It is hard not to hear Bougatsos refracted through the lens of Grimes, an artist who radically expanded on GGD’s commercial potential. In comparison, Bougatsos now comes up a little ephemeral.

A conceptual double album exploring earth (reality) and heaven (idealisation), is perhaps unlikely to sway the old guard, but it pushes forward with a purposeful vitality that was at times missing from his debut album, The Epic.

There are echoes of If They Move, Kill ’Em-era Primal Scream given an industrial makeover and God Break Down the Door adds skittering rhythms to that template. The final two tracks are more sombre, particularly closer Over and Ou.

Sophie’s defining hyper-minimalism has given way to a new lushness. While enduringly “other”, tracks like Infatuation and Pretending lack focus, and this wafty iteration isn’t as original as Sophie’s other modes.

Call the Comet is a resounding success, the first of Marr’s three solo albums to feel properly crafted. The loose thread it follows is that, in turbulent times, even the simple act of picking up a guitar and making music is political.

With Liberation, Aguilera is at her most artistically emancipated since Stripped (2002).

An elegant, luminous album.

Soil has contributions from sound-makers as diverse as Katie Gately, digital hip-hop hand Clams Casino, and even Paul Epworth (Adele), taking Wise’s vision into glorious sonic HD.

Ebbing and flowing with daydreams and a glossy but gritty pulse, Lost & Found is quietly, confidently remarkable.

Though No Shame ultimately feels more like a transition than a reinvention, it’s good to see Allen coming back for seconds.

These aren’t vast nocturnal canvases, but immersive miniatures that repay close attention.

Fenfo’s most seductive marriages of ancient and modern have already come out: Nterini, the lead track, and the mesmeric Kokoro. Nonetheless, the depths of the tracklisting are a surprise.

Lindsay’s wonky music, meanwhile--he plays most of the instruments--benefits hugely from the strength of Marling’s voice and persona. The only bum note is that there isn’t more Lump to treasure.

Expectations are subverted, as when the opulence of the harpsichord is manipulated beyond recognition or a piercing shout infiltrates a rhythm. Since every composition holds this tension within its structure, it feels like an aesthetic choice rather than a gimmick. The more time you spend with Age Of, the more Lopatin’s instrumentations reveal depth.

Over a brief seven tracks, the 40-year-old superstar confirms his production prowess, veering between sparse, hyper-modern styles and compositions which hark back to the soulful bent of the producer-turned-rapper’s early career; a volatile mix of the sweet and the acrid, the sentimental and the tendentious.

A challenging yet satisfying listen.

Over two self-produced top 10 albums, Lauren Mayberry, Martin Doherty and Iain Cook, all graduates of alternative and post-rock bands, have refined a sound that keeps one foot in indie electronica, the other in modern radio pop and its heart in 80s synths.

Brevity sharpens the ex-Clipse rapper’s focus, though: rarely has he sounded as urgent, even with his signature laconic tempo, as he does on bravura opener If You Know You Know; or as authoritative as on Santeria, which packs three different movements into under three minutes.

There’s ample disgusted fury here, as tracks like the powerful Rain of Terror attest, but inner strength and enduring creativity are the takeaways from this unexpected record, as well as nods to Prince and Biggie Smalls.

As if to underline his status as one of indie rock’s great eccentrics, Malkmus makes a decent fist of orchestral pop on the frisky, staccato-like Brethren, and severs all ties with conventional songwriting, revealing an aptitude for space rock (Difficulties/Let Them Eat Vowels).

Wide Awake! might be too scattershot to appeal to a much wider audience, but it does cement Parquet Courts’ position as one of US indie’s more intriguing outliers.

Lemon Glow is particularly engrossing, a curdled night sky of a tune whose constituent parts weave in and out of focus. Black Car provides even more enthralling unease, where the various elements become unexpectedly off-kilter and 3D. ... Elsewhere, though, it’s business as usual.

Now she sounds fully formed, her rich lyrics (“Was my cup so full I thought it was empty?” she riddles, koan-like, on the dreamy shuffle of Mama Proud) and the dark depth of her Chan Marshall-ish voice adding intrigue to these subtly crafted songs.

It is full of indecipherable songs, swaddling the brutal clarity of the techno DJ-producer duo’s early singles in something unpredictable, off-kilter. Choral vocals make you feel everything from terrified to strangely soothed.

Once you ditch the notion that AM’s successor should rock like it, and give yourself up to rolling around in the psyche of one of our very greatest songwriters like an olive in a martini, then it’s a riveting and immersive listen--an album-bomb dropped without preceding singles, re-emphasising the importance of a cohesive work, rather than a shuffled, Spotified deconstruction.

Although some of Godfather II stays true to a classic sound--see the authoritative I Call the Shots, feat JME--other tracks, such as Certified, feat Shakka (a banger), are unabashed lunges for the mainstream.

Certain sections of Bridges’s audience are likely to define themselves against modern forms, so there is a risk here. But Bridges handles the transition deftly.

Too often, though, you’re left wishing for the thuggish bass and head-severing hi-hats of less cerebral dance music. There’s not enough food for the brain or fuel for the feet here.