Many affecting tracks detail the sharknado of outrage and bewilderment in Blake’s trademark delicate soprano, offset occasionally by well-chosen collaborators (SZA, or rappers JID and SwaVay) or startlingly pitch-shifted vocals.

There are no cathartic singalongs in the album’s downbeat cello or swelling drones. Its relatability stems from somehow managing to recreate the specific texture of loneliness.

Located somewhere between a TED talk, an episode of VH1’s Storytellers and a confessional, it’s a hugely nourishing listen – not least because Springsteen, the boss of righteous stadium bluster, unveils a self-deprecating sense of humour.

Miss Anthropocene is a deep, dark trip – shame the climate crisis bit isn’t also part of Grimes’s wild imagination.

An arresting, if not always comfortable creation from an uncommon talent.

Alive and Concert Pitch are deliriously upbeat confections, but a whole album in that vein could be capable of inducing dental caries at 50 paces. Thankfully, the second half finds them in more restrained--but no less winning--mood.

There is nothing fly-by-night about Rita Ekwere, an artist in the classic mould – audibly from London, but gazing outwards. Empress feels hugely current.

There is no attempt to sugar-coat his legacy. Unfiltered, melodic, cinematic and raw, this album has moments that feel a little cheesy, but that’s in keeping with how unconcerned he was with “coolness”.

Peacemaker balances its polished Nashville musicianship with uncanny textures, resulting in a record so atmospheric you’d swear you could hear the rustle of her white prairie dress in the breeze.

While the heavier, distorted guitars of Tower and Love We Had feel somewhat jarring in the ebullient context of the album, Sun Without the Heat is a freewheeling and joyous listen, with McCalla employing her knowledge of musical traditions to produce fresh combinations.

All in all, it’s a rich, absorbing work that rewards immersive listening.

The result is a fearless and powerful debut.

The album is meandering in places, evoking a sense of the unknown that’s become so familiar in 2021, but there’s a sense that the trio want to bring their growing fanbase with them into a new dimension. It will reward those who come along for the ride.

So while this endeavour can’t help but be tinged with deep bittersweetness, Electronic Chronic really exudes the warmth of a band tinkering about in their studio.

Coinciding with his turning 85, Bennett's latest sounds like a fantasy birthday party in full swing, one where an outrageously starry array of guests share the mic with a host as twinkling as ever.

Wealth is a recurrent theme, but musicality remains to the fore.

Call the Days, the track that heralded this brand new folk-inclined singer-songwriter’s extraordinarily assured debut, suggested an Antipodean Laura Marling, a talented 24-year-old with a preternatural ability to translate internal weather into chords and words.

N’Dour sings with accustomed majesty throughout; sometimes commanding, sometimes anguished, an always urgent force of nature.

Flutes is a terrifically chilly robotic workout, These Chains blends doe-eyed R&B and disco to fine effect. Night And Day's so-so electrofunk is the only casualty to this record's sense of adventure.

A concept album about death and grief during a pandemic? Now there’s bravery. Fortunately, Tunng bring a characteristically light touch to these tender, if not taboo subjects.

The lack of any sort of beat only adds to the disorientation. And yet, played loudly enough, Kannon sounds astonishing: by turns eerie, hypnotic and thrilling.

Some songs roll along with almost indecent ease--Somebody Was Watching, No News Is Good News--while some draw you up, like the Pops/Mavis duet Sweet Home.

The Unthanks don’t falter on what is their first “proper” album in seven years, though the nine minutes of the Sandgate Dandling Song, a Victorian ballad about domestic violence, inclines to the ponderous. They are better when airborne, as on The Old News or Royal Blackbird, a Jacobite song given a lively violin arrangement.

You might file her body of work under 70s-tinged alt-country. But Webster’s subtle accessorising – her eclectic production choices, like Feeling Good Today’s Auto-Tuned multitracking – always render these miniatures next-level.

While it’s an emotional listen, I Came From Love is not a difficult record, musically.

Sonically this is, unsurprisingly, a masterful album: echoey, soulful and old-school. What’s more, it finally feels as if Black Milk’s rapping is catching up.

It is both old news and a welcome opportunity to praise Letissier’s stylish, empathetic songs: bilingual, sexually fluid, influenced by R&B, hip-hop and glitchy digitals.

Letter to Yu finds this dancefloor native expanding his already imaginative sound design. It’s sad, but also full of diversions, with Pupul’s curiosity and squelchy sense of fun ever-present.