands to be heard.

It’s crisper and glistens with ambient atmosphere and mellow beats.

An album so autonomous and remote it sounds like it's being beamed from a deep-space probe.

Now well into her stride as a solo artist, with ‘Black Girl Magic’ Dijon has produced another collection of standout, all-inclusive house classics that’ll dominate dancefloors for years to come.

The first glitchy music released this year that you could happily have sex to.

The occasional leaden production job remains the album’s main stumbling block. But if Giggs is unlikely to follow Stormzy into the mainstream, it’s hard to deny this record’s bleak intensity or lyrical command.

Turn To Clear View showcases both the cross-pollination and multiculturalism of London, while distinguishing Armon-Jones as an artist whose tastes are as varied as they are exceptional.

The 10 [tracks] he chose form a supple, sedated record that's immaculate throughout.

Sandoval's voice remains an indescribably beautiful thing, while David Roback's guitar provides haunting backing.

This album is a subtly, sweetly wonderful thing--proof that, sometimes, sonic actions speak louder than words.

As good as it is, ‘Hackney Diamonds’ does have bad spots. Country honker ‘Dreamy Skies’ would’ve sounded outdated in the ‘70s – and even a cameo from founder bassist Bill Wyman can’t save punk-y cringe-a-thon ‘Live By The Sword’, another victim of Mick’s interminable Johnny Rotten impression. Those low points are thankfully scarce, fewer and farther between than on anything this side of 1981.

In August 2014, Los Angeles trio Wand released debut ‘Ganglion Reef’, a psychedelic record inspired by a make-believe island. They’ve maintained that imaginative approach for follow-up Golem, which is full of brain-bending riffs, effects and abstract lyrics.

In turns more glam-indebted and more duskily evocative than anything they’ve previously offered up, Himalayan’s aims are as monumental as its title.

Throughout the five tracks, Walker’s lyrics never feel anthemic. Rather, they are personal, almost as if she’s right there with you. Her words are a balm: comforting advice of an old friend through a Zoom call.

These blow-dried disco numbers are unmistakably well-toned. [18 Sep 2004, p.65]

Teatime Dub Encounters doesn’t pale in their shadow or smack of a vanity or side project. This is a whole new monster born of the friction from a restless need to create, the pure abandon to do whatever the fuck feels good, and the batshit brilliance from three mad scientists with so much still to prove. Others of their standing may choose the wallowing legacy of safety. These guys do not.

A marvellous little menagerie of smart, eccentric guitar pop full of arty tics and tricks. [13 Aug 2005, p.58]

All told, while not every track has the immediacy of 'Lies' or 'Recover', there's not a weak one among them.

Nostalgia aside: this is an album worth celebrating now.

Just as good [as the compilation]. [1 Apr 2006, p.43]

On their 12th album, Red Hot Chili Peppers not only get comfortable with their own impressive legacy, but prove there’s plenty more to come.

Even if Prince, Madonna, Paul Weller, Shane MacGowan, Ice-T and Michael Jackson got together to form a freakish supergroup, they’d struggle to make an album containing as much vitality, humour and invention as Cave and his wizened cronies have.

Silver Tongues picks up exactly where they left off: back on top as one of Britain’s most thrilling rising bands.

Despite the odd unfortunate guest, ‘Rockstar’ is as bursting with life and positivity as the woman who made it.

Love and its bruising unobtainableness remains his chief concern, but with Years Of Refusal some things have changed. For a start there’s less of the stately strings of "Ringleader..." and more of the direct rockabilly of "...Quarry."

Brave and futuristic, by venturing into space, Mescudi finally steps out of Kanye’s shadow--with not just one small step, but one giant leap.

Not only do the band successfully blend genres with ease, they thrillingly leap through whole musical movements from one note to the next.

It’s “pub-punk” for now, but there’s a good chance it’ll take them to much bigger stages sooner rather than later. It’s not big, it’s not clever, but it’s a bloody hoot.

Strange Little Birds is a record that’s human to its very core, revelling in flaws and failures, but never losing hope. And in that way, it’s the perfect mirror for its creators’ 22-year career.

The record never diverts from a tried-and-tested formula, but Crossan brings a modern touch via nifty production tricks and songwriting knacks.

The trio reflect the growing bleakness of the world around them by sounding more fiery and furious than ever before.

Lostprophets have, against the odds, carved something genuinely fresh.

Rarely does a remix EP recalibrate songs so thoroughly while maintaining every inch of their magic, but we should expect the unexpected from Phoebe Bridgers by now.

A union of intelligence and passion. [26 Mar 2005, p.51]

Elegantly-strummed slices of lo-fi Americana.

Probably the most gutsy, timeless recording of his career. [5 Aug 2006, p.29]

This is more than just a superior soundtrack album, and the 18-year-old prodigy can mark it off as another job expertly done. Her approach to alternative pop music is frighteningly adventurous.

It's as idiosyncratic and tinged with goofiness as one might expect for a band with members called Panda Bear and Geologist.

A freshly squeezed record with the pulp left in it.

It gives an alternative to Lipa’s super-polished pop take on the shimmying sounds of the ‘70s, feeling delightfully handmade as it struts through 12 sublime tracks that transport you out of the four walls of your home and into a world much sparklier, sweatier and fun.

An album of eerie, elusive beauty.

Webster’s evolution from her self-titled record is a delight to witness. The songs are more direct and lyrically she’s become a remarkable observer of the little things that make us tick.

Nao’s real flair, though, lies in embracing the old school and making it seem fresh. ‘Get To Know Ya’ and ‘DYWM’ both re-rub late ’80s soul and push it firmly into 2016 with crisp production and an effortless dancefloor feeling. More proof, if it were needed, that Nao--and her odd but addictive vocal--belongs up front.

Strange, out of time, unfashionable, eccentric, obsessed with found sound, full of boffiny tics and tricks. [24 Jul 2004, p.48]

Melodies bristle, harmonies surge, hooks fly dense as bullets in The Raid and Joe Keefe's lush stoner vocals trace out stories of neighbour-annoying hedonism, missing home and boozing and rocking all the way to the afterlife. Fun-drenched.

For all its flaws, 'Up All Night' bristles with passion, energy and, most importantly, amazing songs. [26 Jun 2004, p.53]

Though the guests form a great deal of the fabric of the album, they do so on Battles’ terms, firmly entering their universe. No guest – not even Shabazz Palaces’ flowing verses on ‘Izm’ – steals the show. ... An album – that indulges the weird and wonderful side of Battles while also, simply, giving the people what they want.

While the band's long-standing interest in songs about monsters, vampires and zombies is absent, Fair's yelps of enthusiasm and lightning-strike guitar could wake the dead.

‘Welfare Jazz’ sees them sidestep any so-called second album slump. There’s no huge reinvention of sound – except for some country-ish sounds, typified by the Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn-style call-and-answer ‘In Spite Of Ourselves’, a punk hoedown with Amyl and the Sniffers‘ Amy Taylor – but a definite reinvention of mindset.

Overall, ‘I Told Them’ is not only more memorable and focused than its expansive predecessor, but it’s his strongest album yet.

For all its occasional lack of bite and drama, Halcyon Digest's tender, transgressive pop proves a fine and focused addition to a uniquely haunting body of work. Cherish it like you would a phantom limb.

For now though, this is a very fine record. Not Herculean exactly, but certainly something that NME loves.

Sonik Kicks is the sound of Paul Weller growing old the only way he could--not particularly gracefully, but with no small amount of style.

Fully fleshed out pop songs with endless charm, if this is what living in the moment sounds like, it suits her.

They can still write the most incredibly beautiful songs. [23 Oct 2004, p.49]

There are subtle nods to what’s come before, but for the most part, this record sees Morello adapt with the times to create a record on the cutting-edge of a genre often afraid to evolve.

Hebden has recalibrated his sound to something darker and more rhythmic, without losing a note of melody. [21 May 2005, p.66]

They’ve pitched their comeback between an emotional exorcism for Homme, but with enough fan-service for the die-hards; this is up there with their darkest, knottiest material to date, and will be appreciated all the more for it.

‘TILT’ is a record that proves that campness and ridiculousness doesn’t have to come at the expense of real depth.

This love for dramatic highs and muted lows on this album makes the record a rollercoaster of emotions and sounds, and a polished and entertaining debut.

By now, it should be clear that this lot know how to pen a whopper of a pop anthem – that remains apparent here – but more crucially ‘MUNA’ also serves as solid evidence of a band with many more chapters of evolution up their sleeves yet.

He's made one of the best British albums of the year--that's why he should be feted.

Hardcourage steps on from the broken UK garage rhythms that typify much of FaltyDL’s earlier work and into the sort of soulful, pleasurable house grooves occupied by the likes of Four Tet and Jamie xx.

There’s also clarity in the lyrics--some of his most direct yet.

The likes of highlight ‘Ruby’ and ‘Step Into The Cold’ are gloriously faithful nods to their influences, executed with enough dedication to the head-music revivalist cause to make them far more than mere pastiche.

It’s clear that the members of MICHELLE are moving forwards together in search of something new, but are grateful to be in no rush to find it.

This third album is as good a guitar-pop set as you'll hear all year.

Like cold, clean water, Austra’s Future Politics washes clear the mental muck, leaving you feeling alive again.

Where the songs were once floaty-light, 'The Enemy Chorus' is anchored in electronic menace and murky krautrock undercurrents that make it throb as much as shimmer. [20 Jan 2007, p.31]

It showcases Solange's experimentation at its best, but is only a prelude to a full album in 2013.

This is a colourful, energised collection of work from an artist who could comfortably stay in her own lane, but chooses not to.

That's what they do with pop--layer incongruous harmonies and bastardised riffs to make us look at it anew. If that sounds like too much effort, then Man... isn't for you. If however, the thought of it as a brilliantly unsolvable puzzle appeals, then bow at the feet of pop's new Picassos.

Foreign Body crawls under the skin and stubbornly lodges itself there.

Produced by the band, with help from Pink and former member of Test Icicles Sam Mehran, its follow-up is cleaner and more conventional. But there’s a tease of their old sound before the murk lifts completely.

A brazen, heartwarming, classic '70s bardic rock album, spirited enough to compete with and instruct the Ashcrofts and Gallaghers.

True to title ‘Things Take Time, Time Time’s unshowy songs take hold more slowly, but Barnett’s small snatches of happiness grip you all the same.

Massive in pretension, slightly too long and gothic, but when all the pieces fit, you can't deny its unstoppable power.

It's what The Velvet Underground would've sounded like if they'd been psychopaths. With a heart.

Whatever gear they have at their disposal, WITTR remain almost unbeatable for swelling, atmospheric excellence.

Here, on their seventh album and two decades down the line, Enter Shikari sound perhaps the most joyful they’ve ever been, and even when they become characteristically philosophical, it still comes from a place of positivity.

‘Good Lies’ puts the pair on the edge of a major breakthrough. Its pop-leaning moments are also its most exciting, and the creativity and skill with which they bridge these worlds is thrilling.

‘Venom’ is a consistent album that builds on last year’s teaser project ‘EXPLICIT: The MiXXXtape’, but this time with a significantly raw feel.

Texans Explosions In The Sky have not only stuck faithfully to their roots, they've made the defining album of their career.

There are many marvellous things about Orville Peck’s new six track EP, ‘Show Pony’, which shimmers as brightly as a cowboy’s pair of freshly polished spurs.

So Much Fun is a free-spirited record that comes with heavy doses of ridiculousness, but it’s lovably silly, and is a welcome dose of light relief.

This is a left-field masterpiece and Brown's best work for a decade.

A great record. A great work.

This is a powerful, memorable collection. Accessible from the get-go, ‘Life Under The Gun’ carries a universal message while staying true to its hardcore roots.

With ‘The Million Masks Of God’, they’ve written something that feels similar to one – a record that traverses every corner of their sound, from beefy rock songs to string-assisted grandeur and acoustic bliss, further cementing their place as an under appreciated band to treasure.

By eschewing the feel-good fakery of some of their peers, they’ve cracked something far more unifying than meaningless, posi-punk platitudes.

It is by all means a stimulating body of work with ample substance, but it doesn’t take itself too seriously. Less focused on his innate individuality, it’s a John Mayer passion project that toasts to the good old days, when musicians were more inclined to follow instincts and feelings than clicks and likes.

With so much honesty packed into the 11 tracks, the album is an invitation and a challenge to go after what you want – without apologising for it.

Positive but with some very real weight behind it, the album’s closing track sees the self-proclaimed God of Partying emerge with a renewed desire to show the whole world a good time.

Malawi’s Esau Mwamwaya, however, is proof that even the West’s slickest and sickliest can be used well by inventive minds.

What they have done, though, is find their voice again, and, for the first time in over 20 years, The Libertines feel like a band with a viable future.

For her less conventional-sounding follow-up, she and producer Prince Fatty have beefed up the basslines, giving her tropical pop songs a dubby atmosphere.

There are plenty of hooks here, but nothing to make a festival tent bounce like ‘Boogie’ or ‘Gold’ can. It’s a small criticism, though, on an album that resets Brockhampton’s compass and sees them straying away from the danger of implosion that ‘Iridescence’ seemed to suggest.