Taking cues from ’60s free jazz, dub and disco and combining it with the punk-rock sensibilities of their former outfit, Watersports is a delirious fever-dream of an album.

Do Whatever...sounds less like inhibitions being shed, less like sex with a tree trunk after a hallucinatory, three-day Haribo bender than their other stuff - and that's kind of a shame, too.

Beverly’s effortless indie rock debut is the result of a casual collaboration between honey-voiced guitarist Drew Citron and her occasional employer, former Dum Dum and Vivian Girl Frankie Rose.

Occasionally, Geography grows monotonous, but derivative it is definitely not. There’s something undeniably unique about the tone of Tom’s voice--precise yet effortless--and his guitar skills are prodigious.

Blue Roses, you see, is less Nash and more Bush, a dizzyingly beautiful set of delicate folk songs that sound like they’ve been sprinkled with pixie dust and reincarnated from some perfect bygone age.

Only the plodding ballad ‘Hurt Yourself’ fails to earn its place on the track list, and on the whole Death Magic makes a grander statement than its more rudimentary predecessors. It sounds like Health finally know what they want.

Consciously retro, sure, but more convincingly so than Disclosure and similar young bucks.

When they deviate into a treacly world of dub and shifting tones (‘The Channon’), there’s still a lineage, along with an identifiable personality.

Together, EL VY create an enthralling musical space where Matt Berninger can explore the idea of being Matt Berninger.

Some of 'Free The Bees' could have been recorded 40 years ago and some of it could have been beamed down from an orbiting space station 3,000 years further along the pipe than us. [26 Jun 2004, p.54]

Covers all the same ground as albums by Le Tigre, Liars and The Rogers Sisters in the space of one spectacular 45-minute burst. [12 Nov 2005, p.45]

Overall, Pure X’s immersive charm remains intact. Only ‘Rain’ betrays the heady sonics of old.

It's a fine debut that hints at a finer future - and for their determined attempts to twist something new out of retro influences, we salute them.

We’ve been overdue an election-year statement record from the trio, and ‘Saviors’ gives it a good crack. .... Of course, the record is a good romp too.

At other times we're not sure whether we should be laughing or feeling uncomfortable; either way Ventriloquizzing is certainly no dummy's game.

For an album that you might think is merely an excuse for a megabucks world tour, it sure does, er, wail.

Not hip-hop in its most conventional form then, but a mutant version drenched in, and suffused with, the same rebellious spirit. An organic meta-hip-hop, if you will, that hearkens back to Gill Scott Heron's innovation and looks forward as well.

A superbly impertinent set. [10 Jul 2004, p.48]

The Fall: quantity and quality.

They were always one of the most metal band of the alt.rock boom that emerged from their Seattle scene in the early 1990’s, but on Rainier Fog; there’s a beauty and an expanse--as well as a major chord or two--that sees the band evolving.

The album may seem short at only nine tracks, but there are enough ideas crammed into Curve Of The Earth to call it one of the most well rounded records of 2016.

A melancholy blend of shoegaze, hardcore and alt rock overlaid with Palermo’s dark and dreamy vocals.

Experimenting with different vocal registers and taking advantage of how harmoniously her voice goes with live instruments, she’s shared a collection that should leave you itching for her next step. If these are loosies, it’s proof of how top-notch her craft is.

Sexy, fierce and occasionally very, very silly, this is an album made to be played on jukeboxes in backwater biker bars the world over, loudly.

This contrarian impulse ultimately makes things more interesting, but Mount's decision to record at Toe Rag--the all-analogue Hackney studio made famous by The White Stripes and Billy Childish--imbues the songs with an archaic, lived-in feel that takes some getting used to, and you'd be forgiven for being underwhelmed by your first listen. Bear with it, however, and that feeling will turn to pleasant surprise.

Big, bounteous of hook and packed with more senseless beauty than an acre of rainforest, Pala offers the sort of agreeable nonsense every good summer needs as its soundtrack.

Yes, there are lows: the mawkish ‘Why’ is as sticky as treacle and slushy ballad ‘Perfectly Wrong’ is an unwanted lull as the penultimate track on the album, but these are in the minority. In general, Shawn Mendes is a bright and bold new direction for the 19-year-old singer, as he leaves behind sickly choruses for brazen, guitar-ridden anthems; he sounds all the better for it.

Sounding as vital as they ever have seven LPs down the track, there's life in them yet.

This is an album to file alongside Aphex Twin’s ‘Syro’: one-of-a-kind electronic artist returns reinvigorated and still way ahead of the game.

Whipping up a surplus of creeping, insistent sophistication--climaxing with ping-ponging head-wrecker 'Aspic'--you can once again envisage techno overlords such as Sven Vath dropping SMD, rather than daytime radio DJs.

As ever, their key skill is being extremely dark as well as mega poppy.

Complex and artful, there’s no need to understand fugues and canons to appreciate this--its utter perfection and joy is self-evident.

Shamelessly self-indulgent, you imagine their aim is to jam themselves into a sonic trance as much as the listener.

There ain't too much here that's going to add to her legacy. Rather, there's the unmistakable sense of someone treading water, with even the OK bits here sounding uninspired.

Beautifully recorded strings and piano occasionally break the intimidating, sustained reverie, and the stark, rolling drums of 'Prime' suggest that Wexler could take this somewhere far darker.

Not only do his [Reid's] noises fail to carry the songs, he often loses the songs altogether. They drift away from him when he should be dominating them. And this album is a missed opportunity.

‘Fighting Demons’ is evidence of a nuanced, complex artist whose legacy is stunning in its richness.

Ultimately though, sensitivity outweighs ’80s cliché.

This record is fun with a capital ‘F’, but there are moments of gravitas too. Not easy to do, that.

The Timothée Chalamet-sampling ‘As If’ sees him defiant and refusing to change. With nods to homophobia and fentanyl addiction, it’s a modern take on bratty emo and the rest of Glaive’s debut album is just as complex.

There's all sorts of other excursions as well; the benefits of having a home studio to get lost in.

Gone is the orchestration of 2008’s ‘Entanglements’, though the melodrama of the Portland band’s baroque pop remains.

Love Is Dead manages to balance hopeful, utopian pop with a darker, gloomier undercurrent.

Confident, relevant and full of gorgeous instrumentation, Ella Mai’s debut proves that she is more than worth the hype.

'Souljacker''s songs rock harder than most of E's nu-metal enemies.

Those waiting for another record as challenging as 'Vitalogy' will be left disappointed. But 'Riot Act' is the sound of a band entering a powerful middle-age. They still deserve your attention.

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

A curious hybrid, channelling both Bruce Springsteen's 'Darkness On The Edge Of Town' and Hendrix's 'Electric Ladyland' into proper classic rock ('Cherokee Werewolf') moments, but elsewhere sounding a bit elevator music.

We could all do with an absence of cynicism – and the presence of some comfort, hope and optimism – right now, and this 10-song collection certainly delivers on that front. Recorded back in September, the modest and warm performance sees Liam let down his trademark bravado, laying bare the bruised sincerity at the core of his unifying back-catalogue.

The prime intention of Wolf's Law is to overwhelm with bluster, muscle and noise, to orchestrate us clean out of our boots.

Noise music has been content to let its harsh aesthetics do the talking alone for too long; with Laced, Whitehurst has challenged that paradigm.

The tunes he’s releasing are fresh and exciting.

Born In The Echoes is a bold reinvention of the Chemical Brothers’ sound, pushing the late-period renaissance that 'Further' heralded to somewhere dark and twisted.

At its most euphoric, 'In Case We Die' is reminiscent of the cast of South Park forming a Polyphonic Spree tribute band after an all-night feast of sugarcubes and E numbers. [13 Aug 2005, p.58]

The record’s constant dive through history often comes at the cost of consistency and a solid sonic identity, though, for the most part feeling more like a scrapbook of ideas in transition than the work of such an established act.

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.

[It] takes some persistance. [18 Mar 2006, p.35]

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.

The result is the most expansive, yet cohesive record Bastille have put their name to. In fact, they may have created a perfect soundtrack to life after lockdown.

Musically, it's really just more of the boozy, ribald, shoutalong same, but tellingly the best moments are when Hutz reins in his mentalist troubadour shtick.

With a comeback pitched between the indulgent love-metal of HiM and the pubescent pop-punk of Fall Out Boy, AFI's hiatus looks increasingly less like laziness and more like a marketing masterstroke.

We’re pleased to report that her third English-sung studio effort is as nutty as ever; combining Neptunes-esque beats with flamenco, post-punk riffs, synths, Arabian strings, gongs and disco.

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

So swathed in electronic trickery, space-age swoops and super-produced vocals is My Electric Family, though, that it ends up a little soulless; individually the tracks have a removed piquancy, but an hour’s solid exposure leaves you yearning for a crackle, some fuzz, or any human intervention.

The album feels genuinely organic, a common ground of moods rather than a forced fusion.

A stonking collection of slick honky-tonk pop, the belting Stadium Nashville of 'Together You And I' shows Taylor Swift a thing or three, while 'Shine Like The Sun' and 'The Sacrifice' are pure Mumfords meets Miley Cyrus.

Without [Kate Nash collaboration Awkward], Fidlar is still an electrifying, intensely fun album. But with it, it would have been perfect.

It’s a David Byrne album. Which is to say: it’s melodic, goofy and very quirky.

They appear to be sincere in their sloganeering so you’ve got to admire them, but, really, the message of a song like ‘New Orleans’ gets seriously undermined by the shiny Busted balloon it’s caught inside.

This clash of sweetness and discordance can be irritating.

A truly lovely thing to behold; a pretence-free, summery shimmy through pop's enchanted garden, with tear-tugging Bacharachy bits and choruses of angels and everything.

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

They may have been apart for eight years, but less than a minute into opening track, 'Crystal', they've slotted back into their own idiosyncratic groove and the years are pouring off them.... Being in New Order never sounded like half as much fun as it does here.

If 'The Green Album' was the charming bouquet to apologise for not calling for five years, 'Maladroit' is the rigorous porking in the back of a second-hand Fiesta we've been gagging for since 1996. It's almost as if Rivers cares about music again.

While Mandarin certainly rock, they do so at a pedestrian amble. [11 Sep 2004, p.53]

LJ retain their title as the world's premier inner-space invaders. [29 Jan 2005, p.58]

[He] flips his hip-hop, rave and reggae on their head, using them to produce cute, beautiful tracks rather than ear-shattering junglist uproar. [20 Aug 2005, p.58]

Their future as a metal act with their fingers on the button seems assured.

While the harsher edges of their previous efforts have been sanded off long ago, frontman Neil Fallon still has a bucketload of fire and brimstone left in his belly and no-one does the possessed preacher man schtick quite like him.

With his sixth release, Brown has become the UK’s most consistently entertaining and often innovative solo artist.

The album's overall trajectory feels directed by human hands. But just as often elements feel like they've been left to lie where they fall.

There's something missing here, and that something is soul.

As an introduction to the dark sounds coming out of Scandinavia right now there's nothing better.

A nightmarish listen, but in a good way.

Both musically and lyrically, Daughter ain’t half as clever as they clearly think they are (people get serious and clever mixed up a lot, weirdly).

As Britain suffers from youth unemployment and economic crisis, our greatest currency is the chime of a golden tune. Peace have delivered 10 of them.

Yet another ’90s micro-genre gets the hipster revival treatment on Montreal duo Solar Year’s snazzy debut.

High up the Mumfords scale, checking the boxes for straining vocals, loud and quiet dynamics, thumping bass drums and American gothic lyrics about rivers and literature.

‘The Yellow Roses’ typifies the lull in the album’s mid-section, and is all the more annoying when you realise how special this record could have been with a little more quality control.

She’s as frustratingly twee as a hailstorm of cupcakes. Her second album’s adventures into electronica on the squelchy, sulky ‘Kill My Darling’ and the unsettling ‘Next Summer’ are more remarkable.

Whether listening to them or foolhardily attempting to describe them, there’s little about Marijuana Deathsquads that’s easy, but that doesn’t make their third LP any less rewarding.

III is a fluid, inventive affair.

It’s another excellent addition to Brewis’ catalogue; for Smith, it’s a confident step towards the avant-garde.

An hour of intuitive improvised excellence.

Recorded in sessions at a French convent and a San Francisco studio and featuring analogue electronics alongside strings, brass and woodwind, Geocidal is monolithic.

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

Thirteen-minute finale ‘Through The Knowledge Of Those Who Observe Us’ is the crowning glory of their career best album.

How refreshing, fun and free it all sounds.