The word “immersive” is bandied about a lot, but Hecker’s work really is.

An odd attempt at dancehall on Ratchet Behaviour aside, Red Flag feels expertly judged.

Super’s first half euphorically lives up to the title, tossing out gem after gem, making you nostalgic for the days where erudition in pop wasn’t so rare.... The second half loses momentum slightly.

Bradley makes more like Al Green than Brown, mobilising a kind of weary, vintage warmth as he repeatedly tackles heartbreak in the company of the Daptone Horns.

This high-speed collision of apparent opposites works surprisingly well. Their second album is a relentless blur of ideas and rule-breaking.

Generally, these songs set out to strip away some of the artistry and leave Bird more exposed, and as the heart-swelling sentiments of the closing song Bellevue show, it suits him well.

The impression that Turner and Kane are soundtracking some kind of ironic double-bro-seven flick in their heads remains, however (not eased by Kane’s recent sleazy behaviour towards a female journalist), only partly tempered by Turner’s nuanced lyrics.

For all its inevitable ubiquity, this downbeat, low-lit album has the bonus of not being in your face at all.

Variety comes in the form of a gently funky soul interlude midway through that highlights the versatility of James Petralli’s voice. But rather than complementing the rest of the album it betrays Stiff’s lack of cohesion.

The title is optimistic: few of these vocalists display obvious potential, and their presence amid Hinton’s finely calibrated beats can be jarring. The clockwork production accentuates their awkwardness.... It helps that Hinton’s regard for these wannabe superstars seems genuine.

Freak-folk currents still run through tracks such as Fireplace, but Grapefruit is more wilful and abrasive than his last effort, 2013’s Bowler Hat Soup.

Chaosmosis is bright, honed and fun, though too many past stylistic bases are covered at the expense of new ground.

The album sags a little in the middle, but what’s an epic without a few longueurs? The optimism of the title is well founded.

There’s depth here too--listen 10 times and you will still be discovering new things to enjoy: clever wordplay, a subtle melody. It’s a joy from start to finish.

Even though some of these songs are less than the sum of their parts, it’s hard not to warm to a collaboration that comes up with a track as funky and modal as Sunday.

A little more courage would not have gone amiss.

Know-It-All has sweet spots, but doesn’t match the promise.

This is a record full of brilliance and charm, but is front-loaded; the second half loses the soulful, melancholic quality of the first.

Tracks such as Deu invoke a little Boards of Canada and Colleran likes to call Dubliner Kevin Shields an influence, making for a beatific album that’s more satisfying than just modish background texture.

There is a very good reason this has sat in a vault for 23 years: it fails to capture Buckley’s magic as well as the Live at Sin-é EP, which would be his debut release later in 1993.

Second Love is a benchmark smashed and an affecting portrait of a millennial lost soul.

The extra girth suits them well, and their old wit and twinkle hasn’t deserted them as the shimmering, harmony-laden pop of Miss Fortune attests.

Roughly half of the album cleaves fabulously to this back-to-basics template, with songs such as What You Really Mean drawing out the doo-wop sadness in Gano’s songcraft. The rest is what you might call “touring” Femmes.

Ultimately, like a hipper London Grammar, Poliça are too dreamy and refined for their own good.

It feels like a simultaneous (re)introduction to Lynn’s career, and a summing up, and makes for a worthy companion piece to Cash’s American Recordings.

Here are 12 songs about emotional hurt and partial recovery; some cliche-ridden (yes, one song here is really called Love Is Blind), others classy and nagging.

It’s a buoyant sound--Brahim’s voice is too airy for drones and chants--led by rolling pieces such as Calles de Dajla and followed by slow, contemplative blues.

A collection whose understatement allows different facets of Lamar’s talent to shine.