While the 80s are a well-trodden playground, Girl with No Face proves there are infinite ways to make old ideas new by contrasting them with the now.

Lots of artists aspire to create an album which matches the zeitgeist (easier said than done), but Mountainhead comes a lot closer than most. With its paranoid and sinister belly coalescing with the joke-y casualness of its exterior, this is yet another successful record from one of the quintessential bands of the internet age.

The Pineapple Thief remain stuck in a rut, delivering more or less the same record as before. Maybe going metal or full prog will yield better results in the future. Unfortunately, It Leads to This turned out only marginally better than the previous LP. They can do better, so a more drastic change of direction might be helpful next time.

Grandaddy’s latest feels slightly remote but wholeheartedly nostalgic, the synthesis of deeply personal loneliness and some kind of cosmic greater meaning, and all three of my theories seem perfectly suitable. Weary but still imbued with plenty of heart, Blu Wav is all you can ask for as the return of Jason Lytle’s long-running indie project.

Daniel delivers the twofold triumphs of, first, delivering satisfactorily upon the band’s original talent for hooks and vibe, and second, demonstrating enough variety to suggest that Real Estate doesn’t intend to forever languish in their comfort zone to diminishing returns. I’ll take it.

They sound and act unlike many of their contemporaries, and seem preoccupied with carefully carving out a unique space in the modern indie scene to inhabit. It’s a fun space, regardless of how you may get there - and I’m glad to be here.

It’s a triumphant rebirth, pulsating and healing dark energy that feels inspiring and genuine.

What Do We Do Now is a smörgåsbord of everything we have come to expect from a J Mascis project, and while a multitude of listeners may find themselves clamoring for fresher ideas or a deviation from his tried-and-true formula, it is borderline impossible to listen to the indie rock legend’s latest output and deny that they got what they came for.

Blue Raspberry sees some extremely slight but thoughtful experimentation from Kirby. A playfulness that, on the one hand, gives greater depth to Kirby's music—or otherwise make that depth more obvious to the shallow listener—but also, on the other, reemphasises to you—to me—just how good, how delicate, how thoughtful a songwriter Kirby really is at her core.

Sadness Sets Me Free is a truly consistent affair, one of the most pleasant Gruff presented us to date.

If A Light for Attracting Attention felt like a perhaps unnecessary but strong redux of a Radiohead album (A Moon Shaped Pool, specifically), then Wall of Eyes feels like an album Radiohead never made here on Earth, even if they could’ve conceivably done so in an alternate dimension. That’s progress.

Dark Rainbow is the sound they’ve been chasing for five years now, and while it’s not perfect, and lacks the raw edge their earlier works were so good at, it’s definitely a sound I can get onboard with.

Somehow heavier but feeling lighter than they have in years, meeting your gaze not with a self-deprecating shrug but a grimace and a snarl, Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs is a perfect sendoff to one of pop-punk's finest drummers and a victory lap for one of the genre's best acts.

If Ummon felt like floating adrift in space while cosmic rays fried your soul, Ilion is the transition to a plane of existence beyond the cosmos. Ilion doesn’t exist in this universe anymore, and neither do you.

A return-to-punk that simultaneously honours Green Day's history of arena-friendly alternative rockers, full of adrenaline and feeling. A mere four years after the execrable Father of All Motherfuckers, it may qualify as a minor miracle.

It’s hard not to feel like there could be a little more to Big Sigh, a little more to Hackman. Regardless, there is a lot to be found in this excellent album if you allow it some time, give it some space and, while it may not be as easy as it seems, embrace its familiarity.

Letter to Self is undoubtedly a pretty good option to start off this new chapter, and for Sprints it may be even the beginning of something truly special.

The result is a record that’s more cinematic, darker, louder, heavier and harder than anything we’ve heard from them before today, and frankly, I’m here for it.

The album feels wonderfully grounded as such, and is ideally placed as an ambassador for the open-heartedness, peace, and healing that are as key to new age as its otherworldly mystique.

It’s a bunch of sad songs which make you feel good to be alive. Can’t go wrong with that.

Though occasionally wallowing, there’s a self-assuredness here, a comfort in one’s skin, that’s refreshing, and relieving, given how close to the edge this ship has teetered over the years. As entertainment via soundwaves, it occasionally sags-lags-drags, but for a thoughtful tome on patient self-betterment, you couldn’t ask for much more.

All told, this is an album which will almost certainly be enjoyable if you like kinda hazy, kinda ethereal, kinda catchy indie/alt thingamajigs, but it’s also an album desperately lacking the hint of an edge which would give the total product further potency. Even so, it’s a solid comeback from another crew of aging shoegazers, just don’t set your expectations too high.

It's hard to be overly harsh on the band for getting too hung up on a good thing, even if there's a missing something holding Cartwheel back from knockout excellence. Get your twelve-year-old into it; be your own twelve-year-old to it; ravage yourself on caffeine with it.

Some tracks make notable improvements – a subtle lift on "This Love"'s gorgeous arrangement boosts one of Swift's most forgettable ballads to a late tracklist highlight, while the new version of "Clean" emphasises producer Imogen Heap's vocal offerings so resplendently that it's a crime she doesn't receive a feature credit – yet others are misplaced in their adjustments.

The result is something to be proud of, establishing Omori as a welcome presence in the ambient landscape.

Spike Field does an impressive job of reflecting upon Maria BC’s recent musical endeavors while also advancing their sound.

The sheer joy of hearing the guitarist back and fully committed to blink, giving his all to the style of music that was his first love, is more than worth the price of admission here. Kicked off by the "Always"-nodding synthpop "Blink Wave", Hoppus takes the reins for a more experimental back half where the album really comes to life.

This isn’t an album to convert the naysayers, but for the already initiated, prepare yourself to once more sing with your heroes, 33 rounds per minute.