The same voice sings the final lines of an album that is no less brilliant, but perhaps less straightforward, than initial reactions suggested: not so much an exploration of grief as an example of how grief overwhelms or seeps into everything--a subtle difference, but a difference nonetheless.

Superficially, this is a straightforward set; musically, it’s anything but.

Goldenheart is dazzling and imperious.

Megan Thee Stallion’s talents are a moveable feast – she sounds as at home snarling over the minimal 80s gangsta rap of Girls in the Hood as she does with Beyoncé’s voice weaving around hers on Savage Remix.

A trove of bewitching melody and subtle invention, Rounds succeeds not only as a meticulously conceived piece of art but also as a moving expression of human warmth.

The air of two songwriters on rare form, confidently challenging each other to greater heights, is inescapable.

What's beyond doubt is the quality of the music he made.

With poetry suffusing both lyrics and music, Fontaines DC capture being young in all its excitement and challenges, its confidence and despair: those years where it feels like you’re trying to find a foothold with your hands. It’s not easy, but then what great album, or life, ever is?

Melnyk’s titles are often fitting: Parasol sounds like sunshades spinning in the daylight, and Ripples in a Water Scene like ripples in a water scene; the crushingly sombre The Pool of Memories might well induce a pool of tears.... Melnyk’s truly defining quality is surely the constant tingle that his music leaves in your heart.

Though all but one (Beggin’) were recorded by Frank Sinatra, Dylan is unintimidated by their pedigree.

It hits an impressively eclectic sweet spot between hip-hop and pop, leaping confidently from trap beats and martial horns to grinding, distorted hard rock; from music that recalls early 00s R&B to stadium ballads. The genre-hopping is unified by melodies. Song for song, Montero has more hooks – and stickier ones – than any other big rap album thus far released in 2021.

Magma is the kind of album that metalheads would love non-believers to check out, if only because it confounds all the usual stereotypes about the genre being unimaginative and dumb.

Magnificent.

Its hour run time notwithstanding, few albums are this expansive. The acoustic arrangements and brushed drums expand its sense of the infinite, and Callahan disarms with humour and subtly shattering insight.

Their melodies have never sounded richer or more lovely, their charm never more beguiling. SFA have made their best album yet.

The spectre of Oasis lurks around Arctic Monkeys, proof that even the most promising beginnings can turn into a dreary, reactionary bore. For now, however, they look and sound unstoppable.

On this remarkable double album, 21 artists rework his songs, ranging from poignant studies of working lives to political comment and love ballads.

For old Jarrett fans and prospective new ones, it's a must.

This is a magnificent and poignant farewell.

Fussell makes the good-natured workplace bitching on Winnsboro Cotton Mill Blues feel both particular and timeless. These are exceptional songs, performed exceptionally well.

For all the layers of irony on I Love You, Honeybear, the biggest irony of all might be that such an ostensibly knotty and confusing album’s real strength lies in something as prosaic and transparent as its author’s ability to write a beautiful melody.

Ten years after Deserter's Songs became a gorgeous Americana classic, Mercury Rev have made another masterpiece.

More than most noise albums, or deliberately confrontational music, this is a record that unsettles and subverts.

Soothing, moving, occasionally disquieting and utterly immersive, Sundown suggests its predecessor was something else entirely: merely the first step of an entirely unlikely and entirely delightful career renaissance.

The Drift is a record that demands a lot of work and repays tenfold.

What an unexpected and wonderful treat this album is.