This harsh, noise-fuelled musical heartbeat is a thrilling new phase, cementing Ćmiel as a fearless creative voice.

You Still Get Me High and Story are full-on 80s pop, expertly executed with hooks, vocal performances and a widescreen feel. Even better are breezy retro cuts such as Hands, a frisky disco/R&B outing with rapped sections. One More Time, meanwhile, packs in handclaps, housey disco and more party-for-two promises.

A Love and Let the Sun Come In recall the jangle of their early-80s imperial phase. The ballads are equally well executed, most notably the closing I Think About You Daily, with Jonny Greenwood’s hypnotic string arrangement imbuing Hynde’s uncharacteristically swagger-free vocals with a powerful sense of regret and vulnerability.

Throughout, Mitski’s voice has never sounded sweeter or more exquisitely measured, even as she sings of protagonists vomiting cake, alcoholism (Bug Like an Angel), men, dogs, God and the devil.

What’s never in doubt is the authenticity of the “missteps and redemption” detailed in its songs, or their engaging, personal delivery.

Overall, Guts is perhaps missing Sour’s big pop moments, but as a snapshot of an upturned life it’s consistently fascinating.

At 15 tracks, Club Romantech can feel relentless in its rhythmic energy. Yet if you surrender to the sound, it’s hard not to find the album infectiously danceable. It is a brave new world for Icona Pop, one that finds them closer to Ibiza than Katy Perry.

A punk disposition suffuses many of these nine tracks, immolating assumptions around the j-word. Fly Or Die III (for brevity) rocks, rolls and generally throws itself around.

In a world of diminishing returns, not many artists hit their peak 11 (or so) albums into their career. That only makes Jump for Joy even more of a triumph.

Although Monét is still finding her voice, her production, overflowing with euphoric horns and silky melodies, fits her soft cadence and carefree lyrics like a bespoke suit.

Strengths lie in Eat Your Young’s supple funk, a light-footed take on Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal, and the itchy urgency of De Selby (Part 2). There’s a chilling, unforgettable beauty to closing pair Unknown/Nth and First Light.

Struggler continues to convey his strife with a remarkable singularity.

Central City bears the hallmarks of all this success, in its own vintage guest list (Ciara, Faith Evans, Lil Wayne), high production values and songcraft.

The result is a full-length debut that is acerbic, vulnerable and swaggering all at the same time.

While it’s a little repetitive in places, Prestige is a sumptuous collection that finds a polished band leaning into the joys of being playful.

It’s no surprise that Barbie World, the song she shares with her protege Ice Spice, is 109 seconds of pure plastic bliss. Like much of the soundtrack, it fizzes with moreish, sugary filth, simultaneously R-rated and child-friendly.

[The Ballad Of Darren] finds late-life Blur on eloquent, emotional form. It’s an album that often looks back, while summoning textures and nuances that only add to their toolkit.

A whirlwind set.

When unaccompanied, it’s clear that her 12 years in the industry have given the singer ample voice and a formidable ear. On IRL, there was little need for big names, since Mahalia is star enough to hold her own.

Every song is a wonder. It is unlikely Angels & Queens will inspire many imitators of its retro-future soul, its damaged doo-wop. It’s simply too good to be copied.

This might not be Harvey’s most immediate collection, but it’s as fascinating and rewarding as ever.

Recorded quickly, with most of the 10 songs featuring Anohni’s original vocal takes, it’s an album that manages to wear its heaviness lightly and quickly buries its way under your skin.

Chatten’s vocals and writerly voice are instantly recognisable – declamatory on the three-legged wooze of Last Time Every Time Forever, or folk-adjacent on The Score. All of the People, meanwhile, is a bitter broadside against the kind of false friends the singer in a successful rock band might have to contend with.

It’s a relief to find Williams as thought-provoking and moving as ever.

The group maintain control throughout, making this a flawless and packed debut – one that has been worth the wait.

Throughout, he remains prickly and eloquent.

As a whole, it’s a confident imagining of her infectious future funk sound.

Having parked her dystopian allegories, it follows that Monáe now feels a little more like an artist in a crowded partying field. But she has earned this mainstream place. Moreover, she remains distinctive.