Ultimately, Goon is a very good album, one further elevated by its terrific tale of redemption. Here, victory is belatedly extracted from the digestive tract of defeat.

The decade this outfit have spent in other bands pays off in a record that’s raucous and fun, incisive and – as it winds to a close – profoundly heartfelt, as vocalist James Smith apologises disgustedly for the sins of British foreign policy.

Home recordings, small group experiments and the spoken credo of I Am an Instrument make for a rich, eventful ride.

[Thile’s] vocal style may verge on the eccentric, but it’s perfectly in tune, and it soon becomes obvious that he and Mehldau are well matched in their musicality.

Here, short sharp songs such as Get It Right could be about love or the perfectionist’s creative process; likewise Fokus, another deliriously pacey romp.

While Cerebral Hemispheres won’t win him new fans, it makes clear that, at 57, house’s great survivor still has much to give.

Even when the tempo drops, the quality doesn’t, the rich imagery of Trick Out the Truth being a case in point. Effortlessly classy.

At 20 tracks and 71 minutes, it’s perhaps a little long, but until the next Wilco album comes along, this will do just fine.

Clark’s falsetto, reminiscent of Caribou’s Dan Snaith or executive producer Thom Yorke, is used carefully as a texture that neither distracts nor dominates, counterbalancing the occasionally abrasive electronics.

A triumphant excursion.

Their debut album is a delight, from the uncomplicated bluesy strut of Tickin' Bomb to the brass inflections on the knowingly tongue-in-cheek Hail Hail.

Grande laid bare may well be seen as a stopgap in her canon, using taboo to checkmate her past trauma, but it does pull off the rare feat of at least sounding effortless.

Mostly, Popular Problems presents Cohen’s wry, wracked recitations against almost ascetic backings overseen by Patrick Leonard, famed for his work with Madonna.

Its [The second track's] eerily distorted saxophone, a nod to Low, takes six minutes to surface, but then takes centre stage, a mournful motif subtly evolving over the next quarter of an hour. The multilayered title track, meanwhile, is a less immediate drone, but proves hypnotic well within its 17-minute timeframe.

Staples’s new album is much more personal and accessible than anything he’s put out before.

Unhitched from a major label, he has opted for a starker, more contemplative approach and sounds the better for it.

A deceptively sweet-sounding set which, once you cotton on to the pianist’s way of treating a few mainly well-known tunes, is absolutely absorbing.

The emphatic playing of Hutchings’ more exhortatory bands (chiefly Sons of Kemet) has given way to a more impressionistic delicacy.

Röyksopp are on top form here, and when Robyn returns to her exuberant self on the title track, expressing mixed feelings about having insatiable appetites, the effect is electrifying.

Confetti is more potent than 2018’s spread-betting LM5.

Their fifth album is rich and intoxicating: billows of brass, sinuous guitar hooks and squiggles of hammond organ bubble up pungently from the stew.

Here On In, which with its motorik rhythm sounds most like the Horrors, is the only weak link on a gorgeously immersive album.

You get the feeling that Goat could just keep this sinuous groove going forever.

The third album since Shirley Collins’s renaissance at 81 turns out to be the finest.

From the Sea comprises new versions of old songs, most of which sound just as powerful without Woolcock's arresting images.

A welcome return to form.

This latest iteration is above par, as tongue-in-cheek and wise as it is acerbic and frill-free.

This, finally, is the stuff people have been waiting a young lifetime to hear. It more than passes muster.