Her collaboration here with production wunderkind (and fellow Los Angeleno) Ariel Rechtshaid has brought her angry, grungy side to the fore. It was worth the wait.

Like its predecessors, Big Fish Theory is an album that grabs you by the lapels with its urgency while slapping you round the ears with its sound design.

By turns gritty and poetic, its words “scattered like teeth”, it’s also a real original.

Few of Songs’ 11 tracks disappoint, their stop-start synths and impossibly fragile vocals hinting at new avenues for introverted soul.

For the most part it’s a rich and deftly arranged work, and though there’s a warmth that can sometimes border on cloying, he cuts through with chaos and levity.

Sonically, however, Blood Moon stands alone as a perfectly judged synthesis of conventional songwriting skills and detailed, cinematic music that revels in the silence between the notes. Superb.

Beneath the swearing there’s a sharp sense of humour and even sharper powers of observation, Williamson’s freeform wordplay painting vivid pictures of an at times uncomfortably recognisable contemporary Britain.

The Algorithm’s concept is too boring to explain, but thankfully the music isn’t.

Musically, Dawn FM mirrors Tesfaye’s disquiet, its buffed electronic sheen ruptured by moments of discord, as when ballad Starry Eyes teeters on the brink of implosion. It’s a state that Tesfaye seems to relish, with often stunning results.

The result is a minor country-soul gem, full of lovely and deeply atmospheric instrumentation gilding Ford’s alluring vocals.

An ambitious, accomplished piece of work.

Corin Tucker’s yelp remains a thing of wonder, Brownstein’s lead guitar never takes the easy option and Janet Weiss’s drums anchor all the thrilling unease.

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

This is 2017’s zeitgeist Notting Hill carnival soundtrack.

Sick! emerges with musicality enhanced, full of strings, soul samples, arpeggiating pianos and vinyl crackle – sometimes, as on the immersive Vision and Tabula Rasa, all at once.

This is hardcore music for a generation weaned on rave and grime, jazz’s cutting edge. The comet isn’t coming, it’s arrived.

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

Dust is a record that is powerful, consuming, yet also strangely comforting.

It is a thoroughly unironic, seriously fun, rock record, in which seizing the day (well, the night), settling scores and the importance of making one's own money are explored in detail, with leering electric guitar and crashing kit.

The resultant soundscapes stretch invitingly on tracks such as the lilting Hondo, while Kalahari summons up an appropriately threatening desert atmosphere.

At just 35 minutes, Phasor might not be as all-enveloping as his previous efforts, yet it offers enough scraps of melody and moments of wonder that you won’t feel cheated.

Tied to the Moon is a captivating follow-up to her 2012 debut, Under Mountains, offering a richer, darker take on the soft folk of that record.

I Don’t Want To, Growing Pains, Comfortable and, particularly, 7 Days are all excellent examples of sensible-sweater, big-sister pop.

There are blooping keys and retro drum machines on River Rival; Thinking of Nina feels like a long-lost hit from the 80s. Even better is Soft Boys Make the Grade, a tune that relocates Williams’s gothic bent into a killer soft-rock tune in which he sidles into someone’s direct messages.

For those expecting Malone’s all-enveloping instrumental embrace, the churchiness of the voices can startle. But the younger artist came to music through choirs, and the sorrowful grace of the words makes plain emotions she previously only implied.

An innovative homage to tradition.

Weller sounds at ease with this more introspective material, the lush orchestration acting as a perfect foil to his voice.

Delicately sung and immaculately played in semi-acoustic fashion, it’s a high point in an impressive career.