The collective's return gleams with ambition. Packing the same ferocity and awe of a firework display with ebullient lighter moments shaded with synth flourishes, and rapturously prototypical loud darker ones which apprehend and shake you to the core.

It’s a definitive project encapsulating body autonomy, queer love, humour and fury, all the more confidently told by a vocal chameleon whose performance stands out amongst the rich production traversing decaying foliage, fizzling suns and AI leaders.

Be Your Own Pet burned out from having too much fuuuuuun, but by playing around with old influences, Mommy shows they're still nothing but a good time.

If you want to find a remaster that’s worth your time and money, then Suede is the gem to look into at this very moment.

It’s an oddly assured debut, tender and strong at the same time – and its greatest strength is that Rapp is as good of a songwriter as a performer of her own emotions.

It’s a fantastic example of how artists can still come to a project with tonnes of contextual flavour that they want to include and not have it overpower the entire dish.

Shamir settles into the familiarity of gleaming indie-pop arrangements and sweet starbursts of melody, all while hints of darkness bleed through the margins. While not a startling stylistic reinvention, the album does feel like a rewarding artistic waypoint from an exceedingly consistent singer and songwriter.

From the folk twang of “First Time” to the torrential clapping on “Anything But,” this is a Hozier album to the hilt: considered, earnest, and moving.

Echo The Diamond recaptures what made Margaret Glaspy so exciting. Her sense of drama is thrilling, and its quietest moments find the beauty in her raw, prickly vocals.

Her striking lyrical flow has become more relentless but comes off more like a constant drip of honey than an imposing assault, at least sonically. On the other hand, the subject matter of the lyrics is rife with Socratic lines of moral questioning and political comedy. Every track excels in a topical focus that will not be spoiled or summarized by the deadline-watching eyes of a critic.

Exploring a whole new sphere of genres, eras and musical styles, Volcano's unexpected twists and turns place Jungle at their peak of most progressive yet.

They’re the whirling dervish we’ve enjoyed for decades, having brewed another storm when music needs a serious injection of fun again.

The instrumentals of Ooh Rap I Ya are a feat of surrealism in songcraft, ebbing waves of synths and overblown drums soundtrack much of the run time, but in increasingly more abstract ways. It isn’t long until the mastery of the pop form displayed in the first half of the record devolves into the spare parts of a song: 90s hits deconstructed and remade in the most obtuse yet enjoyable ways.

While it’s not their masterpiece, it’s still a great record.

A dazzling introduction to new fans, and a crystal clear familiarity for fans that have been here from the beginning.

Instead of striving towards a perceived notion of happiness, Soft Landing is simply the crescendoing finale of a journey towards contentment.

With sonics so extraordinarily ornate and a soul-stirring sentiment to match, three men and their producer have successfully taken the listening world to church, and left it there waiting for its next sermon.

Love Hallucination ultimately feels like an artist riding on intuition.

With Eye on the Bat, it’s as if the 29-year-old Kempner shares the pages of their diary, revealing their reveries, fears, and embarrassments. Kempner may be now-oriented, but they’re also the beneficiary of a newfound and bigger-picture awareness.

Sunburn is a delightful entanglement of love, introspection, and nostalgia, married together by slick guitar licks, preppy notes, and delightful beats that make for Fike’s most impressive project to date.

When Horses Would Run relies on its all-over-the-place ideas for humorous purposes and while it might make for a confusing listen at times, there is fun to be had in its zaniness.

The Feminine Divine can’t match those first three deathless classic albums and falls just below the convincing return that was One Day I’m Going to Soar. Still, there’s enough of their unique brilliance on display to make this a qualified victory.

Though the album can feel dangerously repetitive at times, slower takes like ‘So What’ act as a reprieve from these moments.

For all its pomp and broad appeal, it brims with the artist’s personality and is a delight to connect with.

As Albarn croons, “Every generation has its gilded poseurs” and The Ballad of Darren prove that Blur are some of the best ever to do it.

Barbie the Album dashes headfirst for airy joy and low-key festivity, all hyperbolic and glittery when its primary focus should be on elucidating the film’s feminist thesis.

Cut Worms, now Clarke’s third record under this moniker, arrives as handsomely as the tidal waves that ramble onto the shore: high-spirited yet uncompromising in their force.

The record is quietly confident; Gunnulfsen can belt, but she doesn’t need to shout to be heard.