Washington warmly traverses various themes (across both subject and music) and--via the wailing sax on Humility, the sleazy funk of Perspective, and the quasi-bossa nova of Integrity--it’s an enriching listen.

The trio remain in a tradition of avant gardists such as Sun Ra, Alice Coltrane and Can, but totally of the now. One of 2019’s best.

The soundtrack delivers a faithful sample of Bleecker Street's earnest, antique folkery, ably sung by actor Oscar Isaac, Justin Timberlake, Marcus Mumford and others.

The standout performance comes from country singer Margo Price, who depicts living a life in fear of a vengeful God on the powerful Sermon (“God almighty’s gonna cut you down”). But Williams deserves credit too, for her impassioned take on Ode to Billie Joe, a 1967 US No 1 single drafted in here to replace the original album’s inessential Louisiana Man.

It’s a Rorschach blot of a record: you can find whatever you’re looking for here, from loose stoner ambience to shamanic virtuosity, with album closer WZN3 turning into a loose, swinging, Tuareg-derived rock out.

While the Streets’ Tame Impala two-hander justly set the internet abuzz, even better tunes lie within.

The result is a brief but serious retrospective treatment of five pieces, going back as far as 1958. There are two versions of Naima and three of Village Blues, but they’re all different, and every performance is complete, no odds and ends.

You can only marvel at where they will go next.

A decade on he treads a familiar path of homespun blues and rock'n'roll, happily unencumbered by musical fashion and with deeply satisfying results.

This second outing presents a richer, more percussive sound, albeit one still shot through with the zinging pyrotechnics of tin-can guitar.

The dark nights of the soul only get darker with time, and Night Thoughts proves an unexpectedly congenial companion volume.

While he doesn’t know quite where his strengths lie yet, tracks such as Strange Things and Lonely Side of Her boast a ghostly, weathered quality that compensates for the odd hillbilly dud.

There are glimmers of musical progression on Sleaford Mods’ ninth album: Jason Williamson sings the odd line, and there are even occasional choruses. But, pleasingly, for the most part it’s business as usual.

Unfollow the Rules marks a welcome return to the opulent orchestration of Wainwright’s early albums.

Everything he does is good: melodic, enervated and loud. Twins, though, is a record that goes out of its way to court the floating rock vote, upping the melodies and toning down Segall's more wayward psychedelic digressions.

The real stars here are the Rajasthan Express’s six-piece brass section, who come into their own on the joyous Julus and Junun Brass. Elsewhere, the hypnotic Hu locks into an almighty groove, while the excellent title track is built atop a pleasingly complex rhythm.

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.

Though not as affecting as the original, if we’re talking about club bangers, Kehlani makes it their own.

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.

Ferg’s pungent wordplay powers this splendidly diverse and dynamic second album.

It’s their most adult album yet, and it suits them.

Though interludes from the late guru Ram Dass feel a little hokey, overall Gag Order is polished, powerful and affirming.

Davies has given a powerful, challenging voice to her grief. Great music doesn’t necessarily come from great suffering, but if you’ve the strength for the job, it certainly can.

Khruangbin’s strengths exist in relative quietude, making their intricate music sound so gentle that it lulls the listener into a newly imaginative state.

What makes for a happy life is this album’s implied question, and as well as all the necessaries about love, Honne offer up idiosyncratic takes on cars (the Peugeot 306, no less) and shrinks.

Friedberger picks over love and relationships in ways that keep you guessing: strange flights of fancy are balanced by offbeat humour and there are startling moments of emotional directness that bring you up short.

While Bulat’s previous sound was lovely, always tasteful, mostly mournful, here she comes arrestingly alive, invigorated firstly by the roiling emotions and rich material of a raw breakup and secondly by warm, glowing production from My Morning Jacket’s Jim James, who brings out previously lurking pop and soul tendencies.

B7 isn’t exclusively a trip down memory lane, but it does cruise past a few old haunts. Brandy’s trademark raspy vocals and sublime harmonies on Rather Be and Lucid Dreams are nostalgia-inducing for anyone who grew up listening to her acrobatic riffs and runs.