Babelsberg is ultimately a sorely-needed tonic. Mellow-sounding, but hefting weighty humanitarian concerns on its back, it boasts a you-are-here focus normally only accorded to those who are about to peg it.

Unashamedly traditional it may be, but there will be few better country records released this year.

Though billed as a salute to Armstrong, Ske-Dat-De- Dat… could more accurately be described as a celebration of Crescent City, the magic and wonder of the burg embraced to the max on a gloriously heartwarming That’s My Home.

Easy listening it isn’t, but Three Futures cuts into the tangled complexities of human connection with an uncannily unwavering precision.

A high watermark in the canons of all involved.

What really sets Total Strife Forever apart is Doyle’s vocal ability.

Quite possibly their most essential waxing since 1982’s irresistibly suave Eligible Bachelors.

Another minor issue is the non-appearance of key outfits The Danse Society, Sex Gang Children and X-Mal Deutschland, though the welcome inclusion of hard-to-source rarities from underrated, short-lived acts Rema Rema, Modern Eon and Dublin experimentalists The Threat ensures that Silhouettes And Statues ultimately makes for a surprisingly joyous celebration of all things dark and deathly.

Rather than damaging their genre-shaping legacy (influencing the birth of thrash and the wider scene in general), they’ve embellished it with a series of albums that could have followed Russian Roulette (1986), with The Rise of Chaos possibly their strongest reunion-era release so far.

Musik, Die Schwer Zu Twerk rarely comes down from the krautrock klouds over the course of its 30-minute running time.

Sketches Of Brunswick East is the band’s mellowest outing since 2015’s Paper Mâché Dream Balloon.

With minimal instrumental backing, the pair confidently locate the essence and atmosphere of the original album.

Finding inspiration in the current climate, Taylor has created a modern blues masterpiece for troubled times.

Acoustic At The Ryman is an unplugged album done right. A live record that’s not just for hardcore fans, it’s a must for all lovers of alt.country.

Clearly, Bartos carries the romance and self-aware humour of the “classic” Kraftwerk in his genetic code: the sweet, buoyant, dignified and melodious Nachtfahrt and Hausmusik, for example, breathe the same rarefied European air which rendered The Man Machine and Trans-Europe Express such heady and immaculate touchstones.

It’s Yorkston’s most accomplished work yet and the best album by a British singer-songwriter so far this year.

While this is a deeply personal work whose soul-searching recalls the defences-down honesty of Blur’s art-rock masterpiece 13, it’s emphatically not a solo album… Though it could be a duo album. One of the most touching elements of The Ballad Of Darren is hearing Albarn and guitarist Graham Coxon singing together.

If the quality flags on Spanish Eyes or Girl Of Mine, that’s down to oversentimental material. And when the completed versions kick in with Raised On Rock, it ain’t hard to see why Elvis was still scoring hits amid glam, metal and Philly soul; class wins out.

Richly garnished by fiddles, bottleneck and accordion, the rejuvenated Slim Chance may conjure echoes of Lane’s The Passing Show, but ultimately seem to be emerging with a rough-shod, rollicking sound of their own. On this form, they can be sure their old mate would be leaning at the bar, nodding approval.

The level of consistency remains high throughout a 14-track running order encompassing the belligerence of Evil Never Dies, and the title track, mid-tempo maulers (Lone Wolf) and epic closer Sea Of Red.

Though clearly indebted to Joy Division and Metal Box-era PiL, the band’s two official 45s, Final Achievement and the IV Songs EP, remain compellingly bleak post-punk snapshots, while their lone John Peel session (posthumously released as the Fin EP, and featuring the intense, 11-minute The Fatal Day) reveals just how formidable a unit In Camera were developing into on their own terms.

The likes of Mark Lanegan and Nick Cave have a new rival in the practising of dark musical arts.

Like the 1999 film Magnolia that earned Mann an Oscar nomination, Mental Illness would make a similarly engrossing mosaic of stories for the big screen.

A fine testament to one of soul’s major labels, and a must-have.

Though recorded cheaply, The JPSE’s early material remains especially sublime.

At this stage, it’s almost impossible to grasp that Opeth were once a bona fide death metal band, though more aggressive songs such as Voice Of Treason remind you that they’ve never lost their edge.

Fusing those 60s influences with rich electronica creates a tableau that’s familiar in parts, but offers a distinctive twist to the predictable.

Factory Floor have achieved a pure distillation of their live experience: this is as direct, exciting and thrillingly minimal a dance record as you’ll hear this year.

Standards, therefore, is gloriously, pertinently verbose, slurping like a horse from the wellspring of inspiration.

Boss Hog still thrill, still hint at a better future. Just one that comes before 2034 you’d hope.

So, while this represents not exactly business as usual, but definitely still in the office, it does mean Dead Meadow have managed to sustain their identity for over two decades now--comfortably their longest, sludgiest achievement to date.

Shonna Tucker may have left the fold for a solo career, but in Hood and Cooley the Truckers still have two of the most eloquent songwriters working in Americana.

Crosby’s voice takes you flying back down the decades yet without ever longing for past glories.

There’s no instant standout, but the album both withstands and repays repeated listening.

The Overload is quite the debut.

I’m Not Bossy, I’m The Boss is the work of neither dominatrix nor diva. It is, however, Sinéad O’Connor’s most emotive, accessible work in years and could well thrust her back into the limelight all over again.

Wet Leg’s debut album is simultaneously of its time, ahead of its time, and evokes past times.

From the opening refrain of Whistleblowers, Spectre is an astounding work.

What becomes apparent with them is that with The E Street Band backing him, Springsteen seemed incapable of writing a clunker. At this point they were on fire and could have turned just about anything into a grandstanding rave-up or stirring anthem, as required.

On her follow-up Cornish dominates and the results are smoother round the edges, more considered, heck, even mature.

As ever, a warm and humane kind of marvel

The cloistered and unwilling girls’ father’s attempts to get them to do a Herman’s Hermits left them more in line with enjoyably sloppy garage rock. In fact, they went so far out as to prefigure post-punk’s plangency and jittery inclusivity: they were essentially The Raincoats, a decade ahead of time.

Home-recorded between 1989-90 at Jowe Head’s Stoke Newington flat, Beautiful Despair finds Head and TVPs mainstay Dan Treacy gamely working through a clutch of the latter’s prickly and pallid compositions.

His high, husky voice recounts tales of hope and desperation over immaculate production that combines the staples of guitar, bass and drums with restrained washes of strings--about as far from the stifling, mainstream Nashville Sound as imaginable.

With the likes of Hollow, all echoing goth riffs, the dance-around-your bedroom exuberance of Resolution, and the caustic Your Genius, it can’t help but win you over.

While his fourth record is still a thing of beauty, it’s a fractal work that splinters off into bursts of grandiose noise and multi-layered, multi-instrumental wonder; you’d describe it as comfortably at the opposite end of the musical spectrum to early songs like Lookout, Lookout and No Tear.

Citizen Zombie is more disciplined and linear than its epochal predecessors, yet it also reveals that its creators remain a force to be reckoned with.

Melodically bewitching throughout, Nadler’s vocals are as nuanced and strong as Dunn’s production.

The record doesn’t break any new ground, but it walks familiar paths with confidence.

Overall, the sound is pristine--it’s been remastered from the original 24-track tapes by esteemed engineer Paul Blakemore--and is accompanied by a thick booklet packed with essays.

She Paints Words In Red turns out to be the Camberwell crew’s finest--and most consistent--platter since 1990’s Fontana album.

They remained off all save the hippest of radars, yet this exhaustive 80-track anthology incorporating their complete studio recordings and an exuberant bonus live set shows that they nonetheless amassed a fearsome catalogue.

It’s not all doom and gloom--though it is mostly chopped-and-twisted electro paranoia.

There are touches of Warren Zevon in the title track and a smidgen of Squeeze in string-laden first single A Little Smile (from the Amsterdam session, which elsewhere features guest vocalist Mitchell Sink), but the lyrics are typically wordy Jackson fare and ensure continuity.

Brooks, though, stands out by dint of a nimble melodic touch, compositional sophistication and a broader historical frame of references. This makes From Out Here both satisfying and hard to pin down.

This is a great country album to boot: full of great craft and guile, no small bitterness and a cracking production from Ray Kennedy.

It crackles with a credible contemporary energy and parades a succession of brutally accessible would-be hits courtesy of Still Hurt, Insecurity and the soaring, Hüsker Dü-ish Tides.

Cale remains the star of the show, however, still crafting richly textured songs that don’t always go where you might expect them to, and refusing to pander to expectations.

His most cohesive effort yet.

A sultry take on Burt Bacharach’s The Look Of Love, pitch-perfect version of Herbie Hancock’s Maiden Voyage and an emotive rendering of Ruby Andrews’ soul classic Casanova (Your Playing Days Are Over), are among the highlights on this welcome boon for lovers of high-grade instrumental funk.

Rather than a retrogressive exercise, by preserving these stories Hayman reminds us of some of the things our country has to be proud of; take Norton Le Clay’s tale of a Belgian settler (“Come all you refugees and strays, come all you immigrants and waifs”). It’s stirring, important stuff.

At the very heart of Elitism…, however, are The Modern Dance and Dub Housing: the two extraordinary slabs of wax upon which Ubu’s reputation largely rests. The result of a brief liaison with major label Chrysalis, Dub Housing arguably enjoys the better production, but it’s on The Modern Dance that Ubu thrillingly realised their self-styled avant-garage sound.

Farrar’s a reluctant figurehead for the down there and downtrodden. There are no gilded towers here, no tyrannies of elitist plutocrats, just the open highway and a ride in an old boneshaker with an engine leaking hopes and dreams.

The Navigator knows in which direction to head. Hurray indeed.

The group are at their best when melding reverb-soaked, crunchy multiple guitar layers, playing with dynamics atop a kind of jungle-drum thump.

Radial, a 17-minute symphony in three parts: first, a foreboding, dark-tinged awakening, replete with nonhuman sounds in the vocal register; after six minutes the band comes in with another trademark minor-key song; then a final, tense, otherworldly coda hinting at stranger worlds to come.

Bursting with in-the-moment vitality, it applies a neon topcoat to Gong’s long-established ley lines.

Blessed with a raw, punchy sound, however, Black Beauty is far superior, more eclectic and fully-realised [than Reel To Real].

The messages of richly-orchestrated missives like Gun Clap Hero deserve to be heard; hopefully their contagious settings will take them to the masses.

Perhaps their most impressive, consistent and varied offering to date.

Tooth & Nail is probably the most accurate and all-encompassing illustration of the great man’s worth.

You’d be hard pushed to find a more beguiling soundtrack for late summer evenings.

Far from lifting the veil, its live performance further deepens the album’s mystery.

Like Iommi jamming with Bonham, Melvins duo Buzz Osborne and Dale Crover lay down the uncompromising riff-rock they’ve been prolifically perfecting since the 80s. Mars Volta axeman Omar Rodriguez- Lopez is the most muted talent present, resigned as he is to bulldozing basslines, so you’ll find none of his trademark proggy noodling here, which is probably for the best. And Gender Bender? Her fierce vocal dexterity channels the spirits of Ozzy Osbourne, Robert Plant, KatieJane Garside, Donita Sparks and even Russell Mael.

Inferno, then, may not afford Robert Forster the mainstream acceptance that’s eluded him for so long, but it gets him back in the game and proves he’s recaptured the magic he once needed to keep ahead of his best buddy in his metaphorical rear-view mirror.

A by-the-book cover of the arguably too familiar Rainy Night In Georgia aside, this is an engaging and enticing set of tunes breathing fresh life into a bygone form; they’ll melt your heart while making you want to dance.

A behemoth of a box, The Public Image Is Rotten offers over six hours of PiL brilliance.

Every Country’s Sun feels honed, and passages of ponderous string-picking now flow serenely into the bursts of noise (1,000 Foot Face, Old Poisons) that make them such an imposing force live.

They’re a classic singles band, but Jason Williamson’s pit of needle-sharp, evocative lyrics seems bottomless, so here comes another meaty full-length selection.

This is a magnificent album, bridging the generation gap and reminding the listener just how vital and pertinent folk music can be.

There’s enough previously unissued material, alongside superb liner notes, to make this entertaining collection a boon for Ra’s growing number of disciples.

Mind Hive is especially groundbreaking. In fact, several of its best tracks (the restless, motorik drive of Cactused and the jagged, staccato bursts of the menacing, 154-ish Be Like Them) quite openly flirt with familiarity. Yet, as always seems to be the case with this crew, these tunes are invested with enviable reserves of contemporary energy which ensure they’re served up fresh and minus the merest hint of parody.

If at times Silver Eye is easy to admire yet difficult to love, you are never that far from a tremendous hook or captivating vocal.

Machineries Of Joy proves that BSP are still in bloom.

How Far Will You Go? is generally closer to The Rocky Horror Picture Show... and is accordingly tremendous fun.

On his 11th album, that gloss is pared down, revealing just how well-crafted and intricate Bejar’s songs have become.

While the album’s rear end succumbs to repetition, redemption arrives in the wistful Day Glow Fire and a bright-eyed duet with Debbie Harry on Shadows, where romantic doubts are treated as a spur to dream bigger.

Great Big Flamingo Burning Moon is another collection that showcases the band’s strengths: Dave Tattersall’s winning way with a pithy short-story of a lyric, and hook-laden songs punctuated by bursts of savage lead guitar.

The Swedish-Malawian duo of Johan Hugo and Esau Mwamwaya decamped to a rented house on the shores of Lake Malawi for album number three. That apposite choice of location has paid off with a warmer, more pointedly African sound as insects provide environmental chatter and local villagers add laughs, jokes and musical accompaniment.

It’ll be a shock to the system for Futureheads fanatics anticipating herky-jerky guitar pop, but with the distraught Monster Again, nakedly vulnerable Thunder Song and the graceful, elegiac titular song standing out; it makes for an intensely cathartic and wholly absorbing experience for listeners prepared to dump their preconceptions at the door.

CATCS have matured during their absence, yet continue to burn with whatever inner flame drives Bonney and his rabid co-conspirators.

Dalton gets her dues and other voices gain welcome exposure.

It’s the kind of album that’s easy to grow very attached to: a personal, secret soundtrack likely to be loved by many.

Produced by Kate herself, this live set sounds incredible.

Holter is a master at conjuring up beguiling atmospherics. Here, backed by her usual live touring accompaniment of drums, viola and double bass she concocts a variety of striking permutations on familiar work.

First single Town And Country is a band-backed hymn to city-loving Wainwright’s current lifestyle that adds a touch of rock’n’roll pizzazz to proceedings.

A peculiar cove, Wareham is also a viciously acute lyricist with a love for tremolo, and has invented what might be described as quiet heavy metal, or rock’n’roll noir.

It’s an all-killer-no-filler collection that sees the band benefiting from a bedded-in Mick Taylor’s influence and the colossal confidence that being...