You could argue some of what made her unique has been ironed out, but there are too many singalong moments here to really notice.

It all makes for his most coherent effort yet.

Packed as it is with all this goodness, Art Angels fails to comprehensively blow your mind. Ultimately, Grimes has not reinvented the pop wheel, she’s just driven it off road a little.

Ultimately some of the material sounds so polished it’s been rendered a little featureless (Little Blue, the title track). A little more grit wouldn’t have gone amiss.

Inevitably, some of the studio tracks suffer by comparison; you can imagine Barbarians as an irresistible call to arms in a Brooklyn basement, but it falls a little flat here. But there’s nifty production work elsewhere.

You can hear confirmation in the musical differences that divide Courting the Squall from one of the more experimental Elbow albums: minor detailing rather than schismatic shifts.

The appeal of this low-key grower lies in Berninger’s woebegone baritone, rubbing up against non-National music that is neither taxing nor obvious. There are feather-light shuffles here like Sleepin’ Light, or pretty, piano-led outings like No Time to Crank the Sun.

This 21-track centenary tribute underscores what a fine songwriter he was.

Bleeds opens with a tirade against the free market labels pretty much everybody as bastards. That bitterness resurfaces elsewhere on the album but the urgency, so bracingly misanthropic on Hard Bastards, starts flagging halfway through.

A certain wooziness has always been the point of the Baltimore duo’s music but at times its gauzy aimlessness drifts dangerously close to torpor. More often, though, it is subtly tethered to some elegant, insidious hooks.

The result is a lean, compact summary of the joys of Newsom, still an acquired taste to some, but to others, one of the undisputed greats working in our lifetime.

Powerful and affecting, this is as good as anything Gahan has done in the last 25 years.

Other times, this debut tends towards the characterless, making all the right sounds (retro vocals, contemporary beats) but more often than not, choosing the path of least grit, least quirk, and least memorability.

They should step outside of their comfort zone more often.

Newman chews his way through these 11 songs with abandon; you can almost hear him trying to do the splits in gold trousers on the bigger numbers.

Real Lies are too young to remember the late 80s, but the north London trio’s frisky debut album is steeped in the spirit of the Balearic years when indie kids discovered ecstasy and acid house.

He is all messed up about a girl on Love Is Not a Four Letter Word and the keyboard fantasia of Her; songs about the planet and his mother also figure.

Living My Life and the seductive Duplex Planet hark back to the dream-like delicacy of Halcyon Digest, but Leather and Wood is an amorphous mess. Thankfully, the best songs are saved until last.

Too often equating emotion with shouting (see the final third of Father), Confident doesn’t quite elevate Lovato to where she needs to be.

Future’s eerily Auto-Tuned sing-song vocal style, suspended somewhere between Lil Wayne’s salacious croak and the spiritual suspended animation of a Gregorian chant, seems to energise him.... Drake is sounding as dynamic and engaged as at any time since 2009’s stellar So Far Gone.

Unfortunately, there is no great reveal here, in which a burgeoning talent steps up a gear.

The most surprising thing about Revival is its understatement, despite the hit-making co-writers, from the softly bubbling beats of the title track and the lust-dream R&B of Good for You to the spooky Ashes to Ashes synths of winning Charli XCX collaboration Same Old Love.

Good Sad Happy Bad--born out of a heavily edited jam session--feels more shapeless and, as a result, more frustrating.

Unfortunately, too often We the Generation’s big pop moments fall back on tried-and-tested formulas.

Next to this shimmering peak ["Clearest Blue"], a few songs pale in comparison.

The delicate songs quickly exposing the thin line between pretty and cloying. However, salvation arrives with the euphoric chorus of Are You Ready?, swiftly followed by Sunflower’s easygoing pop charms.

There’s plenty of straight-up R&B--No Sleeep, Dammn Baby and Night find Jam, Lewis and Jackson on nicely updated form--but Lessons Learned, for one, is a country-leaning guitar ballad, one of a large handful of songs about hard-won maturity and making the world a better place that play more to the Oprah demographic.

Throughout, Grant is still angry, still purging, but with a heightened sense of mischief, both musical and lyrical.